Christmas with the Beast (The Fiore Family 1)

“Nothing bad. It’s for safety purposes.” There’s something in his tone that I don’t believe. “OSHA will get on my ass if something happens to any of you. Can you buckle yourself?” I struggle, so he does it for me as his phone rings.

“Not now. Okay. Yes. Of course.” I don’t know who he’s talking to, but I could swear that I heard Franco. It’s more than possible that it’s my aching heart wanting to hear more about him.

“Sorry. My brother’s an asshole. He wants his meal, but I think he needs to take a break while you recuperate.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that shit. It’s crystal clear you’re not.”

Three hours later, he’s right. I need surgery and he’s taken charge, demanding I have the best surgeon available today. I call my sister and let her know that my boss is an asshole, and she laughs because she agrees with him. They haven’t met yet, but Fabio mentioned needing to update his menus and website, so maybe I’ll toss her business out there soon.

“Thank you for bringing me, Fabio.”

“I wish I’d known sooner.” He scowls, but he’s so nice it softens instantly. His anger isn’t with me; it’s with himself for not noticing sooner.

Chapter Five

Franco

I’m grumbling and snarling at my monitor. It’s been six weeks since Isabelle has been to work. My days of watching my obsession have ended for the time being. That also means no hot dishes made by her delicate hands. Still, I’m pissed that I didn’t notice sooner that she’d been in pain. Granted, Isabelle hid it well because I watched her like a madman.

I didn’t care that I’d just given myself up to my brother about the damn cameras. Having given up on ever having a real life with Isabelle, I hacked into my brother’s cameras and stared with fascination as she worked. For a whole wonderfully anguish-filled year and a half, I stole time with my woman, even if she was unaware of it. The days she made my dinner—those were special, like she made them just for me.

She’ll be coming back tomorrow and I can’t wait, but I still feel that she should be resting in bed with me. That fantasy will never come true, but my mind replays my dreams in the daytime, taking me away from the pain and agony my body goes through.

My gate buzzer goes off and I can venture a guess who it is, although I’m sure he doesn’t have a dish I want to eat. The last time he tried to bring me a meal from his other chef, I nearly chucked that shit at him. Instead, I tossed it in the trash. I don’t want to have a meal from his restaurant unless it comes from my beloved obsession. It’s like a massive betrayal to her if I do. Fabio laughs because I have a daily chef, but it’s different and he can’t even understand because his heart hasn’t been given to a woman he can’t have.

Once he comes into the house, I snarl out my annoyance. “What do you want?”

“Is that the love I get? Seriously, I don’t know why I come here anymore.” He slaps a hand to his chest in mock disappointment, but I know damn well he’d still come back, and thankfully so.

“I don’t know either.”

I don’t mean to be a prick, but just thinking about Isabelle and not having the balls to let her see the real me infuriates my soul. I should have been the one to care for her. Instead, I had to leave that up to my brother. “You realize Christmas is around the corner. Do you plan on being an asshole when we come over?”

“Probably, but I promised to be good for Mama’s sake.” Besides, she’ll give me hell if I don’t behave.

“Good. She’s so damned worried about your crazy ass.” I know, and it’s damned hard to reconcile the pain and anger that lives within me from the helicopter crash.

“Whatever.”

“Sorry—I can’t go into her apartment and set up cameras in her kitchen and bathroom, but she’ll be back soon.” He learned of it when I called him that night. I’d watched her lose control of the damn pot, nearly sending pasta and boiling-hot water crashing to the ground. Luckily she’d gotten it under control just in time to avoid a major burn.

“What’s up, Franco? I’m at a business meeting,” he snarled, stepping away from the table he was at.

“Isabelle’s hurt in the kitchen,” I snarled right back, aggravated as hell that he didn’t hear the chaos and my woman suffering.

“What? How do you know she’s hurt?”

“I’ve been watching. She needs a doctor. Get her there now, or I’ll never forgive you.” I didn’t leave him alone until he called me with her diagnosis. Then he came to see me, asking a million questions. The biggest being—