Ruined Secrets (Perfectly Imperfect #4)

“I don’t know. He could wake up tomorrow and be his old self. Or it may happen in six months. Or his memory could come back in pieces.”

“Does he remember anything?” Damian asks.

“He knows where he is, as well as which month and year it is. He can list the main cities, solve math problems, and he can read and write. When I asked him about some landmarks here in Chicago or elsewhere, he described how to reach them in great detail. But he doesn’t remember anything personal. He doesn’t know his name or recall any family members. He can’t tell me the names of any childhood friends, and he doesn’t know where he lives or what he does for a living.”

Dear God.

“We have good psychologists here.” Dr. Jacobs continues, “Once we get him out of the ICU, they can help him deal with this problem, and also give you guidelines on how to support him.”

“So it might help him remember?” I ask.

“No. It will help him manage the situation. Only time will tell if he’ll recover his memories.”

“Okay,” I say, then turn to Damian and grab his forearm. “Take the doctor to the side,” I say in Italian. “Explain to him that under no circumstances is he to share the information aboutLuca’s memory with anyone. He needs to leave it out of the reports. You’ll need to threaten him. Make sure he understands that if he shares this info with anyone, he won’t live long enough to regret it.”

“And if he declines?” Damian asks, in Italian, as well.

“If he declines, he’ll need to be dealt with right away.”

Damian stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “I’ve never killed anyone, Isa. I deal with the finances. Luca is in charge of… the rest.”

I take a step forward and look him right in the eyes. “Do you have any idea what will happen if this comes out? If anyone suspects that Luca is unfit for his… position, he’s as good as dead. No one, other than you and me, can know.”

Damian just gapes at me. He knows very well how things work in Cosa Nostra. If the don is not capable of doing his duty, he needs to step down. If he doesn’t, someone will kill him in a matter of days.

“We have to tell Rosa,” he says.

I take a deep breath, hating myself for making this decision, then shake my head. “No. She may slip in front of her friends. This is too big. We can’t risk it.”

“How the fuck do you plan on keeping this hidden, Isa? Luca doesn’t remember who he is. How will he lead the Family? There are business meetings. He has Lorenzo coming to report to him every week. There are—”

“We’ll figure it out,” I say and squeeze his forearm. “Luca’s memory will come back in a couple of days. Go talk to the doctor.”

Damian leads the doctor to the side, speaking to him in hushed tones. The doctor watches him with a grim face. I hopeto God Damian can convince him to keep his mouth shut. The alternative, the good doctor will have to die. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my husband, which means if Damian can’t kill him, I’ll have to. The thought of killing another human being has never crossed my mind, and I get lightheaded just from the sight of blood. But if saving Luca’s life means I need to take another’s, I’ll do it.

I regard the woman sitting on the edge of my hospital bed, holding a tablet in her lap. The screen shows a photo from some event I don’t remember. She turns it toward me, pointing at the people, telling me their names, roles, and sometimes even the names of their pets.

Isabella. My amazingly beautiful and very cunning young wife, who's been spending hours stuffing information in my head to make sure no one realizes that I don’t remember shit.

Every morning she comes to see me, trying to fill the blank spaces in my brain with pieces of my life. My brother, Damian, always arrives around noon and takes over, vomiting business information at me, describing how I act in certain situations, and explaining who does what in both our legitimate and Cosa Nostra dealings. He leaves around three, probably to take care of tasks I should be doing, and Isabella resumes teaching me what I should already know.

She’s all business when it comes to my reeducation. At first, I thought she was doing this for her own benefit because maybe she’s afraid of losing her status as the don’s wife if anyone findsout and decides to remove me from the position. But when I get one of the small details right, she smiles in a way that makes her eyes twinkle, and I’m not so sure anymore.

“Okay, let’s go through the house staff again,” she says and tries to hide a yawn.

I reach up to remove a strand of hair that’s fallen over her face, hooking it behind her ear, and she goes still. Slowly, she raises her head and looks at me, surprise in her eyes. One thing I’ve noticed, and it has been baffling me from the beginning, is the fact that during the whole six days she’s spent here, she hasn’t once tried to touch me. Is it because we don’t have that kind of relationship? She told me that ours was an arranged marriage. Or is it something else? Whatever the reason, I don’t like it.

“That’s enough for today,” I say. “Go home and rest.”

“You’re being released in the morning. We need to go over the staff one more time.”

“Security, first shift. Marco, Sandro, Gio, Antonio, Emilio, Luigi, Renato. Sergio and Tony at the gate. House staff: Grace and Anna in the kitchen. Maids: Martha, Viola . . .” I keep listing the names until I cover both shifts, all thirty-two people. “We’re good, Isabella.”

She stands, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Okay. I’ll get going, then.”

As she turns to leave, I wrap my hand around her wrist and wait for her to face me. “Is everything okay?”

She looks down at my hand holding her forearm, then up until our gazes meet, and nods. Her eyes flick to the side of my head. The doctor removed my bandages this morning, revealing a long, partially healed incision that starts behind my ear andcurls down toward my neck. Isabella notices me watching her and quickly looks away.