HE COMES AT NIGHT

6

An hour later, the doorbell rang, echoing softly in the quiet penthouse. Armando got up, his stride purposeful as he went to let in the doctor. She looked exhausted, her face drawn from a long day, yet she managed a polite nod as she entered. Jessica watched her with a pang of sympathy, feeling a strange sadness for this woman who, like many others, had somehow found herself working within Armando’s world. It was a world that seemed to taint everything it touched.

The doctor approached Jessica with a gentle expression, setting down her bag. “I’ll be quick, Mrs. Rico,” she said softly, her voice kind, trying to put Jessica at ease. Jessica nodded, though her expression was still wary.

As the doctor examined her, she suggested painkillers and requested Jessica get some tests done. She then reached into her bag, pulling out a needle to draw a blood sample. Jessica tensed, her gaze flickering to Armando. She hated needles, and the thought of it made her stomach clench.

Noticing her discomfort, Armando moved closer, a silent presence that she found herself instinctively clinging to. Her fingers reached out, finding his hand, and before she could stop herself, she had gripped it tightly. His hand was warm and steady, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles in a rare, comforting gesture. She glanced up at him, her eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability she had been holding back, and he held her gaze, his own expression unreadable but softened.

The doctor, perceptive but professional, carried on quietly. Once she finished, she packed away her things and looked between them.

“I’ve wrapped up here, but Jessica will need some help with changing and caring for the wound. There’s quite a bit of swelling, so regular icing will help bring it down,” she advised, glancing at Armando. “Make sure she keeps the area iced, and let her rest as much as possible. And please…take care,” she added gently, perhaps sensing the tension and the unspoken emotions swirling between them.

After the doctor left, Armando stood by Jessica’s side, eyeing her critically. She had already turned away, tired and aching, prepared to let herself slide into the comfort of solitude. But he stepped forward, an ice pack in hand.

“You need to ice it,” he stated simply, his voice firm but not unkind. She shook her head, a weak protest forming on her lips, but he didn’t budge. She knew he wouldn’t. With a resigned sigh, she allowed him to place the ice pack on her swollen chest, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips at the initial coldness.

His hand was gentle but firm as he held it there, refusing to let her pull away. “I’m not letting this slide,” he murmured, his voice low, almost tender as he watched her, a fleeting softness in his eyes. Jessica felt a strange warmth in her chest—whether from his touch or something deeper, she wasn’t sure.

Once he was satisfied, he handed her the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, watching as she took them, too worn out to argue. She glanced over at the crib, her gaze softening as she leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Alvaro’s tiny forehead. Her heart ached, fear curling tightly around her chest. The fear was relentless—fear for her son, fear for herself, fear for a future that seemed to grow darker with each passing day.

Without another word, she moved toward the bedroom, slipping into bed, her mind weighed down with the crushing worry she couldn’t shake.

__

As Jessica slipped into bed, the ache in her chest only seemed to deepen, both from the physical injury and the turmoil that had become her life. She sank into the mattress, exhaustion draping over her like a heavy blanket, yet her mind was restless, thoughts spiraling back to the events of the night.

Armando lingered by the doorway, watching her with a conflicted expression. The doctor’s orders were clear, and he was determined to follow through on every word. But he also knew Jessica’s stubborn streak—her resistance, her fierce need for independence, even when it made things harder for herself.

He set the ice pack down by her side, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll need to ice it again in a bit,” he said, his tone resolute. “And I’m going to make sure you do it.”

Jessica barely acknowledged him, turning her head away. Her voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with bitterness. “I don’t need you hovering over me, Armando. I’m not a child.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened, but he kept his voice controlled. “I’m not hovering. I’m making sure you’re alright. Do you think I enjoy seeing you like this?”

She let out a soft, hollow laugh, one without a hint of humor. “Maybe you don’t enjoy it, but you certainly don’t mind it enough to change anything.” Her words were sharp, cutting, her eyes flashing with a raw anger she could no longer suppress. “You think just because you throw your money and power around, that makes up for everything you’ve dragged me into?”

His eyes narrowed, the initial softness hardening as her words struck a nerve. “Jessica, this isn’t the time—”

“It’s never the time, is it?” she interrupted, her tone rising, emboldened by her frustration. “When am I supposed to tell you that I don’t want any of this? That I never asked for a life where I have to constantly look over my shoulder?”

A tense silence hung between them, his gaze locked onto hers, intense and unwavering. “You knew what my life was before,” he replied, his voice low, measured. “You knew who I was—who I am. And you chose to stay.”

“Stay?” she repeated, a mocking edge creeping into her voice. “It’s not like you ever gave me a real choice, Armando. Every time I tried to pull away, you pulled me back in. And now, we have Alvaro. Now, I have even less of a choice.”

Armando’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unguarded flashing in his eyes. He took a step closer, his voice softening, almost pleading. “I’m trying to protect you, Jess. You and Alvaro mean everything to me. I can’t lose either of you.”