"He’s in a medically induced coma," Luciano replies. "He hasn’t woken up once since surgery. They’re keeping him under to let his brain heal."
I reach his bedside and take his hand, the only part of him not bruised, bloodied, or bound. It's cold. Still, I grip it anyway. "I’m here," I whisper and hear my voice cracking.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I force them to stay at bay. I lean down and whisper into Marcello’s ear, "You are not allowed to die. Do you hear me? I’ve lost toomany people already, and I swear to God, if you leave me too, I’ll—I’ll kill you myself."
His fingers don’t move, and his face stays slack. Only the machines respond.
A soft knock on the sliding glass door jerks me upright. I wipe my cheeks quickly and try to pull myself together as it opens. A woman steps in. Probably around my age, maybe a bit older. Blonde hair pulled back neatly, she wears dark purple scrubs with a name badge that reads"Violet." She has a kind face. But it’s her eyes that stop me. They land on me with compassion.
"Are you his nurse?" I ask, my voice is hoarse from crying.
She walks closer and offers her hand. "Yes, I’m Violet."
My fingers tremble when I pull off the ruby-studded bracelet Roberto gave me on our wedding night. It was meant to be a leash. But now it feels like an offering. "Here," I whisper, pressing it into her palm.
Her eyes widen, but I’m already clawing at my earlobes, pulling out the matching earrings. "And here." I drop them into her hand, my trembling voice matches my fingers. "Please. I need you to do everything you can. I can’t lose him, too." The last word cracks in my throat, and I break into a sob.
Behind her, someone clears his throat. I glance up to see Luciano watching us with a strange expression—half pity, half warning.
"Sophia, I don’t think…" he starts.
"I’ll write you a check, too," I interrupt, desperate. "Just tell me how much."
But Violet gently sets the jewelry on the bed beside Marcello and kneels down beside me. Her voice is calm and steady. "This isn’t necessary. I assure you, your brother is getting the very best care humanly possible."
I clutch Marcello’s limp hand tighter, choking back another sob. "He won’t wake up."
Violet’s voice softens. "Has anybody explained to you what happened to him?"
I nod through the tears. "He was shot."
Violet crouches beside me, her hands braced gently on my knees, grounding me. "He was shot multiple times, yes. The doctors say they will all heal in time."
"But he’s not waking up." The words come out as a broken hiccup.
"The worst of his injuries is his head wound," she explains, nodding at the thick white bandage wrapped around Marcello’s head. "The bullet took out part of his skull."
A sob escapes me, sharp and raw.
"Violet, with all due respect, I don’t think—" Luciano begins behind her.
But Violet cuts him off. Her voice is steady, unflinching. "His brain wasn’t directly damaged by the bullet, but there is some brain swelling, which is why the doctors put him into an artificial coma."
I nod, trying to absorb it, trying to believe it means there’s still hope. "Okay," I whisper. My tears slow. "So they’ll wake him up? When?"
"As soon as the swelling is down. Then they’ll put a new piece of bone or metal in to seal his skull back up."
A ragged breath shakes through me. I sit up a little straighter, wipe my face with the back of my hand, and nod. "Thank you."
I place my hands over hers. "Thank you," I repeat, the words drenched in every ounce of gratitude I can offer.
Violet rises slowly, giving me space, giving me the chance to pull her back if I need more, but I don’t. I feel steadier now, somehow. She steps away, grabs a few tissues from a box on the counter, and hands them to me. I dab at my eyes, gentle and careful, but not gentle enough.
Because she sees them.
Her gaze sharpens.
"Who did this to you?" she asks, her voice sounds fierce.
