Alessio steps forward, his jaw tight with controlled emotion. When he kisses Austin’s forehead, I see his hands tremble slightly.
“See you soon,bambino.”
Then we watch them wheel our son away, and I feel like they’re taking half my soul with them.
The surgical waiting room exists in its own special kind of hell. Fluorescent lights that never dim. Chairs that seem designed to maximize discomfort. The smell of industrial coffee and barely contained panic.
Other families huddle in distant corners, each lost in their own private nightmare. A woman in her fifties clutches a rosary. An elderly man stares at his hands like they hold answers. We’re all members of the same unwanted club.
Keshia showed up an hour ago with decent coffee and nervous energy, asking every few minutes if there’s anything she can do. Unless she can turn back time and magically fix my son’s heart, there’s nothing anyone can do but wait. Instead of saying that, I just shake my head and watch Alessio wear a path in the linoleum.
The commotion in the hallway cuts through my fog like a knife.
Two men in suits approach with purposeful strides, heading directly toward us. When they stop in front of our little group, one of them pulls out a badge.
“Detective Greene, Las Vegas Metro.” His eyes lock on me with laser focus. “You’re Nina Walker, formerly Mrs. Newell?”
Eric. My stomach clenches. Of course it’s about Eric. I should have known this moment would come eventually, but the timing couldn’t be more brutal.
“Yes.” My voice comes out steady, which is a small miracle. “That’s me.”
Alessio materializes at my side, tension radiating off him like heat from pavement.
“We need you to come downtown and answer questions regarding the death of your ex-husband, Eric Newell.”
The words land like punches. Quick. Brutal. Designed to knock me off balance.
“Are you insane?” The question erupts before I can stop it. “My son is in heart surgery. I’m not leaving this hospital.”
The second detective, who hasn’t bothered introducing himself, steps forward with cold authority. “This isn’t a request, ma’am. We have an ongoing murder investigation.”
“Are you threatening to arrest me?” I straighten my shoulders, drawing on every ounce of strength I’ve built over the years. These men want to drag me away from Austin when he needs me most, but I won’t make it easy for them.
“If necessary, yes.”
Alessio’s response is immediate and dangerous. A low growl that makes both detectives take an unconscious step back.
“You’ll keep your damn hands off her.”
Detective Greene’s eyes narrow. “And you are?”
“Alessio DeLuca.” His voice drops to something lethal. “You might know my uncle, Lorenzo Andretti.”
The effect is instantaneous. Both detectives go very still, recognition flickering across their faces like warning lights. I watch them recalibrate, suddenly unsure of their ground.
But we’re attracting stares from other families, and the tension is thick enough to choke on. A scene here won’t help anyone, especially not Austin. As much as I want to tell these detectives where they can shove their investigation, refusing will only escalate things.
Better to handle this quickly and get back where I belong.
“I’ll go,” I say, placing a hand on Alessio’s arm before he can explode.
“Like hell you will.” His voice could cut glass.
“Stay here for Austin.” I meet his gaze, trying to communicate everything I can’t say out loud. “I’ll handle this and be back before he wakes up.”
Alessio searches my face, his jaw working. Finally, he nods.
“Don’t say a word until your lawyer arrives.”
