More time passes.Toomuch time. Emergency surgery shouldn’t take this long, should it? Even I know that. The longer they’re in there, the worse the damage must be.
Or maybe she’s already dead, and they’re just trying to find a way to tell me.
The thought makes me want to vomit.
“This is taking too long,” I hear myself say, my voice cracking. “Danny, this is taking too fucking long.”
“She’s probably in recovery,” he tries to reassure me. “They have to stabilize her before?—”
“It’s beenhours.” I’m on my feet now, pacing like a caged animal. “Where the fuck is the doctor? Why hasn’t anyone come out to tell us anything?”
I scan the emergency room with increasing agitation. Doctors and nurses move past in their scrubs and surgical masks, but none of them approach us. None of them make eye contact.
Something’s wrong.
“I’m going to find someone,” I announce, already moving toward the nurses’ station. “This is bullshit. I need to know what’s going on with her.”
A blonde-haired nurse looks up as I approach, her blue eyes widening slightly at the sight of me—wild-eyed, covered in blood, and clearly on the edge of violence.
“My wife,” I say, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “Giuliana Marchetti. She was brought in hours ago with a gunshot wound. I need to know what’s happening with her surgery.”
The nurse’s brow furrows as she types something into her computer. “Marchetti, you said?”
Did she not fucking hear what I just said?
“Yes,” I say again, fingers curling against my leg. “Giuliana. With a G. She was—they took her through those doors.” I point at the double doors. “Hours ago. I need to know if she’s—if she’s going to?—”
The nurse’s frown deepens. “Sir, I-I’m not showing any active surgeries under that name.” She looks up at me, confusion clear in her eyes. “Are you sure she was taken to surgery? There’s no record of her.”
“What?” The word comes out strangled and my entire body feels like it’s locked up in horror. “What do you mean there’s no record? I watched them wheel her back there! She was shot in the chest, she was bleeding?—”
Danny is beside me now. “She was wheeled in by doctors and nurses,” he says urgently. “We watched them take herthrough those doors.” He points again at the double doors. “For emergency surgery. Multiple gunshot wound to the chest.”
The nurse stands, her face going pale. “Sir, those doors—” She gestures at where we’re pointing. “Those don’t lead to an OR. That’s just a hallway that connects to the parking garage.”
The world stops.
“What?” Danny says sharply. “What do you mean it doesn’t lead to an OR?”
“There are no operating rooms back there,” the nurse repeats, her voice rising with alarm. “It’s just storage and—” She stops, understanding dawning in her eyes. “Oh my god. We need to call securityright now.”
My phone rings.
The sound cuts through the chaos of the emergency room. Everyone freezes—me, Danny, the nurse—as I fumble for the device with blood-stiff fingers.
FaceTime. Unknown number.
I know who it is before I answer and know with sick certainty what I’m about to see.
I accept the call, and Gigi’s face fills the screen.
She’s in the back of a car. I can see the leather seats and the tinted windows. Her face is ashen, sweat beading on her forehead, and she’s making small sounds of pain that tear me apart to hear. The wound in her chest is visible, blood still seeping through hastily applied bandages.
Then the camera shifts, and Salvatore Romano’s face appears. That smug smile, those cold blue eyes, looking at me like I’m an insect he’s about to crush.
“Luca,” he says pleasantly, like we’re old friends meeting for drinks. “I told your wife to come only with you and unarmed. I was very specific about those terms.” He clucks his tongue. “And you disobeyed me.”
“You fucking—” I can’t finish the sentence, rage choking me.
