They wheeled her past me toward imaging, and I stood there in the middle of the trauma bay, trying to process.
My pregnant wife was unconscious with a head injury. Someone had tried to kill her and had almost succeeded. The rage that filled me was white-hot and absolute. I saw red every fucking place I looked.
This was Vincent.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and dialed.
"It's done," I said when Beniamino answered. "Whatever arrangement we had, whatever professional courtesy… it's done. He just tried to kill my fucking wife."
"Dez—"
"He's a dead man. And anyone who tries to stop me becomes a dead man too." My voice was cold. Deadly. "I'm giving you this courtesy because I respect you. But Vincent DeLuca doesn't see sunrise tomorrow. Clear?"
Silence.
"Crystal. Do what you need to do. Neither the DeLucas nor the Vitales will interfere."
"Good."
I hung up and made another call. To my father.
"Find him," I said. "Find Vincent. I don't care how. I don't care what it costs. Find him and bring him to me."
"Consider it done."
Matvey was next.
"I want security on every entrance to this hospital. No one gets to my wife without going through you first. And get me a private floor—medical, security, everything. Move her friends too. I want them protected."
"Already on it, boss. We've got the top floor secured. Moving Mrs. Moretti’s room and her friends up as soon as the doctors clear it."
"Good."
I hung up and finally let myself lean against the wall, my legs shaking. We were having a baby. And someone had tried to kill them both. I'd promised to protect her. Promised to keep her safe.
I'd failed them. But I wouldn't again. Vincent DeLuca was going to pay for this. In blood. And there was nobody in the fucking world that was going to change my mind or get in my way. As soon as my beautiful wife was stable, his life was mine.
Clock that.
Dez
Two hours later, they moved Angelina to a private suite on the top floor. The CT scan had shown a moderate concussion with a small subdural hematoma—bleeding between the brain and skull. Not large enough to require immediate surgery, but serious enough that they needed to monitor her closely.
"The blood you saw was mostly from the scalp laceration," Dr. Patterson explained. "Head wounds bleed profusely, even minor ones. We've stitched it up and the bleeding has stopped. But the concussion and the hematoma are our concern now. We need to watch for increased intracranial pressure."
"What does that mean?" I asked, my voice rough.
"It means we monitor her neurological status every hour. If the bleeding increases or if she shows signs of deterioration, we'll need to intervene surgically. But right now, she's stable. Her brain is protecting itself by keeping her unconscious while it heals."
"When will she wake up?"
"Could be hours. Could be a day or two. With head trauma, we can't predict." He met my eyes. "But her vitals are strong. That's a good sign."
"And the baby?"
His expression softened. "The ultrasound showed a strong heartbeat. Six weeks along, based on the measurements. Everything looks normal and healthy. The baby is well-protected in the uterus. The trauma to your wife's head didn't affect the pregnancy."
I sank into the chair beside her bed, my legs suddenly unable to hold me.
