I stood and started pacing, too wired to sit still. Angelina was coming home.
After imagining every terrible thing that could be happening to her, of blaming myself for not protecting her better… She was coming home.
"What are you going to do to DeLuca?" Gianna asked quietly.
I looked at my sister. Sweet Gianna, who'd helped plan my wedding, who'd brought Angelina's friends to surprise her, who'd been crying in the corner for the past eighteen hours.
"What do you think I'm going to do?" I asked.
"I think you're going to kill him." She met my eyes. "And I think you should. For what he did to Angelina. For what he tried to do to your baby."
"Gianna—"
"Don't." She stood, crossing to me. "Don't try to protect me from this. I know what our family is, Dez. I know what you do. And I'm telling you—kill him. Make him suffer. Make him regret ever touching someone you love."
I pulled her into a hug, my fierce little sister who understood things better than I'd given her credit for.
"I will," I promised. "I'm going to make him pay for every second of fear, every moment of pain. And when I'm done, there won't be enough left to identify."
"Good."
At 9:47 PM, I got the call.
"She's in the ambulance bay at Swedish," Matvey said. "They just pulled up. Two guys in paramedic uniforms, proper medical transport. They're wheeling her in now."
I was already in my car, Marco driving like a maniac through Seattle traffic.
"Is she conscious?"
"Not yet. But the monitors show stable vitals. Dr. Patterson is meeting them at the elevator."
We made it to the hospital in twelve minutes. I took the stairs three at a time, bursting onto the top floor just as they were wheeling Angelina into her room.
She looked exactly like she had in the video. Unconscious but stable, properly bandaged, hooked up to monitors that showed a strong, steady heartbeat.
Dr. Patterson was already examining her, checking pupils, testing reflexes.
"How is she?" I demanded.
"Stable. Whoever had her knew what they were doing medically. The hematoma hasn't grown. All her vitals are good." He looked up at me. "She's going to be okay, Mr. Moretti. Both of them."
I sank into the chair beside her bed, taking her hand.
"I'm here, sweetheart," I whispered. "You're safe now. You're home."
Her fingers tightened slightly in mine.
"That's new," Dr. Patterson said. "She's starting to respond to stimuli. I'd say she'll wake up within the next few hours."
"She better." I muttered.
"She’s doing well, Mr. Moretti." He squeezed my shoulder. "I'll be back in an hour to check on her."
He left, and it was just me and Angelina and the steady beep of the heart monitor.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN
