“No, I won’t.” I press my palm harder against her wound, but the blood won’t stop. “You’re going to take care of him. Just like you always have.” My eyes plead with her to fight. “We’re going to take care of him together.”
Her lips ghost a bitter smile. “Happy ever afters don’t happen to people like us.”
“Yes, they do. They fucking do. Don’t you dare leave me again, Rose.”
The paramedics charge into the room.
Elio helps Lucia to her feet, to make room for the paramedics. Angelos clings to her side, his bloodstained hands clutching her sleeve.
He should be in my arms. But he won’t even look at me.
The paramedics haul Rose onto a stretcher, packing the wound. I need to go with her, but I need to keep my son safe.
“Angelos, let’s go in the ambulance.” It’s the only way I can keep my eye on the both of them.
“I’m going. I’m her brother,” Elio snaps.
“Solo uno. Only one allowed in the ambulance,” a paramedic says.
Fuck. There’s no time to argue, no time to think. I’m torn between the two of them.
Lucia must sense the anguish on my face as her hoarse voice cuts through the conflict. “Go with her. We’ll bring Angelos to the hospital.”
Police filter into the house, but I’ve no time to stop and answer questions.
I nod once at Elio, knowing he has them on his payroll, and sprint after the stretcher.
I climb into the back of the ambulance and sit stiff-backed on the bench as they work on her. I’m helpless as I bring my trembling bloodstained hands together under my chin and bow my head low, doing the only thing I can do.
Pray.
They rushher straight into surgery.
I try to follow, but a nurse blocks my path with her palm pressed to my chest. "You’ll have to wait out here, sir."
Sir. Like I’m some stranger.
I pace the corridor like a caged animal, fury and fear gnawing at my insides. My shirt is soaked in her blood. I glance down at my trembling hands, crimson streaking the lines of my palms. Her blood. Too much of it.
Ducking into the nearest restroom, I scrub my hands under the freezing water. Red spirals down the plughole, but the stains won’t lift from under my nails.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my face hollowed by guilt and terror. Get it together, Bianchi. She’s strong. She’ll pull through. She has to. Because if I lose her…
It won’t happen. It can’t. My son won’t lose his mother like I did. Memories threaten to invade the present, but I push them aside. I haven’t time to revisit the past, even though it’s the catalyst that caused all of this. A lifetime of family rivalry has led us here. And this is not where it ends formyfamily.
My hands won’t stop shaking under the dryer. I yank out my phone, my fingers fumbling over the screen, and fire off a text to Riccardo.
Get eyes on Magnus Berlusconi. Don’t just tail him. Detain him. I want him breathing, but only just. If anyone’s going to kill the son of a bitch, it’s me.
It’s not enough. I need to be doing something. Anything other than standing here waiting to fall apart.
The gun weighs heavily in my inside pocket, a reminder that I had my chance to put a bullet between his eyes and I let him go.
I return to the waiting room, my heart battering against my ribs. Lucia sits, pale but upright in her wheelchair, her oxygen mask slipping as she clutches it to her face, her other hand clenched around her rosary beads. Angelos huddles beside her, his small frame curled tight as a spring, eyes raw from crying.
Elio’s there too, arms folded, his stare cold enough to freeze hell.
I don’t sit. I can’t. The only seat free is next to Elio, and I’d sooner stand till my knees give out.
