“It’s what I do, Elio. I gather intel. That’s my fucking job. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” A sharp pulse poundsbehind my eyes. Pain crackles at my temples like an electric storm.
The door creaks open and a doctor enters, his expression grave.
I stand and hold on to the back of Lucia’s wheelchair for support. Angelos clings to her arm. Elio bristles at my side, and my heart pounds beneath my ribs as my intestines tie themselves into knots.
"She’s stable," the doctor says.
A rush of breath leaves my lungs and I say a silent prayer, my eyes flicking to the white ceiling and spotlights overhead.
“Can I see her?” Angelos asks.
The doctor’s lips tighten. “She’s in an induced coma. We’ve removed most of her liver, but…” He hesitates, then continues. “She has an underlying liver condition.”
“She’s hypoglycaemic,” I say.
“We found extensive scarring on her liver. She’s had this condition for a long time. It’s possible the symptoms were mistaken for hypoglycaemia.”
“What’s the condition?” Elio asks.
“We’ve found severe scarring and fibrosis on her liver. We’ll know more after tests, but it looks like autoimmune hepatitis.”
“What’s caused that?” Lucia says. “There’s no history of liver disease in the family.”
“There’s no single cause, Mrs. Conti. It’s likely a combination of triggers over time. Trauma, extreme stress, or infections.”
Nausea curdles in my belly. Acid eats away at my insides and all I can think of is the trauma she’s been through that’s been silently killing her all this time. Her body carrying hidden scars as well as her heart. But with the right environment, she can heal with time. She has to.
Elio scowls, still not fully understanding. "What trauma?"
I turn my head slowly towards him, my blood poundingin my ears. “Ask your beloved brother-in-law,” I rasp. “The same bastard who left her with enough scars to line a fucking map. The same one you let into your family without question.”
For a split second, Elio’s face drains of colour.
Lucia clutches her rosary tighter. Angelos stiffens between us, confusion flickering across his boyish face.
“You think that liver disease just happened?” I grind out, my voice shaking with a fury I can barely contain. “Years of him hurting her caused this. She kept it hidden to protect Angelos.”
Elio stares at me as if I’ve just driven a knife into his ribs. His fists clench. His mouth opens like he wants to deny it, then snaps shut again.
The doctor clears his throat. “Well, that explains the scars on her back.”
“So, what’s the next step? When will she recover?” Lucia says, rosary clenched behind her white knuckles.
He swallows hard. “The remaining liver isn’t likely to regenerate. She’ll need a transplant. And fast.”
Blood rushes from my head, making me dizzy. I lean on the wheelchair for support.
Lucia’s hand covers mine. “Okay. How soon can she get it?”
“We’ll start searching for a donor immediately, but I’m afraid we don’t just have spare livers lying around, and time is critical.”
Despite my hatred for Elio, one thing I admire about him is that the trafficking and organ harvesting stopped when his father died. But a spare liver would come in fucking handy right about now.
Angelos squares his shoulders, tears streaking his face. “She can have mine.”
I look at my son, who’s braver than any man I know, and I couldn’t be prouder at this moment. I turn to the doctor,knowing he’s not old enough to donate, my heart slamming against my ribs. “Take mine.”
“We’ll need to test compatibility.”
