Valentina is still asleep when I meet with the head physician of my father’s medical team. I know this because the surveillance feed tells me so. A wireless system I had installed days ago streams every angle of the Caruso compound straight to my phone. Some people would call my desire to protect her obsessive. I call it a necessity. In my world, control isn’t optional. It’s the only way to survive.
After signaling to the doctor that I need a minute, I zoom in on the image of Valentina in my bed. Her hair spills across the pillow like ink, and her breathing is slow and even. Just like she did seven nights ago when I brought her back here—willingly that time—she looks like she belongs here. She suits my space, and God help me, I like seeing her in it.
My obsession over the past week hasn’t waned even a fraction. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Every hour I spend with Valentina feeds something I can’t control. I’m at her side constantly. We enjoy breakfast in the sunlit atrium, have lunch on the terrace, and eat dinner under the soft glow of the chandeliers in the dining room.
When I’m not with her, I’m watching her.Stalking her.Thesurveillance system streams her every move twenty-four-seven. I tell myself it’s for her safety—and it is—but it’s also for me. I need to see her and know what she’s doing as much as I need to know she’s still here.
That she’s still mine.
Waking up and finding her gone will be worse than a blade to the throat.
I drink in Valentina’s perfect profile for a few more seconds, then lock the screen and slide my phone into my pocket.
“How is he?” I ask the doctor without a greeting.
As always, his reply is clinically detached. “Still stable. Vitals are on par, and he’s alert.”
A sense of relief transcends over me. “So he’s improving?”
His long pause offers no comfort. “I need to be honest with you. Sometimes in cases like this, what looks like improvement can be misleading.”
I ball my hands so fast my knuckles pop. “Misleading how?”
“It can be what we call a terminal surge,” the doctor explains. “A final burst of energy before the body begins to shut down. It’s common in patients with advanced cardiac failure.”
His words slam into me better than any fist has, but denial is a game I’ve been playing for decades. “No,” I say flatly, shaking my head. “That isn’t what this is.”
“I hope you’re right.” The doctor’s voice is surprisingly firm for how hard his thighs are shaking. “But you should prepare yourself. His heart is fragile. The stress of losing your mother and the heart attack that followed her loss accelerated its decline.”
Prepare myself? As if that’s possible. It’s not his time yet. It can’t be. Everythingheplanned is finally aligning, so he needs to stick around to see it occur.
When I stare at the door of my father’s room, my chest tightens enough to ache. “He’s strong. He’salwaysbeen strong.”
“I know,” the doctor agrees, squeezing my shoulder. “But even the strongest hearts have limits.”
When he enters my father’s room to take his vitals, the scent of recently cleaned hospital equipment and old books wafts out. My father insisted on keeping the shelves even though they’re lined with leather-bound books he rarely reads.
After checking the security feed and noticing Valentina is still asleep, I balance my shoulder on the doorjamb and monitor the doctor’s checks. My father looks smaller than the giant I remember from my childhood, and the sight stirs the anarchy living inside me.
It doesn’t swirl for long. The doctor’s stethoscope doesn’t get within an inch of my father’s chest before my father snatches the doctor’s wrist firmly enough to break it.
“SignorCaruso, it is Dr. Marino. I just want to?—”
“Interrupt a man while he’s sleeping.”
When my father’s grip firms, causing Dr. Marino’s hand to go white, I enter the sterile-scented space. The floor creaks under my weight, and my father’s eyes dart to me.
“He’s doing his job, Papa.”
He huffs as if miffed before he drops Dr. Marino’s wrist. “I told you I don’t need a doctor.”
I gesture for the doctor to leave before he loses the ability to breathe, and join my father at his bedside. Treating my father as an invalid is a quick way to the grave. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease him, though. I’m his eldest son. That automatically makes me his favorite. “You also said you weren’t having a heart attack when you were.”
“Vanni…” His brows lower down his face as he scolds me in a dialect that’s hardly used anymore. The Old Castilian language is only known by the greats.
“Such a grump.” I pull a chair close to his bed. “Is this what happens when you wake early? You become a grouch?”
“This is what happens when your eldest son keeps everyoneawake at all hours of the night, entertaining a female guest.” He sits up, his movements stable for a man on his deathbed. “Who knew Valeria had it in her? She?—”
