Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Is she…?” he asks.
It takes everything and then some to answer that question, but when I open my mouth, no sound comes out.
“The baby?” he asks.
I push down the feelings, showing him nothing. “No.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Noted.”
“There’ll be another one.”
“It’s best you don’t bring that up.”
“I understand.”
“Come back to work for me.”
His smile is flat. “Finally, the true reason you came.”
“I’ll pay you double.”
“No thanks.”
“However much you want. If not for me, come back for Sabella. Be her bodyguard again.”
“No can do, man. That ship has sailed.”
“A teacher?” I chuckle. “Really? That’s what you want?”
“I have a woman now.” He hesitates. “We have a family on the way.”
The thought that Sabella and I could’ve had that too drives a stake through my heart. “Congratulations.”
“Yeah.”
“If you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
I rap a fist on the metal frame of the bed. “I won’t forget what you did. I owe you.”
“Thanks.” As I turn to leave, he says, “Don’t be a dick to her again when she wakes up. She deserves better.”
The intention was never to be dick. Our family feud kept an unbridgeable chasm between us. I wanted to show her the level of my determination in keeping her. All I proved was the intensity of my cruelty. It’s going to be much harder to convince her I’m capable of kindness. He’s right about one thing though, she deserves better. She deserves much better than me.
My phone rings as I make my way downstairs. It’s the hospital in the village. My pulse goes into overdrive as I swipe the screen and press the phone against my ear.
“Mr. Russo,” the doctor says. “I’m calling about your wife.”
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Sabella
* * *
The void is dark and weightless like water. It’s comfortable. There’s no pain, neither physical nor emotional. No smell or taste or temperature either. No promises and vows to break. No hearts and trust to destroy. Just blissful nothingness.
Yet something pulls at me, an arm that thrusts deep into the water and clutches my hand. Someone calls me. The voice won’t leave me in peace. It’s my own mind, urging me to swim to the surface, reminding me that there’s a world out there and plenty of reasons to live.
“Angelo,” the voice says.
It comes from inside me.
He’s my anchor, the hand I hold on to as a deep-seated knowledge that all isn’t well threatens to pull me under again.
The sun winks above the surface, a blinking eye in the clear blue sky. It beckons me to the light. Leaving my cocoon in the water is hard. Swimming takes effort, but I fight. I kick with my feet and pull with my arms until the light becomes brighter.
I’m breathing under the water, but my mind is impatient for me to inhale oxygen. My lungs feel the work as I force my lips open and swallow a mouthful of air. A gasp rattles my chest. I choke. Cough. It’s like being reborn and taking my first breath. Slowly, gravity returns. My body becomes heavy. My senses kick in, registering the pain first.
Disorientation sets in. Where am I? I peel my eyelids open and squint to dispel the sun rays that hurt my eyes.
“There you are,” a female voice says.
My vision comes into focus. A woman with dark hair and a friendly smile bends over me, shining a flashlight in my eyes. She’s wearing a white coat. The room is white. The blinds are white. Only the blanket is gray. No, blue. Light blue. Like the palest sky.
I’m in a hospital.
My heart jerks in shock, and then my memory rushes back, flooding my brain with everything I don’t want to remember.
My voice comes out as a croak. “Angelo.”
“Your husband is on his way,” the woman says. “We contacted him when you showed the first signs of waking.” She pats my arm. “It may take him a good hour to get here though. He was in Bastia when he took the call.”
I nod and swallow.
“Shall we get rid of the cannulas?” Not waiting for my answer, she removes the prongs and the tube. “You’re doing great.”
I read her name tag. Dr. Casanova.
She adjusts the bed so that I’m in an inclined position. I flinch at the pain in my ribs.
“Here.” She holds a cup with a straw to my mouth. “Take a small sip.” When I’ve swallowed a little water, she puts the cup aside. “I’ll give you some morphine for the pain.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I want to be lucid.”
“I get that. You’ve been out for forty-eight hours. If you need a painkiller, just press this button.” She shows me a red button that lies on the bedcovers.
“Thank you,” I say, already exhausted from the few words I spoke.
“You’ll get your strength back soon.”
A ball forms in my stomach. I know instinctively. I saw the blood. But I have to be sure. I’ll carry on hoping until I ask, and hoping is too cruel. “The baby?”