Chapter 20
Dez
Iwas in a meeting with my father and two associates when my phone rang. I almost ignored it. We were in the middle of planning Vincent's permanent removal and I couldn't afford distractions. But it was Matvey's number. He was supposed to be watching Angelina at lunch.
I answered immediately. "What happened?"
"Drive-by shooting. Salvatore's in Capitol Hill." His voice was tight. "Your wife is down. Hit her head hard when I tackled them. She's unconscious. Ambulance is on the way."
The room tilted.
"How bad?"
"I don't know. Head wounds bleed a lot. She's breathing but not responsive. One of her friends took a bullet to the shoulder. Through and through, she'll be fine. But Angelina—" He paused. "You need to get here. Now."
I was already moving, my father and associates following without question.
"Which hospital?"
"Swedish First Hill. They're the closest Level 1 trauma center."
"I'm ten minutes out. Don't let her out of your sight."
"Never."
I hung up and ran.
My father drove. I was too shaky, too furious, too terrified to trust myself behind the wheel. He broke every traffic law in Seattle getting us there. I couldn’t have chosen a better person to be in control right now.
"She'll be fine," he said, the closest thing to comfort I'd ever heard from him. "She's strong. Like your mother."
I couldn't respond. Could only stare at my phone, willing it to ring with good news.
We made it to Swedish in eight minutes.
The ER was chaos. Police everywhere, Angelina's friends being treated, Matvey giving a statement while covered in blood that I prayed wasn't my wife's.
"Where is she?" I demanded.
A nurse tried to stop me. "Sir, you can't—"
"That's my wife. Where. Is. She?"
"Trauma bay three. But you need to wait."
I didn't wait.
I shoved through the doors and found her.
Angelina, lying on a gurney, pale as death, blood matting her dark hair. Doctors and nurses swarming, calling out vitals and orders I only half understood.
"BP is 110 over 70, heart rate 95, she's stable but unresponsive."
"CT scan, stat, need to rule out intracranial bleeding."
"Get me a trauma panel and type and cross for four units."
"Sir, you can't be in here," someone said, trying to guide me out.
"I'm her husband." My voice didn't sound like my own. "I'm not leaving."
A doctor—older, competent-looking—approached. "Mr. Moretti? I'm Dr. Patterson. Your wife suffered a significant head injury. We're taking her for a CT scan now to check for bleeding or swelling in the brain."
"Is she going to be okay?"
"Her vitals are stable, which is good. But we won't know the extent of the damage until we see the scans." He paused. "There's something else. The blood work came back positive for HCG."
I stared at him blankly. "What?"
"Human chorionic gonadotropin. It's a pregnancy hormone." His expression softened. "Your wife is pregnant. About six weeks along, based on the levels."
The world stopped.
Pregnant.
Angelina was pregnant.
With our baby.
"Is the baby—" I couldn't finish the sentence.
"We'll do an ultrasound once we've addressed the head injury. But her hormone levels are strong. That's a good sign." He squeezed my shoulder. "We're taking good care of her. Both of them."
They wheeled her past me toward imaging, and I stood there in the middle of the trauma bay, trying to process.
My pregnant wife was unconscious with a head injury. Someone had tried to kill her and had almost succeeded. The rage that filled me was white-hot and absolute. I saw red every fucking place I looked.
This was Vincent.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and dialed.
"It's done," I said when Beniamino answered. "Whatever arrangement we had, whatever professional courtesy… it's done. He just tried to kill my fucking wife."
"Dez—"
"He's a dead man. And anyone who tries to stop me becomes a dead man too." My voice was cold. Deadly. "I'm giving you this courtesy because I respect you. But Vincent DeLuca doesn't see sunrise tomorrow. Clear?"
Silence.
"Crystal. Do what you need to do. Neither the DeLucas nor the Vitales will interfere."
"Good."
I hung up and made another call. To my father.
"Find him," I said. "Find Vincent. I don't care how. I don't care what it costs. Find him and bring him to me."
"Consider it done."
Matvey was next.
"I want security on every entrance to this hospital. No one gets to my wife without going through you first. And get me a private floor—medical, security, everything. Move her friends too. I want them protected."
"Already on it, boss. We've got the top floor secured. Moving Mrs. Moretti’s room and her friends up as soon as the doctors clear it."
"Good."
I hung up and finally let myself lean against the wall, my legs shaking. We were having a baby. And someone had tried to kill them both. I'd promised to protect her. Promised to keep her safe.
I'd failed them. But I wouldn't again. Vincent DeLuca was going to pay for this. In blood. And there was nobody in the fucking world that was going to change my mind or get in my way. As soon as my beautiful wife was stable, his life was mine.
Clock that.