Chapter 24
Angelina
Iwoke up to sunlight streaming through hospital windows and the steady beep of monitors. For a moment, I couldn't remember why I was here or why everything hurt. Then it all came rushing back.
Lunch with my friends. The gunshots. Hitting the pavement. Waking up confused in a strange place with unfamiliar faces and then passing out again almost immediately. Drifting in and out of consciousness, never quite sure what was real and what was drugged confusion. And then darkness until now.
I turned my head carefully—even that small movement sent pain shooting through my skull—and found Dez asleep in the chair beside my bed.
He looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled, wearing clothes that didn't quite fit him properly. His hand was wrapped around mine even in sleep, like he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go.
"Dez?" My voice came out as a croak.
His eyes snapped open immediately, going from sleep to full alertness in a heartbeat.
"Angelina." He was on his feet, leaning over me, his hands cupping my face with infinite gentleness. "How do you feel? Does anything hurt? Do you need anything? Let me get the doctor." He hit a button on my bedside, I guessed to signal the medical team.
"Water," I managed. "Please."
He grabbed a cup with a straw and held it to my lips. The cold water was heaven against my parched throat.
"How long have I been here?" I asked once I could speak properly.
"About five days. You were unconscious for it all." He sat on the edge of the bed, still holding my hand like it was a lifeline. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Some of it. The shooting. Falling. Then... pieces. People talking about me but not to me. Being moved. A doctor checking my pupils." I pressed my free hand to my temple, feeling the bandage there. "It's all fuzzy."
"You had a subdural hematoma. Bleeding between your brain and skull from hitting the pavement. They had to monitor you closely to make sure it didn't get worse."
"And did it?"
"No. You're healing. The doctors say you'll make a full recovery." His voice cracked slightly on those last words.
I really looked at him then. At the fear still lingering in his gray eyes. At the tension in his shoulders. At the way he was touching me like he needed to confirm I was real.
"What else happened?" I asked quietly. "There's something you're not telling me."
He was quiet for a long moment. "You were kidnapped. From this hospital. Vincent hired people to take you."
My blood went cold. "What?"
"They posed as doctors. Took you by helicopter." His jaw clenched. "I couldn't stop them. I tried, but—"
"Dez. Breathe." I squeezed his hand. "I'm here. I'm safe. Just tell me what happened."
So he did.
He told me about the eighteen hours I was missing. About the ransom demand. About the deal he'd made with the kidnappers. About systematically destroying every resource Vincent had until my uncle was desperate and alone.
"The kidnappers brought you back here," he said. "Set you up with proper medical care as part of the deal. Then they told me where Vincent would be."
"And you killed him."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes." His eyes met mine, unflinching. "I made him suffer first. For what he did to you. For what he tried to do to—" He stopped.
"To what?"
His hand moved to rest gently on my stomach. "To our baby."
The world tilted.
"What?"
"You're pregnant, Angelina. Six weeks along. They found out when they did your bloodwork after the shooting." His voice was soft, reverent. "The baby's fine. Strong heartbeat. Completely healthy despite everything."
I stared at him, trying to process.
Pregnant… We were having a baby.
"I'm—we're—" I couldn't finish the sentence.
"We're having a baby," Dez confirmed, his hand still resting on my stomach.
Tears started streaming down my cheeks before I could stop them.
"Hey, hey," Dez murmured, wiping them away. "It's okay. Everything's okay now."
"I'm happy," I sobbed. "I'm just… God, Dez, we're having a baby."
"We are." He pressed his forehead to mine carefully, mindful of my injury. "You're going to be an amazing mother."
"And you're going to be an amazing father." I pulled back to look at him. "A scary, overprotective, probably-going-to-install-cameras-in-every-room father, but amazing."
He laughed. "Damn right I am. After this? Our kid is never leaving the house without a full security detail."
"That's going to make high school interesting."
"I don't care. They're going to be safe. You're both going to be safe." His voice broke. "I'm never letting anything happen to either of you again."
I cupped his face in my hands. "What happened wasn't your fault."
"I should have protected you better."
"You protected me perfectly. Vincent is handled. I'm alive. Our baby is safe. You did everything right." I kissed him softly. "Stop blaming yourself for a desperate man's desperate actions."
He kissed me back, gentle and thorough, pouring everything he couldn't say into it.
When we pulled apart, I had more questions.
"My friends. Are they okay?"
"All fine. Karla's shoulder is healing well. The others are shaken up but physically unharmed. They've been taking turns sitting with you when I had to leave the room." He smiled slightly. "Imani threatened to castrate me if anything happened to you."
"That sounds like her."
"And Marco's been here every day. I think he's more worried about Imani than you, honestly."
Despite everything, I felt myself smile. "They're really into each other, aren't they?"
"Disgustingly so." He stood and poured me more water. "Marco's talking about her like crazy."
"Really?"
"Really. He's never been like this with anyone before. It's..." He trailed off, looking thoughtful. "It's like watching myself three months ago. Falling fast and hard for someone he barely knows but can't imagine living without."
"And how did that work out for you?" I asked.
"Pretty damn well." He kissed my forehead. "Married to the love of my life, with a baby on the way. Can't complain."
"Even though I come with corporate drama and homicidal uncles?"
"Especially because of that. Keeps things interesting."
I laughed, then winced as the movement sent pain through my head.
"Easy," Dez said immediately.
A knock at the door interrupted us. Dr. Patterson entered, smiling when he saw me awake.
"Mrs. Moretti. Good to see you conscious. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck."
"That's about right. You took a significant blow to the head." He pulled out a penlight. "I need to do a quick neuro check. Can you follow this light with your eyes?"
I did, wincing at the brightness.
"Good. Any nausea? Dizziness?"
"A little dizzy when I move too fast."
"Normal. That should improve over the next few days." He made notes on his chart. "I want to keep you here for observation for another twenty-four hours. If everything stays stable, you can go home tomorrow with strict instructions to rest."
"She'll rest," Dez said firmly. "I'll make sure of it."
"I believe you." Dr. Patterson smiled. "And congratulations, by the way. On the pregnancy. Given everything you've been through, it's remarkable that the baby is completely unaffected."
"Resilient," I said, my hand going to my still-flat stomach. "Like its mother."
"And its father," Dez added. "This kid doesn't stand a chance of being anything but stubborn."
Dr. Patterson left with instructions to call if I needed anything, and Dez went to order me food. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, processing everything.
Vincent was dead. I was safe. We were having a baby. The company was secure. And my husband had killed for me. Had hunted down the man who'd tried to destroy us and made him pay. I should probably feel something about that. Guilt, maybe. Horror at the violence. But all I felt was relief.
And love.
Love for the man who'd kept his promise, the baby growing inside me that we'd made together, and the life we were building, messy and complicated but absolutely perfect.
Dez returned with a tray of bland hospital food—broth, crackers, jello.
"Ew… This is sad," I observed.
"I know. Which is why Marco's bringing you real food tonight. Italian from that place you love." He helped me sit up, adjusting the pillows behind me. "But for now, you eat this and pretend to be grateful."
"I am grateful." I took his hand. "For all of it. For you. For keeping me safe." My voice caught. "For loving me enough to do what needed to be done."
"It protected you," he said simply. "I'd do it again. A thousand times over."
"I know." I pulled him down for a kiss. "I love you, husband."
"I love you too, wife." His hand covered mine on my stomach. "Both of you."
And sitting there in that hospital bed, battered but alive, with my husband's hand on our baby and his eyes full of love, I knew everything was going to be okay. We'd survived the worst. Now we got to live the best.
Together.