44
Liv
“Why are you doing this?” I beg, feeling useless that I can’t even defend myself.
Ezra smirks like he’s enjoying every second of this.
“I was genuinely surprised to see you, but then I got my weekly prison call from Dad. I was excited to tell him who I ran into.” He leans in, his breath hot against my face.
“He was more than happy to remind me what a slut your mom was. She thought she was better than everyone. She was a fucking nobody who had to open her big mouth and work with the cops to put my dad in jail,” he sneers, his eyes burning with pure hate.
“Oh, but don’t worry… I’ll be gentler with killing you than my dad was with killing her.”
Suddenly, a sharp crack across my face.
My head whips to the side, pain gushing through my skull.
“Your dad was a fucking fool to marry that bitch,” he spits.
“He should have stuck with someone familiar with our lifestyle. But no, he said it was Leah or nobody, so Dad gave his blessing for Uncle Richie to marry her, not realizing she was the family’s downfall.”
Ezra’s hateful voice snarls in my head, dragging me from the dark, ripping me from that filthy cage—
I jolt awake.
Uncle Tito killed Mom.
Blinding, scorching pain is all I feel like Wolverine is carving through my stomach.
Fuck, it hurts.
Everything hurts.
I try to suck in a breath, but it feels like my insides are in the middle of a knife fight while on fire.
I blink, forcing myself to push past the pain.
The world around me is blindingly white and reeks of sterile antiseptic.
Hospital…
I’m in a hospital.
How the hell did I get here?
The last thing I remember is Alessio and Ezra going at it before that fucker stabbed me.
The pain in my stomach flares, burning and twisting like my organs are at war with each other.
Ezra’s not here.
I’m safe, but for how long?
I need to get out of here.
My pulse pounds, and my fingers twitch against the sheets.
Ezra’s going to come back for me; he’s not finished.
I force myself to take slow, deep breaths, fighting through the agony, trying to piece together where I am exactly and how long I’ve been here .
To my right, a little machine blinks with an IV hooked into the back of my hand, a small lever resting against my palm.
My fingers curl around the button, and I don’t care what’s in it, I press it.
Hard.
Please be morphine.
Or a goddamn bear tranquilizer.
Anything to make this hurt less.
The machines beep at a steady rhythm, and either it’s calming me, or whatever’s in this IV is kicking in fast.
Thank goodness for that.
My body feels like a sack of bricks, and exhaustion is dragging me under, but I’m trying to fight it.
My head lolls to the left, and that’s when I see him.
Alessio.
Slumped in a chair beside my bed, his head resting against the wall.
He looks wrecked.
His jaw is scruffy with stubble, like he hasn’t shaved in days, his hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a while.
And he’s wearing hospital scrubs.
What.
The.
Hell.
Is he playing doctor?
Did he hijack some poor guy’s uniform?
The man who only wears Armani or some other bougie-ass brand .
Yeah, I’m definitely on drugs.
I close my eyes, feeling like I’m drifting off, when I hear the door open and the curtain surrounding the bed shifts.
“I’m glad to see you’re awake. My name’s Randy. I’m your night nurse and will be taking care of you.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, and then his eyes go to Alessio.
I follow his gaze, looking at Alessio, who’s still asleep.
Then Nurse Randy and I make eye contact, and I give him a stupid smile out of pure awkwardness.
“Your fiancé hasn’t left your side,” he says, walking over to the small sink to wash his hands.
Fiancé.
That’s not a thing anymore, but I don’t tell him that.
“How long have I been here?” I rasp, my throat feeling like I swallowed a mouthful of sandpaper.
“Four days. You were touch and go for a while, coded on the OR table, and once in recovery.” He says it so casually, but it makes me shiver.
“Your brother said you stopped breathing in the car, too, but your fiancé brought you back with chest compressions,” Randy adds.
My stomach flips.
Alessio saved me?
I died, and he brought me back .
“Brother?” I croak out.
“The tall guy with the man bun, who brought you in with your fiancé,” he says.
“He said he was your brother.”
Kota.
He’s the only guy who can both rock a man bun and handle Alessio without losing his shit.
But, definitely not my brother.
“You’re a very lucky woman,” he says, but I don’t feel lucky.
“I died three times. How is that luck?” I ask, reaching out for the cup of water he hands me.
“Well,” he starts, completely unfazed, “not everyone has a man willing to pull a gun on the chief surgeon to make sure an OR stays open just for you, reserve an entire hospital floor like it’s a luxury hotel suite, or force two surgeons, an anesthesiologist, and two nurses to stay here until you recover. That’s not including the lineup of stacked men pacing the floor like security at a Britney Spears concert.”
He says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and my head spins.
Why would he do all that for me?
“You’re lucky to have someone who loves you that much,” Randy adds.
“Not to mention, he’s terrifying and won’t let anyone near you unless he’s watching. ”
“Yeah, he can be scary,” I mutter, still trying to process the information dump Nurse Randy just dropped on me.
“He almost took my hand off for redressing your wound,” he adds casually.
He moves around, checking the machines.
“Looks like you figured out the morphine drip,” he says, nodding toward the little lever in my hand.
I guess it showed him that something was administered.
I give him a weak smile and a slight nod.
“Mind if I take a peek at your incision?” he asks.
“Sure.”
Randy pulls on a pair of gloves and gently lifts my gown, leaving the blanket covering my lower half.
I don’t want to see it.
I don’t want to see what Ezra did to me, so I turn my head to the left and lock eyes with Alessio.
He’s awake, silently watching.
Shit.
Did we wake him?
Did he hear us?
His eyes look heavy with dark circles around them, but he doesn’t speak or move; he watches.
His eyes go from me to Randy, following every movement he makes like a fucking hawk.
I wince when Randy pulls back the tape holding the gauze in place.
Alessio stands so fast, the chair legs scrape against the floor, making the poor nurse damn near crap his pants.
“I’m sorry if this hurts,” Randy says, looking like he’s about to meet his maker with the way Alessio is hovering over him, radiating pure rage.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him quickly, holding up my hand to stop Alessio from losing his shit.
Not like that would do much.
“Be fucking careful,” Alessio growls, then his fingers lace through mine.
Using his foot, he hooks the chair leg and drags it closer to the bed, sitting beside me.
His thumb pads softly up and down the back of my hand, like he’s trying to soothe me without actually saying anything.
It’s such a small thing, but my chest squeezes, and my eyes burn.
I blink fast, forcing the tears down.
No way in hell am I crying over a stupid handhold.
For a moment, just seeing him eases the pain.
But then his words come rushing back, hitting me hard, and dragging me under all over again.
Worse than the first time.
My chest squeezes again, and before I can stop myself, I yank my hand free from his .
“Stop being nice. It hurts more when you throw me away,” I murmur, barely above a whisper, but I know Randy hears it.
He doesn’t say a word and keeps peeling back the gauze and tape, pretending he isn’t witnessing our mess.
“The incision looks good. You’ll be sore for a while, but every day will get better. What about you?” Randy asks, shifting his attention to Alessio, while dressing my cut.
“Can I check your wound?”
“What wound?” I ask, but the second the words leave my mouth, it all replays in my head.
Alessio took a knife for me.
He got stabbed for me.
My family hurt him.
And it’s my fault.
Guilt and confusion flood my mind.
He pushed me away and made it clear where we stood.
Now, this?
I don’t get it.
“I said I’m fine. Focus on her,” Alessio says coldly, reaching back for my hand like that’ll end the conversation.
“Come on, tough guy, you can stand there. It won’t hurt. Not any more than being stitched up while standing,” Randy jokes, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but Alessio doesn’t so much as smirk.
“Stitched standing up?” I repeat, and Randy, being the little gossip he is, launches into a full rundown of how Alessio got patched up while hovering over me like my personal bodyguard.
I swallow hard, my throat tightens, and my stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with the knife wound.
I squeeze Alessio’s hand, giving him a small tug.
“Please let him check it.”
His jaw tics, and for a second, I think he’s going to argue.
But after a long beat, he sighs.
“Fine. But I want something in return.”
“Anything,” I say automatically, not even considering what the hell he could ask.
Alessio stands, and Randy lifts his scrubs.
He barely glances at the wound and redresses it.
Then he scurries out like he knows his life expectancy shortens the longer he’s in this room.
“Liv,” Alessio breathes, slouching back in his chair, still holding my hand.
“I’m glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?” He sounds concerned, but I can’t focus on that.
I can’t concentrate on anything except how completely upside down everything feels.
“I-I’m fine,” I manage, though I’m anything but.
I try to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots through my side, and I still.
Alessio runs a hand through his hair, looking wrecked.
“You took quite a hit. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up.”
I stare at him, searching for something real in his expression, trying to figure out if this is the same man who shoved me away like I was nothing.
“What about Ezra?”
His face hardens instantly, and just like that, the Alessio I recognize, the one who’s all rage and control, is there.
“He won’t touch you again. That, I fucking promise. Good thing I didn’t shoot Alonzo’s right hand; he took Ezra out in one shot.”
Ezra’s gone.
Whether it was Alessio who pulled the trigger or the asshole who hates me, it doesn’t really matter.
I should feel relieved.
Safe.
But all I feel is this gnawing ache in my chest, like something inside me cracked open, and now I don’t know how to close it.
I shift again, trying to sit up, but pain rips through my side like a red-hot blade, and before I can get my bearings, Alessio’s hand is pressing against my shoulder, keeping me from moving.
“Stop being stubborn,” he mutters.
“Stop acting like you care,” I snap before I can stop myself .
His jaw tics, but he doesn’t let go.
Doesn’t flinch.
Just stares at me like he’s trying to see through me, past the mess, past the bruises, past all the shit between us.
“I do care,” he finally says, like he’s not sure if he even wants to admit it.
I shake my head.
“You pushed me away.”
“And I was fucking wrong.”
That shuts me up.
Alessio isn’t the type to admit when he’s wrong.
Hell, I don’t think those words have ever left his mouth before.
I force myself to focus.
“So, what do you want in return?” I ask because if I don’t rip the band-aid off now, I’ll overthink the hell out of it.
He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face, looking more exhausted than I’ve ever seen him.
“I need to know everything you know, Liv. About your mom. About what she saw. About why your family wants you dead.”
My chest tightens.
“I don’t know everything,” I say honestly.
“But I’m afraid what I do know might get me killed, which almost happened.”
His grip on my hand tightens.
“Not on my fucking watch.”
So, I start from the beginning, at least where I remember the beginning to be.