Chapter 18
KARINA
Marco was trying to slip out of the hospital without the doctor’s permission. He hadn’t actually been discharged.
Turns out he’d gotten antsy waiting for a CT scan, so he had Armani sneak him out of the ER.
Except that Armani wasn’t having it, which is why he steered Marco straight to us in the waiting room.
Now, I’m standing guard outside a door marked RADIOLOGY, though I’d rather be in there sitting next to Marco.
I haven’t gotten the whole story yet, but Dante confirmed that neither he nor Marco had sustained any gunshot wounds during the attack.
Even so, Marco is bleeding through the bandage on his head, and I’m more worried about what the scan might show than the details of how he got hurt.
He hasn’t said a whole lot, either, and he seems dazed.
I don’t know if it’s shock or symptoms of a head injury.
Once the radiologist is finished, she gives me permission to collect Marco and walk him back to his room in the ER to await the results.
Dante was already released, having sustained nothing more serious than a few scrapes and bruises when he rolled out of the limo.
He and Frankie drove home, leaving Armani in the waiting room to keep an eye on things.
I’m not sure if the gun-shaped bulge under his jacket feels more like a comfort or a threat to me right now.
Does he still think I’m a mole? Or is he also considering the possibility that my uncle might have been targeting me with the shooting?
The Brunos haven’t officially taken responsibility for the drive-by, but the Bellantis all seem convinced that my former family arranged the hit.
Which means it was aimed at either Marco or me. Maybe both of us.
“Karina, you should call your parents,” Marco says, interrupting my thoughts. “Your mom, at least. She’ll be worried sick when she sees the news.”
“Unless she knew about this from the get-go,” I say dryly. “I’m more worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be even better once I get the hell out of here and get a shower.”
He’s still got blood all over him. Jessica’s blood, Dante had informed me earlier.
When I asked where she was, realizing that she had to have been at the scene of the crime too, Dante just shook his head, lips pressed together.
And that was when my mind suddenly pieced together how my husband came to be covered in so much blood, despite having no major wounds himself.
Jessica didn’t make it.
Enemy though she may have been, I genuinely feel sorry that she died.
Even without knowing the shooter’s intended victim, it seems entirely unlikely that the bullets were intended for Jessica.
Unlike me and Marco, and the rest of the Bellanti family, Jessica didn’t have a target on her back.
In the grand scheme of things, she was an innocent bystander.
No, the scenario that seems most plausible to me is that my uncle saw me with Marco after the race earlier and then had Marco’s limo followed when it left the venue, assuming I’d be with my husband. But when the shots were fired, the wrong woman was taken out.
If Marco hadn’t insisted that I stay behind, I’d be dead.
I take out my phone. “Can I trust you not to walk out of here while I go make this call?”
“I’ll be here,” he says.
Service in the hallway is nonexistent and I don’t relish the thought of anybody overhearing me on the phone, so I go all the way outside the hospital and find a bench in a courtyard where I can have some privacy.
This whole situation is unnerving, and the last person I want to talk to is my mother…
but she might have some information, or maybe she’ll accidentally say something incriminating, so I’ll do it.
A few people come and go around me, but no one seems interested enough to linger, so I don’t worry about being overheard.
The line rings five times and I fully expect it to go to voicemail.
Hasn’t my mother heard about the shooting yet?
Isn’t she worried that I might be the dead victim?
Or was she in on the plan all along? Considering the fact that she didn’t call or text to check in, she either doesn’t know or truly doesn’t care about her estranged only child.
But would she really let my uncle carry out his plan to have me murdered… or was it Marco they were after?
“Hello?”
“Mom!” I blurt, a little taken by surprise. “It’s me.”
I drop the words and wait with bated breath for her reaction. But there isn’t one. Nothing.
“What is it, Karina?” she says with a huff. “We were just sitting down for a late dinner.”
So, she hasn’t heard about the shooting. Or…she’s pretending she hasn’t. Either way, she does not sound happy to hear from me. We haven’t spoken since the day I ran away from my wedding to Pietro, and judging by the tone of her voice, I’m as good as dead to her already.
“Marco was almost killed tonight,” I say, straining my ears to catch any hint of a genuine reaction from her. “Someone shot into his car and killed his coworker.”
“Hm.”
“The thing is, the windows were tinted. And that coworker who died was a woman with long hair, like mine. I can’t help thinking I might have been the real target—”
“Karina, don’t be ridiculous. You married into a dangerous family. These are the risks you take. I’m sure your husband was the one they wanted, not you.”
It’s her clipped, serious tone now. The one she uses when she’s being listened in on.
I know because I observed my uncle listening in on her phone conversations many times over the years, and she always resorted to this same tone.
He’s looking for information, but does the jerk really think my mother is going to say anything with him standing right there?
Maybe. Maybe she would. It all depends on how deep she’s into this mess.
“Do you know why ‘they’ might want to hurt him?” I ask pointedly.
“It sounds like someone was angry—”
“That’s not what I mean. Do you know why,” I prod.
Her voice lightens as if she’s smiling. “I know nothing. I never do. You know that.”
Probably true. Uncle Sergio doesn’t talk business with the women in the family.
And even if he did, my mom wouldn’t want to hear it.
She was always more interested in the fringe benefits of being a mob wife than in being any kind of active participant—as far as I know.
Shopping, social gatherings, leaving me with babysitters while she vacationed in Monte Carlo, all of those trappings were more important to her than how I scored on my math exam, or why my uncle came home yet again with his clothes all bloody.
She’d just smile and show my father the purchases she’d made and call it a day, a glass of Amarone in her hand.
Mother of the Year. That’s her.
“By the way, how are the Bellantis doing? This unfortunate event aside?” she asks.
I’m immediately on my guard. It’s an unusual question. But now I’m positive that my uncle is listening in. “They’re fine.”
“And how are you settling into newlywed life? Are they keeping you safe over there? Do you have enough bodyguards?”
Is she trying to fish for the Bellantis’ vulnerabilities? Gathering intel about their security setup? Fuck that. I nearly hang up on her.
“I have plenty. You don’t have to worry, Mom. Gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”
But I don’t think I will.
“Karina—”
I hang up on her, the whole conversation leaving me cold. My husband has been seriously traumatized. A woman, who very well could have been me, is dead. And all my mother cares about is pulling information out of me so my uncle can arrange his next hit.
“The CT looked good,” a voice says behind me. “They said he can go home.”
Armani approaches just as I slip my phone into my pocket. My hands are trembling. I don’t try to control it. I really don’t care what Armani thinks of me.
“Thanks.”
He stops a couple feet away. “Are you okay?”
“No, not really.”
“No. I guess you wouldn’t be,” he says. “That woman died for no reason.”
Something about his tone triggers me. Straightening fully, I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him. “Do you understand that I’m worried to death about Marco right now, or are you just going to sit there and pout over the fact that it was Jessica who got killed when it should have been me?”
I don’t give him a chance to respond.
“Maybe if you want to double team with my uncle, you can make sure the job gets done right next time,” I add.
He has the grace to look at his feet as I storm past him and make my way back to Marco’s room. Maybe my husband wasn’t the original target, but if he’s perceived as wounded and weak, he might become one. So from now on, I’m not taking my eyes off him.
I’ll do anything to keep Marco safe.