Chapter 35 Naomi
The first thing that hits me when I wake up is that my hands aren’t on my belly.
Why not?
Panic grabs me, and I scramble to reach down, to settle my palms over the rounded curve, to feel something, anything. When the tiny flutter inside registers, growing stronger against my touch, I breathe out a sigh of relief and fall back onto…soft pillows and a cool mattress?
My eyes pop open, and I sit up with a start. This is a room I don’t know. The walls are pale blue striped wallpaper, the furniture and décor the kind to grace a Pinterest board dedicated to cottage-core interiors.
There’s a tug on my left hand, and I glimpse the IV going into my vein. Horror floods me, and I want to retch. Not again! If they’ve put a line in, that means they’re feeding me drugs. I might still be in that dank basement behind the vault doors, only my mind is playing tricks on me, making me see this well-appointed bedroom, and—
The flutter against my belly deepens, growing more hectic. More agitated.
No… I gulp down hard. Something bad isn’t happening to my baby. It can’t be happening. I have to protect her, look out for her. I force myself to breathe in deep and think. When did this increased activity start? When I noticed the plastic tube going from the cannula stuck in the back of my hand. I panicked, and this in turn made the baby panic.
Okay, note to self when expecting: think of the baby first.
I force deep breaths in, trying to calm myself and sharpen my focus. When I open my eyes after my breathing has quietened, I glance around the room again and pinch myself on the arm. It hurts, so not dreaming. I am indeed here. Next, I train my gaze onto the pouch of clear liquid hanging from a metal pole. It seems to read Glutathione on the label. That’s not something harmful. In fact, I was reading about this a while back—it’s a master antioxidant, useful for healing, and there’s nothing it can’t do to help the body work at its peak. It was all the rage on health blogs and in women’s mags not long ago.
Not a poison, not a drug, not a hallucination. And I’m not in that basement, though I don’t recognize this place. I’m not in the Short Hills house, nor at home. Is this another of Valentino’s safe houses?
I jerk upright. Val! Where is he? What happened to him? I haven’t seen him since we were separated in that hotel room. Me being here, it must mean he got me out. A burst of warmth surges in my chest. He came for me. He saved me. Just like I knew he would.
“Val?” I call out.
When no one comes, I frown a little. Wait, IV in my hand. Last time, Renata put it in and got it out. Maybe she’s around.
“Renata?” I call a little louder.
A few moments later, the small woman bustles into the room, coming over to me in a cloud of rambling Italian.
“Ah, piccola. You are awake.” She takes my face in both her palms and kisses me on the cheeks. “You want this out, I assume,” she continues, waving at the IV. “You were so severely dehydrated, and Victor suggested the glutathione will help you recover…”
She rambles on, but I’m not really listening anymore. Victor suggested the drip? Not a doctor? Valentino would’ve had a doctor here before we’d even reached the house. As it stands, it appears I’ve been looked over by a nurse and my brother-in-law.
Something’s not computing…
“Where’s Valentino?” I ask.
Silence meets me. There’s movement in the doorway of the bedroom, and I look up to find the wall of muscle that is Victor there, and I do a double-take when I see another man next to him. He looks so much like Luciano, but it’s not him. This one is prettier, like a male model.
“Franco?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He smiles widely and strolls into the room to come hug me on the bed. I wince a little when his arms close around me, and I guess he felt that because he moves away abruptly all while making sure not to jerk me in the process.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Everyone’s got to meet you already except me,” he replies. “I was getting impatient, decided to pop on a plane and come back. London was getting boring, too. About to go into its yearly two weeks of heatwave.”
I can’t help but think he’s telling the truth, yet he also sounds too glib. Valentino was right—Franco is indeed a playboy now, and he has the suave manner and easy touch and speech to charm people in a snap.
I won’t get any answer from him—suddenly, I know there’s something they’re not telling me. A round of flutters in my belly starts anew, and I place a hand over it as I turn to Victor, who’s come into the room and is standing a few paces away.
“Where Val?” I ask him.
His rough-hewn face grows tense, a tightening evident at the corner of his lips.
I swallow, hard. Dread is flooding me, but I recall Serafina, my daughter—I’ve already started calling her by this name in my mind. I force myself to breathe, thinking of her.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, looking at all three of them in turn.
Their silence speaks legions, and I balk, curling in on myself as I wrap my arms around my midsection.
“Something’s happened,” I whisper. “He’s…”
I can’t bring myself to say it. He can’t be… Not my Val. This, whatever it is, happened when he came to get me, to rescue me yet again from the bastard who’s had his eye only on my maternal family’s money all this time.
“Tell me he’s alive,” I bite out.
Victor grunts something.
Renata clasps my IV-free hand. “He is, figlia.”
I gasp, trying to keep the trepidation at bay. “But?”
Franco and Victor exchange a glance.
“Oh, come on!” I snap. “Out with it. Now.”
I’m younger than these men, but I know how Italian families work. I’m their eldest brother’s wife, which makes me their eldest sister-in-law, never mind my actual age. That’s deference and respect owed to someone just below their mother and grandmothers.
Franco’s the one who speaks up.
“Val is in the hospital, Naomi.”
I hitch in a sharp breath. “And?”
“And he’s unconscious,” he continues. “Hasn’t woken up yet since his surgery.”
“Surgery for what?” I need all the details, then I can panic away. Or not.
“He was stabbed in the abdomen. Three times. By Jasir Berisha, the man who was holding you captive.”
The big guy in the track suit whose boy I killed.
“He’s dead, I hope?” I ask, not sure where the hardness in me is coming from.
Victor nods solemnly. I’m guessing he’s the one who took care of that. After that motherfucker got the drop on my husband.
“Wasn’t anyone protecting him?” I ask, tone clipped.
“He hid behind a panel in the wall, came out when we’d cleared the place,” Victor replies.
Tears are clogging my throat, but I know I can’t let them flow. I won’t be able to stop if I do, and such agony and despair wanting to be let out? It can’t—won’t—be good for the baby. I have to keep it together for her. And also, for Valentino.
“What’s the prognosis?” I whisper.
Franco inhales sharply. “There was quite some damage, and he lost a lot of blood.”
I press my lips together to stay the sobs.
“Take me to him,” I say.
“Naomi,” he sighs. “There isn’t anything you can do for him. And you also need to rest—”
“It wasn’t a request.”
I sound so cold and matter-of-fact, even I’m astounded by my tone. It brooks no argument.
It’s Victor who nods, accepting things for what they are. There’s no way they can stop me from seeing Valentino.
I nod back, then turn to Renata and extend my hand. “Please?”
She gets to work removing the IV and putting a small plaster in place. “I’ll get you some clothing and also something to eat.”
“No need for food,” I say, then start reeling as I stand up. Franco catches me with an arm around my waist. I can’t do this on an empty stomach. The IV kept me hydrated, but I probably haven’t had any food since the wedding dinner after which I was kidnapped. I don’t even know which day it is. “How long…?”
“You’ve been here for over twelve hours,” Franco tells me.
Which means Valentino must’ve been in the hospital for just as long. And if he hasn’t woken up yet— No, I refuse to think of this. He’ll make it. He has to. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and we also have a daughter coming. A miracle, a blessing, given everything that’s happened in the past few months since she was conceived.
“Renata? A smoothie to drink in the car?” I ask, conceding.
“Pronto,” she says as she exits the room.
I glance at the two hulking men with me. “Okay, none of you is helping me change.”
A slash of color appears on both their cheekbones, then Franco quips, “Val would kill us if we were to see you undressed.”
I can’t help but laugh a little at this. Valentino is not a prude, but he is a very possessive man. No other man but he will be allowed to see me in my underwear or wearing less than that.
Val… My heart squeezes. Against the wall of my abdomen, I can feel the baby. Is she moving? Kicking? I don’t even know exactly how far along I am. I need to see a doctor asap, for sure, but I can find out some more information in the meantime. The priority right now is being with my husband.
Renata comes back a few moments later with a smoothie in a travel cup and a flared maxi dress which she helps me into. I thought I’d need a shower, but seems she also cleaned me up before getting me into a pair of satin pajamas last night.
It’s painful to move; there are kinks all over my body, and my back is on fire with every pull and stretch of the muscles. No wonder given how hard that asshole kicked me when I was down. Renata hands me some ibuprofen, but I eye it warily. Same way I know glutathione helps in healing—I read a lot—I know this type of painkiller is not recommended during pregnancy.
“You wouldn’t have some Tylenol, would you?” I ask.
She raises her eyebrows, but comes back with a couple pills I down with a sip of the strawberry and whey powder smoothie.
I get into the car, again moving gingerly, with Victor behind the wheel and Franco beside me on the back seat, and we’re off to the hospital. I have no idea where exactly Val’s been taken, and it surprises me when we enter a leafy area with no building taller than three stories. I don’t know when, but my hand has crept toward Franco’s, and he clasps it in his warm palm as we pass through big iron gates into a lavish property surrounded by acres of lawn and very old trees along the drive.
When we emerge in front of a Neo-classical dwelling that reminds me of the White House but with terracotta-colored walls, I can’t help but gasp.
“It’s a private hospital,” Franco tells me.
He doesn’t add for Mafia Dons, but I hear it. Valentino is swimming in a totally different, entirely separate pool from where he came from, let alone uncharted waters. Looking at this place, it’s obvious confidentiality is the name of the game here. There’s not a sound to be heard outside aside from the chirp of little birds.
We alight, and my hand sneaks into Franco’s hold again. I love Luciano and Victor, but Franco, he was always special, the kind of person you can’t help but gravitate to because he’s a safe space. He’s open in his manner and ways, unlike Victor who embodies stoic, whereas Valentino and Luciano both have a certain prim and proper comportment to them, like reserved and polite gentlemen of old. I’m glad to have him here with me.
The interior looks nothing like a hospital, at least not at first. The rooms, though, there’s no way to hide those beds and all those machines, all these beeping devices my husband is hooked to.
That’s the first thing I register when I get to peep at him. Not the fact he’s lying there immobile, or the thick tube going into his mouth and down his throat that is keeping him breathing, or the pallor of his usually golden skin. No, it’s the many screens with colored lines and blinking numbers. That’s what his life has been reduced to.
Luciano’s in the room, and he doesn’t seem surprised I’m here. Francesca was in an armchair, and she jumps up and comes over to hug me tight as soon I cross into the space. I feel the despair in her hold, the relief I’m here, yet also how fragile she is right now, clinging to hope, not wanting to give in to the darkness. I feel all of this, an echo of mine as she all but crushes me. The painkillers are working, though, somewhat. Right now, we’re united in our love for this man, and that’s all that matters.
When she releases me, Luciano pulls me tenderly to him in a one-armed hug. I lay my head for a moment against his solid chest, then tear myself away, taking hesitant steps to Val’s bedside.
I stop next to him, and it’s as if time stops. I want to will him to wake up, but I know he won’t, not just because I ask him to. He can’t. There’s a pouch of blood hanging on the metal pole, not a bag of fluid, which tells me how dire his condition is. After all this time, he’s still getting transfused.
Valentino… My beautiful Val, the man I have loved since I didn’t even know what love meant concretely. The only one who’s snuck into my heart and held it. I know there’s a place for my daughter in there, for our future children, but that part he holds? It will eternally be his.
I reach out and gently run my fingertips over his cheek, brushing a lock of unruly black hair at his temple. “Hey, my love.”
I’m hoping he can hear me, that somehow, he knows I’m here.
The others are still in the room, despite this probably being an ICU unit or something—you don’t throw a Don’s entourage, much less his family, out. I can feel them behind me, yet they give me my space, let me commune with their brother in this moment.
Val. He’s in this state because he had to come rescue me. Again. All because of the bastard who gave me half his DNA only as a ticket to steal my fortune, and I don’t mean just my money. He took my mother from me first, and today, he’s responsible for my husband hanging between life and death like this. It’s a miracle after all he’s done and has had done to me that my child is still clinging on inside my womb, alive and kicking.
Resolve and grit flow into me as I tighten my fists around the rail of the hospital bed.
This has been going on for too long. It has to end.
Right now, I know there’s no other way. For Valentino. For Serafina. For my family.
I turn toward my husband’s siblings and train my gaze over them one by one. I can see the men straightening, Francesca cocking her head in curiosity.
“There’s something we need to do,” I tell them.
“What?” Luciano asks.
“Joel Smith. He has to die.”