Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Enzo&Chloe
Enzo
My car sat right outside her gate. I carefully settled Chloe's pain-wracked body into it, then raced around to the driver's side and fired up the engine.
The damn rain was coming down hard. Driving fast in weather like this wasn't easy, but I had no choice. I was basically gambling with death at the speeds I was hitting.
"Ahh!"
Chloe screamed beside me. Through my peripheral vision, I saw her arch up, consumed by pain. Her hands clawed blindly at the air before finally latching onto my right hand on the gearshift, squeezing hard.
But I couldn't feel any physical pain. My heart was already being crushed by pure terror.
Nobody knew better than me how goddamn dangerous childbirth was for women. That's how my mother died.
Why the hell hadn't I prepared more? Why didn't I bring some doctors from New York when I came?
Chloe's grip on my hand slowly loosened. Eyes closed, she seemed to be losing strength.
"Chloe, Chloe!" I called her name desperately. "I'm here, Chloe. Look at me! Breathe, breathe with me—in, out. Please, keep your eyes open, don't you dare fall asleep!"
Chloe seemed too wracked with pain to hear me clearly. Her pale face was covered in cold sweat and rain.
"Open your eyes and look at me, Chloe! Talk to me! I won't let you pass out! You hear me? I won't let anything happen to you!"
The car tore through the storm for fifteen minutes. Those fifteen minutes felt longer than a century. I controlled the sliding vehicle with one hand on those rain-slicked curves, constantly turning to check on her. Every time she convulsed with pain, my face went another shade whiter.
For the first time in my life, I felt a suffocating, crushing sense of helplessness and fear.
Finally—finally—we arrived.
I slammed to a stop at the emergency entrance of the town's small community hospital. Didn't even close the car door. I jumped out, ran to the passenger side, pulled her out, and charged toward the emergency room doors like a madman.
"Doctor! Someone!" I kicked open the glass doors, bellowing like a lunatic. "She's in labor! Her water broke! Help her!"
The duty nurse stuck her head out from behind the counter. Seeing this drenched, wild-eyed man carrying an equally soaked pregnant woman, she immediately hit the call button. A gurney came rushing over. They tried to take Chloe from my arms.
My fingers were still wrapped around her hand. I wouldn't let go. My whole body was shaking. I was terrified that if I loosened my grip, she'd vanish.
"Sir! Let go! I understand how you feel, but trust us!"
The nurse shouted at me to release her. I finally snapped back to reality and loosened my grip.
The nurses finally got Chloe from my arms and rushed her toward the delivery room. I didn't bother wiping the rain off myself, just followed right behind.
But a nurse stopped me at the door, her tone firm. "Sir, you can't go in like that. You'll catch a cold, and it's not sanitary."
A muffled groan of pain came from inside. My face went white instantly.
"I'm the baby's father. Let me in, please. I have to see her." I gripped the nurse's arm so tightly she kept crying out, but I barely noticed.
God, if I couldn't see her, I was going to lose my mind.
A doctor poked her head out, looked at me teetering on the edge of control, and finally waved her hand. "Get him an isolation gown. Quick."
I fumbled into the thin blue disposable surgical gown, then rushed into the harsh white lights of the delivery room.
Those hours in that delivery room were the most terrifying, endless hell I've ever experienced.
Wave after wave of pain destroyed Chloe.
Sweat and tears covered her face. She gripped the rails on either side of the bed, nails nearly tearing off.
I stood beside the bed, my hands wrapped tightly around hers, feeling like I was shattering right along with her.
"The baby's breech! The mother needs to push!" A nurse's sharp voice echoed through the room.
Hearing that, my vision went black. Her situation was just like my mother's. No wonder she was in so much pain.
There were moments—watching the wildly fluctuating numbers on the monitors and her gradually weakening breaths—when I genuinely thought Chloe wasn't going to make it.
No. Without her? I couldn't imagine how I'd go on living.
"Chloe, please... don't leave me." I kissed her sweat-soaked knuckles, tears falling beyond my control. "Just hang on a little longer. For our child, and for me... please..."
Chloe didn't have the strength to answer. She drifted in and out of consciousness from the pain, and each time the nurses shouted to wake her up.
This nightmarish torture lasted seven hours. Finally, with one piercing, guttural scream as she bit down hard, the doctor shouted excitedly, "It's out!"
The ordeal was finally over.
Chloe collapsed limply on the delivery bed, seemingly without even the strength to open her eyes. The nurse quickly cleaned the tiny baby that had slipped from her body, then carefully placed it on Chloe's chest.
The child gave Chloe her last bit of strength. She weakly opened her eyes to look at this small life that had just entered the world.
I saw tears spill from Chloe's eyes. She lowered her head and gently touched her lips to her daughter's forehead, her voice hoarse as she whispered, "Your name is Emily, okay? Emily, hello there."
Watching this scene, the taut string of my nerves finally snapped.
Overwhelming relief, wild joy, and heartbreak all hit me at once. I completely collapsed to the floor.
I could no longer maintain any shred of dignity. I bent deeply forward, my hands covering my face, scalding tears flooding through my fingers.
"My God, oh my God..."
I buried my face in my palms, shoulders shaking violently, sobbing like a believer reborn under the harsh fluorescent lights of the delivery room.
Chloe
I don't remember when I fell asleep.
When I woke up, the delivery room lights were off, replaced by the soft wall lamps of a hospital room. My baby was in the bassinet beside me, wrapped in a pale pink blanket, sleeping peacefully. I stared at her, my chest swelling and full, waves of tender emotion nearly overwhelming me.
My little angel, welcome to this world.
Then I turned my head and saw someone sitting in the corner of the room.
Enzo.
He sat in a plastic chair, posture awkward, long legs stretched out with nowhere to fit, upper body leaning against the backrest with his head tilted.
He'd changed into clean clothes, but his hair wasn't completely dry, messily plastered to his forehead.
Dark circles heavy under his eyes, his whole face looked like someone had drained two shades of color from it.
Enzo's eyes were open. He'd clearly been awake all night. He was watching me. Had been for who knows how long.
Faced with that direct, burning gaze, I instinctively wanted to look away. I must look terrible right now, right?
After hesitating, I met his eyes. "You lied to me again."
Enzo froze.
"You said you were leaving. You never left at all."
His lips moved, like he wanted to make excuses. But in the end, he didn't. He just admitted it.
"I didn't leave." His voice was so hoarse it sounded like his throat was full of broken glass. "I drove to the edge of town and stopped. Sat there for two hours. I told myself I should go. You told me to leave, and I promised you I would go. But I couldn't do it."
He looked down, staring at the scabbed-over wounds on the back of his hand.
"I turned around. Parked my car on the street across from your house, killed the lights, and just sat there wanting to be close to you. But then the storm came," his voice paused. "I had a bad feeling."
"So you broke down my door."
"So I broke down your door."
I looked at his face, my eyes burning. Dark circles under his eyes, cracked lips, stubble grown out again. He'd sat in that hard plastic chair all night without changing position, and the bandage on his left arm showed a fresh ring of pale pink seepage.
Besides those wounds—the gunshot wound on his left arm, the blood marks on his hands where I'd scratched him—there had to be more injuries I couldn't see, all from searching for me.
"I know I broke my word again," he said, "but I absolutely didn't want to hurt you."
I didn't respond. A few seconds of silence.
"I'd give up everything for you." Enzo's voice was very soft, as if afraid to wake the baby in the bassinet. "The Don title, wealth, even my life. Whatever you want, I'll give you. I'm just asking for a chance to atone."
"I can't give you that," I looked down, somehow unable to meet his eyes. "I can't forget what you did, Enzo. I still want you to leave. Now you've seen the baby. Please just go."
Enzo nodded. He slowly stood up, hands braced on his knees. When he rose, his back was bent, like he'd gone stiff. He took two steps toward the door.
I watched his retreating figure, feeling somehow heartsick.
In my mind, Enzo Falcone shouldn't be like this. He was always commanding, in control.
How did we end up like this?
But I still bit my lip and didn't say a word.
Just then, my phone rang. Enzo looked over at the same time.
The name on the screen made me pause.
Martha Bennett. My mother.
She almost never called me. After she'd literally sold me out, I couldn't imagine what bond remained between us.
But after hesitating, I answered.
The second the call connected, a shrill, ear-piercing curse blasted through the speaker.
"Chloe Bennett, you bitch! What did you do?"
The voice was so loud that even through the phone, I'm sure Enzo could hear it.
I covered the phone, rolled onto my side, trying to keep it away from the bassinet so Martha's voice wouldn't wake my daughter.
"Richard is dead!" My mother's voice was hysterical, too chaotic to make out clearly.
"He was shot! It was you! You and those trashy people you hang around with!
You've been like this since you were little—seducing men!
You ruined Richard's and my life, and now you've taken his life too! You murderer! You're a murderer!"
I sat on the hospital bed, phone pressed to my ear, completely still as I listened to everything she had to say.
In the past, every time I got a call from my mother, no matter what she said, I'd be upset for a long time. I'd wake up in the middle of the night replaying her cutting words, asking myself if maybe she was right, if maybe everything really was my fault.
But today, as her voice poured through the phone, I felt strangely calm.
Richard Vance was dead. That Richard Vance who everyone saw as a good teacher, good neighbor, good man. That animal who'd put his filthy hands on a little girl but was never suspected by anyone. Dead. Shot.
I was almost certain Enzo had something to do with this.
My mother was still cursing on the other end. I calmly pulled the phone from my ear and hit end call.
Enzo was still standing by the door, head slightly tilted. His expression showed he'd heard at least part of it.
"You went to see my mom?" I asked him.
"Yes." He turned to face me. "When I was looking for you, I wanted to see if you'd gone back there."
I looked into his eyes. He looked back. Some silent communication passed between us, no words needed.
"What was her reaction?"
The corner of Enzo's mouth moved almost imperceptibly. "Quite lively. Very good at cursing."
A fair assessment, but I knew he'd done far more than that. I wanted to ask if Richard's death was really his doing, but before I could ask, he gave me the answer.
Enzo tilted his head slightly and said quietly, "It was me. I'm sorry I didn't discuss it with you first."
Sorry.
Enzo had been apologizing to me almost daily lately. For different things, in different ways. Sometimes for something specific, sometimes just a random utterance after silence. Before, getting Enzo Falcone to say sorry would've been harder than making the sun rise in the west.
But now the word came from him more and more naturally, so natural it no longer sounded like a line but had become a way of breathing.
I didn't know how to respond to his apology. After he'd suddenly appeared and saved me and the baby, I couldn't keep blaming him. But I couldn't say anything about forgiveness either.
Awkward silence filled the space around us.
Enzo didn't say anything more. He gently pulled open the door and walked out. Before it closed, he glanced back at the baby in the bassinet, his gaze lingering on that tiny body wrapped in pink for two seconds, then the door shut.
The room was quiet again. Just the beeping of the heart monitor and the baby's even breathing.
I didn't lie back down, but I felt a strange sense of release in my heart.