Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty Eight
Roberto
They take us back two at a time, through a set of double doors that whoosh shut like they’re sealing a vault. The ICU is colder than the waiting area and bright enough to hurt the eyes.
Everything is glass, monitors, tubing, stainless steel. I step in and pause a beat because my body needs that one second to adjust to seeing my brother as a patient.
Antonio lies in the bed, propped just a little, pale under the harsh light. A tube tapes his mouth. The ventilator pushes and releases with a steady sigh, numbers marching green on black.
His chest rises under a warmed blanket. A clear line runs into his neck—central access.
Wide plastic drains lie flat against the right side of his abdomen, exiting near a clean dressing.
There’s a blood pressure cuff around his left arm, an arterial line at his wrist, and the soft beep of the heart monitor tapping out a rhythm I memorize.
Luca stops at the foot of the bed and goes still, fists tight at his sides. He looks bigger when he’s angry, not from puffing up but from the way everything inside him locks into one direction.
I move to the other side and rest my hand against the cool rail. Up close, I count the details like a lawyer in an evidentiary review because that’s how I keep from losing the thread.
The right upper quadrant dressing is clean; the drainage bulbs show dark red but are not filling fast. The chart at the end of the bed lists meds: antibiotics, fluids, pressors titrated low, pain control. His vitals are steady. Dr. Patel did what she said she would do.
Luca clears his throat, rough. “He hates hospitals.”
“He’ll hate this one properly when he wakes up,” I say quietly. “He’ll complain the food’s bad and there’s nothing worth watching.”
The corner of Luca’s mouth twitches like he wants to agree and can’t get there. He steps closer to the head of the bed and studies Antonio’s face.
A bruise shadows his temple, probably from the scramble to get out. Dried blood clings to a small cut near his hairline; someone cleaned most of it, not quite all.
“He was talking,” Luca says, voice flat. “Nico said he kept giving orders.”
“That sounds like him.” My fingers settle on the side rail again. “He’ll be pissed we heard about his heroics.”
“He’ll be pissed it happened at all.” Luca’s eyes don’t leave Antonio.
“We’ll find out who did it,” I say, keeping my tone even because the only way to deal with Luca in this mood is to be calm.
Luca’s jaw works. He lifts his eyes to the glass wall, not at me but through me, past me, out to every street in this city that might hide an answer. “We start with the name. ‘Ferro.’ We find the cousin who ‘vouched.’ And when we find who did this, we burn them to the ground.”
“We’re already pulling feeds,” I say. “Vito will come in to see Antonio, then head out soon. I imagine Nico will do the same. They’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“Good.” He leans in a little, like he could shield Antonio from the light. “And the Russos.”
“We don’t know it was them,” I tell him. “Not yet. If it’s them, they’re smarter than their last attempt. Different shooters. Cleaner exit. Could be a subcontractor. Could be someone trying to pin it on them. They’ve been quiet since we took out Adriano Russo.”
I think back a few months, when Adriano Russo—younger brother of Leonardo, don of the Russo crime family— kidnapped Bianca in retaliation for the death of his son, Gabe, who had died on the floor of Luca’s bedroom after he’d tried to kill Elena.
Soon after we helped Giovanni recover Bianca, Adriano’s home had mysteriously gone up in flames, the result of an explosion.
So far, Don Leonardo and the Russos have been silent, but we can’t expect them to stay that way.
Luca’s eyes cut to me, but he nods. We’ve done this dance long enough to know when my side runs point.
The ventilator cycles. Antonio doesn’t move. I let out a slow breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“You should say something, talk to him,” I tell Luca. “They always say they can hear you speak.”
He places his palm over Antonio’s forearm, careful of the IV.
“It’s Luca,” he says, his voice low. “We’re all here. You did good. Now you gotta wake up so I can kick your ass for scaring us all like this.”
Unexpected laughter catches in my throat. I swallow it down.
“He’ll come out of it,” I reassure Luca. I aim my next words at Antonio. “He’d better, or else I’m taking a turn kicking his ass.”
We stand like that for a minute, then turn to walk away. Others want to come in and see him, too.
“When he wakes,” Luca says, dropping his hand, “I want a name for him before he opens his eyes. I want him to know we didn’t sit on our hands.”
“We’re not sitting on our hands,” I say. “We’ll get them. Right now, he’s the focus.”
Luca’s head snaps my way, anger moving like a tide. “I’m not waiting.”
“I didn’t say you should.” I keep my voice low and level. “You’re hunting. There’s a difference. You can hunt quiet. You can hunt smart. You taught me that.”
He breathes once through his nose, a sharp inhale that means I’ve bought us a few inches of patience.
We move through the double doors and see everybody still in the waiting room. My eyes land on Olivia, and I wonder again what happened to her when we donated. Further screening, she’d said. For what? Was something wrong?
Luca notices the direction of my eyes.
“Is it serious?”
“Yeah, it is,” I say. “Though I’m not sure how she feels anymore.”
“She figure it out?”
I look at him sharply. “Did Caterina talk to you?”
He lifts his brows. “No, she didn’t. But I’m not an idiot, and I recognize that Olivia isn’t one either. You should’ve been the one to tell her.”
“Of all people to say that,” I mutter.
“Don’t pin that on me. Whatever you did was your decision,” Luca says, irritated. “I didn’t tell you to lie to her.”
“What happened to family above everything?”
“Family is above everything. But the woman you love is family, you idiot.”
I stare at him. The word is like a punch in the gut. “That’s not—” I stop, because it is. It always has been, whether I’ve said it out loud or not.
Luca shakes his head once. “She’s here, with us, and has been for hours. If that’s not family, I don’t know what is. You want to protect her? Start by not making her your collateral lie. Fix it. Now.”
His eyes cut to the ICU doors. “If there’s anything we learn in this life, it’s that you may not have a later. Pull her aside or take her somewhere and talk to her.”
I glance at the doors, then back at Olivia across the room. My instinct is to plant my feet and stand guard. But Luca’s right—later is a story we tell ourselves until it isn’t there. I nod once. “Fine,” I say. “If Patel comes out, you call me.”
“Go,” Luca tells me.
I cross the room. Olivia feels me coming before she looks up; that sixth sense between us never left. “Walk with me?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
She studies my face for a beat, measuring risk, measuring me. Then she stands and falls in beside me. We pass the vending machines and the dim family lounge with its sagging couches and old magazines until we reach a quiet stretch by a window that looks out over the parking lot.
I stop with my shoulder to the glass and face her. The words crowd, too many, and not enough.
“Last night was a mess,” I say first, because it’s true and small enough to start with. “I said the wrong thing at the worst time. I won’t compound it here. But I need you to know: I didn’t use you. I didn’t lie to get you. And I won’t hurt you.”
She exhales, looks past my shoulder to the lot, then back at me. “You did hurt me,” she says. “With what you wouldn’t say. With what you let me believe.”
“I know.” The words are rough. “I thought keeping you outside of it was safer. I told myself that lie, and I let it run too long. That’s on me.”
Her mouth flattens. “How could I be safer in the dark?”
I have to tell her the truth. The full truth now. “I truly believed you were safer in the dark, Olivia.” I sigh. “But it was also safer for me.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “For you?
“When Maria died, there was no warning,” I tell her.
“No long illness, no slow goodbye. We woke up one morning, and halfway through breakfast, she said something about a headache, and that was it. One minute she was there. The next, she wasn’t.
It was… it broke something in me I didn’t know could break. ”
My voice comes out hollow. I keep going anyway.
“After the funeral, I learned what silence really sounds like. I learned what it was like to be completely alone at 3:00 in the morning. I learned how much a house echoes when there’s only one person in it.
I spent months trying to control anything I could—calendars, workout times, the exact way I folded shirts—because I couldn’t control the only thing I wanted to control.
I told myself I’d never feel that free fall again.
Never put myself in a position where I could. ”
Her face softens, just a little. I don’t let myself reach for it. “Roberto…”
“But it wasn’t only me,” I add. “You weren’t imagining it.
There are parts of my life that put people in the blast radius.
I thought if you didn’t know the details—if you stayed in the light we made between us—I could keep you safe and keep my heart out of the fire at the same time. I was wrong on both counts.”
She looks down, then up. “You could have told me that,” she says quietly. “Not the names. Just… that you were afraid.”
“I should have.” I nod once. “I thought if I said it, I’d make it true again. That I’d call it down on us. So I tried to keep you at a distance, at first anyway, and it didn’t work. I was trying to protect everything, and in doing so, I hurt you. I hurt us.”
For a moment, we just breathe. The window throws gray light across her cheekbones.
“Thank you for telling me,” she says at last. “It doesn’t fix it. But it’s true. I can hear that.”
She glances toward the ICU doors. “And right now, your brother is in there. This isn’t the time to rip the rest open.”
“But it is,” I say. “Luca’s right. Later isn’t always guaranteed, and I know that better than anyone.”
She studies me. “What are you trying to say right now?”
“That I love you,” I say simply. Her eyes widen. “I should’ve said it last night. I should’ve said it the day I realized it. I’m saying it now because it’s the only true thing that matters next to that room.” I nod toward the ICU.
“Whatever happens after, you don’t walk out of here thinking you were a convenience or a game. You weren’t. You aren’t.”
Her eyes shine; she blinks hard and looks away to the parking lot lights. “That doesn’t solve anything,” she whispers. “It just… makes the ground I’m standing on even shakier.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m not asking you to forgive me here. But I need you to know that I’m here for you, whatever you decide, that doesn’t change. I know you may not be thrilled with the idea of being part of this particular family, but you are family.”
Her eyes well with tears.
“That’s not—” She shakes her head. “Your family is… not what I imagined.”
“What? You were picturing Goodfellas?”
She lets out a watery laugh. “Maybe.”
“Hate to break it to you, schweetheart,” I say, emphasizing the accent. “But that’s just a movie.”
She almost smiles, wipes under one eye with the side of her finger. “I don’t know how to do this, Roberto. Any of it.”
“We take it one step at a time,” I answer. “Once Antonio wakes up, you and me in a room. You can ask me anything. If I can’t answer, I’ll say that—not dance around it. No more dodging.”
Footsteps pass at the end of the hall; a monitor chimes somewhere. She breathes out and, for a second, leans her shoulder against the glass beside mine. “Okay,” she says softly. “I can do that.”