Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Roberto
The waiting room has thinned, leaving only the sound of quiet voices in the halls and machines beeping.
Giovanni finally let me push him out an hour ago—Bianca was fading, and Stephano’s with the nanny. Elena left to give their nanny a break; one-year-old Alessandra is just starting to walk and is a handful.
Vito was long gone, pulling more threads. Nico tried to go with him, but Luca felt it wasn’t the right time for him to be doing that. Let Vito track some leads down and call when he finds something.
Nico wouldn’t leave at first. He sat there wearing Antonio’s dried blood, eyes fixed on the ICU doors as if stubbornness alone could fix it.
Luca had to pull rank as his father to finally get Nico to go home. It still took multiple tries. He finally left, jaw locked so tight, it’s a wonder his teeth didn’t shatter.
Now it’s just me and Luca.
He sits, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, thumb rubbing a groove into his knuckle. I stand half the time, pace the rest, counting steps between the vending machines and the double doors until the numbers repeat and lose meaning.
Every so often, a nurse crosses the far end, and my pulse jumps. Every so often, nothing happens at all, and that’s worse.
“Why don’t you go,” Luca says into the silence. “I’ll wait here.”
“You go,” I say. “You have a wife and kid at home.”
We look at each other, and exchange a small smile. We both know that neither of us is leaving.
Luca’s smile fades. He scrubs a hand over his jaw and looks at the ICU doors like he can will them to open. “He’s too damn stubborn to go out like this,” he says, his voice going quiet.
“He won’t,” I say. I sit across from Luca, hands loose between my knees.
“Then why won’t he wake the fuck up?” Luca asks.
“Like you said, he’s stubborn,” I say. “He’ll do it on his own time, but he’ll do it. And laugh at us for worrying.”
“Then I won’t feel so bad for kicking his ass,” Luca says, sitting back.
The doors whisper open, and a nurse I recognize from earlier steps out—dark curls pinned up, badge that says MARTINEZ. It’s Antonio’s night nurse.
“He’s awake,” she says.
We’re on our feet before the words finish.
“Not lucid,” she adds quickly, palms up. “He opened his eyes, tried to talk. He’s fighting the tube, so we have to sedate him again. I thought you might want a minute before we do.”
“Yes,” Luca says, already moving.
We follow her through the double doors. The ICU looks different with the lights dimmed. It’s still cold and impersonal, but there’s something spooky about it with fewer people around.
Antonio looks different, too. Still pale, but there’s a sign of life now. His eyes are open, unfocused, lids heavy. He tries to raise a hand, but it’s weak.
The breath catches in my throat. Antonio is always so full of life and laughter. To see my older brother like this, weak and struggling, is killing me.
“Hey,” Luca says, stepping to the head of the bed. “It’s me.”
Antonio’s gaze drifts and lands on Luca. He tries to speak around the tube, but Luca’s hand to his chest stops him.
“Don’t,” I say, sliding to the other side so he can see us both. “Don’t talk.”
His brow pulls together, and he tries again. I read the frustration and temper in his eyes.
I understand now.
“Nico’s fine,” I tell him. “He got out. Everybody did. You’re the only one napping on company time.”
That settles him, and his eyes go relaxed again with a slow blink.
His mouth moves again around the tube, but sleep is pulling him back under. His fingers flex in Luca’s hand.
“Everything will be fine, Ant,” Luca says. “Your only job is to heal, got it?”
That earns another slow blink.
His gaze shifts to me. I lean in so he doesn’t have to strain.
Something eases in his eyes. He tries again to make sound, but nothing comes out.
Nurse Martinez steps closer with a syringe, checks the line. “I have to sedate him again or he might dislodge it,” she says, then turns to Antonio. “We’re going to give you a little more to keep you comfortable. You’ll sleep.”
He blinks once, slowly. Luca squeezes his hand.
“Stubborn bastard,” Luca murmurs, and it comes out affectionate. “Scare the life out of us, then lie around and get the good stuff, huh?”
The nurse pushes the meds. The ventilator’s rhythm steadies as his fight drops out by degrees. His eyelids lower. Before they close, he looks at us one more time.
His eyes slide shut. The lines stop jumping. The room goes back to machine-sound and soft beeps. Nurse Martinez secures the tube and checks the drains with efficient hands.
“Good timing,” she says quietly. “You can stay another minute if you’d like.”
Luca doesn’t let go of his hand. I rest mine on the rail and watch his breathing on the monitor.
When the nurse comes back in a minute later with a look that says enough, we step back together.
“We’ll be outside,” I tell her.
She nods. “I’ll come get you if anything changes, but I expect he’ll sleep through the night.”
We walk out into the hall without speaking. At the threshold, Luca stops, scrubs a hand over his face, and lets out a breath that shakes once at the end. I clap his shoulder. He knocks his knuckles against mine, a small, hard thank-you, and we head back to the waiting room to stand guard again.