4. Veronica
4
VERONICA
T he sterile hum of the hospital feels less invasive as I stir, bathed in the faint warmth of morning light filtering through a set of partially closed blinds. My chest feels like it’s been trampled by a herd of elephants, and my throat is raw.
I shift my head slightly, and the movement feels monumental. My eyes flutter open. A figure stands at the foot of my bed, flipping through a chart.
“Water…” The word scrapes out, barely audible, but the nurse looks up instantly.
“You’re awake!” Her voice is warm but calm, her presence steady and reassuring. She steps closer and pours a small cup of water, pressing the edge of the straw to my lips. “Take it slow. Just a sip for now.”
The water feels like heaven, cool and soothing as it trickles down my throat. My muscles tremble as I try to sit up, but the nurse gently presses a hand to my shoulder. “Not yet. You’ve been through a lot. Let your body adjust.”
“What happened?” My voice is still weak.
The nurse sets the cup down and pulls a chair closer to the bed.
“Do you remember anything?” she asks gently. Her kind eyes meet mine, full of concern.
I close my eyes for a moment, sifting through fragments of memory. The bridge. Marco. The cold, unforgiving water. My body seizing as the river dragged me under.
My voice wavers as I whisper, “I was thrown in. My ex. Marco Gorlami. He tried to kill me.”
Her expression tightens, but she nods, her tone professional. “Do you remember anything else?”
I shake my head, the movement sluggish.
Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t push. “Is there anyone we can call for you? Any family?”
My chest tightens. “My parents are dead.”
“No one else?”
“Yes. Elena Carlton. She’s engaged to Dmitri Chekov.”
“Do you know her number?”
“I always just pressed her name on my phone.” My voice cracks, and I force myself to focus. “Can you find her? Please.”
“We’ll do our best,” she promises, her voice steady. She squeezes my hand briefly before standing. “Try to rest. I’ll be back soon.”
My gaze drifts to the small window, the skyline of New York peeking through. For a moment, I get an image of a man. A strong man. Tattooed arms. Dragging me out of the water. Telling me I’ll be okay. Looking at my arm, and frowning.
A cop steps into the room, his figure cutting a sharp silhouette against the morning light. He’s middle-aged, with a face that looks like it’s seen too many long nights. His police badge glints from his belt.
“Miss…?” He pauses, his tone more wary than friendly. “Do you remember your name?”
“Bennett,” I croak, my voice still rough. “Veronica Bennett.”
The cop nods, pulling out a small notebook. “Detective Russo,” he says, sitting in the chair next to the bed. “You mind telling me what happened? Nurse says you were thrown in the river. That true?”
My pulse quickens as I try to sit up, but the lingering pain keeps me pinned. “Marco Gorlami,” I say slowly, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. “He threw me in.”
Russo’s pen pauses mid-scribble, his eyes flicking to mine. “Marco Gorlami,” he repeats, sounding suspicious. “Are you sure about that name?”
“Yes,” I snap, the anger giving my voice strength. “I’m sure. Why?”
He exhales heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Miss Bennett, you need to understand something. I spoke to Marco Gorlami. He wasn’t in New York that night.”
“What are you talking about?”
He lowers his voice. “You’re talking about Vito Lombardi’s nephew, right?”
The name hits me hard. Everyone in New York knows Vito Lombardi—the head of the city’s most powerful Italian crime family. “Marco’s his nephew?”
“You didn’t know?”
The asshole is in the fucking Italian mafia. That’s just perfect.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, though the sinking feeling in my chest already tells me the answer.
Russo’s mouth tightens. “It means Marco has ten witnesses swearing he was at a private event in Chicago that night. Swearing he couldn’t have been anywhere near you or the Hudson.”
“That’s not possible,” I whisper. “He tried to kill me.”
Russo shrugs, the gesture heavy with resignation. “Doesn’t matter what’s true. What matters is what people will swear to. And with the Lombardis…”
He trails off, shaking his head. “Your best bet? Stay away. Disappear if you have to.” He walks over to the door. “You fell in, right? Anyone asks, you fell in. Simple as that.”
Then he’s gone.
I hear a voice, a familiar, frantic voice, calling out somewhere in the corridor.
“Where is she?” Elena is shouting. “Veronica Bennett, where is she? Is she here?”
A moment later, the door bursts open. Elena is here, filling the space with her presence like a whirlwind. Her hair is slightly disheveled, and tears streak her flushed cheeks.
For a moment, she stands frozen, her wide eyes locking onto mine. Then she rushes forward, careful but desperate, and throws her arms around me.
“Oh my God, Veronica,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “You’re alive. You’re okay. I thought you were gone. It’s been a month. Jesus, I should have found you before now. I’m so sorry.”
I flinch slightly at the pressure of her hug against my sore ribs, but I don’t stop her. I can’t. The raw emotion in her voice cuts me deeply.
“Elena,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “I’m okay.”
She pulls back, her hands cupping my face as she studies me. Her eyes are full of tears, her lip trembling. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she says fiercely. Her voice falters, and she looks away for a moment, collecting herself.
“Dmitri’s been looking for you,” she continues, her voice steadier. “He’s had everyone searching for weeks. We checked the hospitals but you must have slipped through the net somehow.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It wasn’t…” My voice cracks, and I take a shaky breath.
She sits on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in hers. Her touch is firm but warm. “What happened? Please, tell me everything.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry and tight. “You remember the job interview?” I begin slowly.
She nods. “That was the last day I heard from you. I went to the building but no one remembered seeing you there.”
“It wasn’t a real job. Marco set it up.”
“Marco? Who’s Marco?”
“I never told you about him. We dated for about a month before he turned psycho so I dumped him. That was six months back. Seven, now I guess.
I show her the scar on my arm. “Remember how I told you it was an accident?” I shake my head. “Anyway, I got out of it and thought that was that but he stalked me.
“All those dates I had, he scared off the men dating me. All of them. Hacked into my emails and found out I was job hunting, set up an interview, hired a room downtown. Told me he wanted me to marry him. I told him to get lost and he knocked me out.”
I pause to steady myself, the memories hitting me hard. “When I woke up, I was dangling over a bridge. He threw me into the river. He tried to kill me.”
Her hand tightens around mine, her eyes wide with horror. “That son of a bitch,” she spits, her voice trembling with anger. “I’ll kill him myself.”
I let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Pretty sure you’d look terrible in prison orange.”
“I’d only be in there until Dmitri had a word with the warden.” She frowns. “I guess we should thank God you’re such a good swimmer.”
I shake my head. “Someone pulled me out.”
“Oh my God? Who?”
“No idea. The nurse said it was some guy in a boat, but he didn’t stay. He saved me and then he just disappeared.”
Her expression softens for a moment, but the fury returns quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me about Marco?” she asks, her voice breaking. “I could have helped.”
Shame washes over me, and I look away. “I thought it was the real thing at first,” I admit quietly. “I wanted to be able to tell you I’d been dating properly for a while, no more one night stands.
“When he turned psycho, I was embarrassed. I thought it was my fault.”
“What?”
“For not being strong enough to see the red flags. I didn’t want you to think less of me.”
Her grip on my hand tightens. “Veronica, listen to me. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it.” Her expression hardens. “I promise you this. Marco is a dead man.”
I manage to wash with Elena’s help. The bathroom light is harsh, and when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I freeze.
Bruises have bloomed across my arms and neck, dark and angry against my pale skin. Elena sees them too, her face hardening.
She swallows hard, blinking back tears. “I swear to God, Veronica, Dmitri will rip him to pieces.”
“No,” I interrupt, gripping her arm. “Elena, he mustn’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“This cop came in. He said Marco is Vito Lombardi’s nephew.”
“As in the Vito Lombardi?”
“Yep, and they already have ten witnesses saying he wasn’t even there that night.”
Her jaw tightens, and I see the frustration in her eyes. “Dmitri will still handle this,” she says fiercely. “He can have Marco killed.”
“Not without causing a mob war,” I say quickly, my voice rising despite the pain it causes. “You know what it would mean if we kill Vito’s nephew.”
Her expression softens, but the determination doesn’t leave her eyes.
“We’ll work something out. Until then, you’re staying with us.” She squeezes my hand. “He’ll pay for hurting you, I swear to the almighty Gods of the Bratva.”