Chapter 15 SOPHIA #2
"How is he?" I ask Luciano breathlessly, while my head is already whipping to the one single bed in the room.
Marcello lies motionless under a pale blue blanket, his left leg elevated in a sling, wrapped in thick layers of gauze and bandaging.
His shoulder is similarly dressed, with the upper arm strapped tightly to prevent movement.
A brutal gash mars his temple, disappearing beneath the thick white dressing that covers most of his skull.
A ventilator tube snakes from his mouth, hissing steadily in rhythm with the machine beside him.
Monitors beep with sterile detachment, tracking vitals, oxygen levels, and brain activity, like a cruel orchestra keeping time to how close he is to dying.
My knees go weak.
"Jesus, Marcello…" My hand flies to my chest, like I can stop my heart from breaking right here in the doorway.
Luciano stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, jaw clenched. "They had to remove a part of his skull to relieve the pressure. Bullet hit him in the temple. Doctors said if it had gone a few millimeters deeper…"
He doesn’t finish.
I walk toward my brother, every step heavy, like I’m trudging through water. "Does he know I’m here?" It’s a stupid question.
"He’s in a medically induced coma," Luciano replies. "He hasn’t woken up once since surgery. They’re keeping him under to let his brain heal."
I reach his bedside and take his hand, the only part of him not bruised, bloodied, or bound. It's cold. Still, I grip it anyway. "I’m here," I whisper and hear my voice cracking.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I force them to stay at bay. I lean down and whisper into Marcello’s ear, "You are not allowed to die. Do you hear me? I’ve lost too many people already, and I swear to God, if you leave me too, I’ll—I’ll kill you myself."
His fingers don’t move, and his face stays slack. Only the machines respond.
A soft knock on the sliding glass door jerks me upright.
I wipe my cheeks quickly and try to pull myself together as it opens.
A woman steps in. Probably around my age, maybe a bit older.
Blonde hair pulled back neatly, she wears dark purple scrubs with a name badge that reads "Violet.
" She has a kind face. But it’s her eyes that stop me. They land on me with compassion.
"Are you his nurse?" I ask, my voice is hoarse from crying.
She walks closer and offers her hand. "Yes, I’m Violet."
My fingers tremble when I pull off the ruby-studded bracelet Roberto gave me on our wedding night. It was meant to be a leash. But now it feels like an offering. "Here," I whisper, pressing it into her palm.
Her eyes widen, but I’m already clawing at my earlobes, pulling out the matching earrings. "And here." I drop them into her hand, my trembling voice matches my fingers. "Please. I need you to do everything you can. I can’t lose him, too." The last word cracks in my throat, and I break into a sob.
Behind her, someone clears his throat. I glance up to see Luciano watching us with a strange expression—half pity, half warning.
"Sophia, I don’t think…" he starts.
"I’ll write you a check, too," I interrupt, desperate. "Just tell me how much."
But Violet gently sets the jewelry on the bed beside Marcello and kneels down beside me. Her voice is calm and steady. "This isn’t necessary. I assure you, your brother is getting the very best care humanly possible."
I clutch Marcello’s limp hand tighter, choking back another sob. "He won’t wake up."
Violet’s voice softens. "Has anybody explained to you what happened to him?"
I nod through the tears. "He was shot."
Violet crouches beside me, her hands braced gently on my knees, grounding me. "He was shot multiple times, yes. The doctors say they will all heal in time."
"But he’s not waking up." The words come out as a broken hiccup.
"The worst of his injuries is his head wound," she explains, nodding at the thick white bandage wrapped around Marcello’s head. "The bullet took out part of his skull."
A sob escapes me, sharp and raw.
"Violet, with all due respect, I don’t think—" Luciano begins behind her.
But Violet cuts him off. Her voice is steady, unflinching. "His brain wasn’t directly damaged by the bullet, but there is some brain swelling, which is why the doctors put him into an artificial coma."
I nod, trying to absorb it, trying to believe it means there’s still hope. "Okay," I whisper. My tears slow. "So they’ll wake him up? When?"
"As soon as the swelling is down. Then they’ll put a new piece of bone or metal in to seal his skull back up."
A ragged breath shakes through me. I sit up a little straighter, wipe my face with the back of my hand, and nod. "Thank you."
I place my hands over hers. "Thank you," I repeat, the words drenched in every ounce of gratitude I can offer.
Violet rises slowly, giving me space, giving me the chance to pull her back if I need more, but I don’t. I feel steadier now, somehow. She steps away, grabs a few tissues from a box on the counter, and hands them to me. I dab at my eyes, gentle and careful, but not gentle enough.
Because she sees them.
Her gaze sharpens.
"Who did this to you?" she asks, her voice sounds fierce.
My heart stops. My hand falters. Shit.
"It’s nothing," I lie, my head bowing automatically. "Nobody hurt me. I fell off a horse."
I push to my feet. Luciano rises too. His hand comes up, gentle but firm, tilting my chin toward him. His eyes burn. "Marcello won’t be happy seeing this."
"It’s nothing, really," I insist, trying to laugh it off. It comes out raspy and fake. "Like I said, I just fell off a horse."
Violet steps forward. "If that’s the case, you should be checked out. I can—"
Panic seizes me. I shake my head quickly. "That’s not necessary. I’m fine."
"Sophia?" a deep voice calls from behind me.
My stomach plummets. No. I don’t even have to turn around. I know that voice. I feel it in my spine. “Roberto,” I answer, pressing the tissue back to my face, turning with every ounce of composure I can scrape together. "My husband, Roberto Giordano," I say, almost like I’m reminding myself.
"I told you to wait for me," he snaps, stepping into the room and gripping my elbow hard. "You shouldn’t be here alone."
His fingers bite into my skin. I don’t look at them. I can’t. I just keep my eyes down. "I didn’t want to distract you. You’re so busy."
My voice sounds so small and weak. I hate it. But it’s safer this way.
I feel Violet’s eyes on us. I don’t need to look to know what she’s thinking. I’ve seen that look before. The look of someone who knows exactly what’s going on, but also knows they can’t stop it. Not now.
Roberto steers me toward the door. I throw one last look over my shoulder at Marcello. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t stir. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to see him again.