Chapter Seventy-One
Gualtiero
Rhythmic waves filter through layers of fog.
At first, the sound feels distant, almost imagined, but slowly its persistence tugs at me, pulling me back toward… something. Somewhere.
I feel a drag at the edge of my mind. With groggy resistance, I drag myself up from wherever I’ve been.
My eyelids flutter. Light seeps in, gentle and natural, casting a warm glow.
Where am I?
The low mechanical hum grows clearer, guiding me the rest of the way back. My eyes reluctantly open, and the room swims into view. I blink, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar shapes and shadows.
A sense of displacement settles over me, as if I’ve woken up in the middle of something I don’t remember starting.
Something important happened. I know that much.
The pieces are there, hovering just out of reach, refusing to come together, leaving me suspended in a haze of uncertainty.
“Well, hello there, handsome,” a woman’s voice says from beside me.
I drag my gaze to her. She looks familiar, but I can’t immediately place her.
“Am I dead?” I ask, only half-joking.
It feels like a reasonable question, given my line of business. And this doesn’t look like a hospital, which is where I last remember being.
“Yes, you’re dead,” she replies with absolute conviction.
Oh.
“Then why am I hurting everywhere?” I groan, attempting to shift.
A sharp, vicious pain shoots through my chest.
“Isn’t death meant to stop all pain?”
“If I got a dime for every time a newly departed said that, I’d be a very rich woman,” she chuckles. “But don’t worry, it only takes about a hundred years for the disembodied soul to forget its last earthly experiences.”
Her tone is light, almost playful. I let out a quiet chuckle and instantly regret it. Even that tiny movement hurts.
I feign shock. “A hundred years of this? I really should have read the fine print.”
She grins, and something clicks into place.
This woman is Ella’s nutty friend.
Ella.
Her name cuts through the fog like a blade.
Where is she?
My gaze sweeps the room, searching now, a tightness forming in my chest that has nothing to do with my injuries. She should be here.
Why is she not here?
Something is wrong.
I try to sit up but give up almost immediately, the pain flaring too sharply to push through. I grit my teeth as I sink back against the pillows. Shifting carefully, a low groan slips out despite my effort to suppress it.
“Oh my god, you’re awake.”
I’d know that voice anywhere.
“Angel.”
“Of course you’d have to wake up just when I step out of the room,” she mutters, more to herself than to me, rushing to my side.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” her friend murmurs.
I barely register her exit.
How could I, when the light of all lights has just entered the room?
Ella is all I see.
Tears stream down her face as she reaches me, her hand cupping my cheek with desperate care, as if she’s afraid I might disappear if she lets go.
My heart surges with a fierce, overwhelming happiness that drowns out everything else. The pain. The confusion. The fear.
She’s alive.
She presses her face into my shoulder, her sobs deep and unrestrained, shaking her whole body.
“Shh, angel,” I murmur into her hair, my voice rough. “Shh. Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m okay.”
I don’t know if that’s true. But as long as she’s near, it feels close enough to the truth to hold on to.
Her tears keep spilling over, though.
“I love you so much. Having you torn from me… everything felt empty. Pointless. I couldn’t think.”
I try to reach for her, needing to touch her, to confirm she’s real, that we’re both still here, but my arms feel too heavy to lift.
“Nothing can keep me away from you. Not even death.”
I mean it. Whoever tried to take me from her won’t get another chance. I won’t allow it.
She takes my hand in hers, holding on tight. Her smile is unsteady but bright, lighting up her whole face, and I feel it somewhere deep in my chest.
Then, as if she can’t contain it any longer, she leans down and kisses me.
I breathe her in. Her warmth, her scent, the familiar softness of her lips. Everything that’s unmistakably my Ella.
The pain recedes into the background. It’s still there, but it no longer matters.
Not when my angel is this close.
Damn being trapped in this bed. I need more of her.
All too soon she pulls back, her fingertips brushing over my cheek with careful tenderness.
My eyes are drawn for the first time to her left arm. It’s cradled in a sling, her forearm supported by a splint.
“What happened to your cast?” I ask, the question coming out sharper than I intend.
Her gaze follows mine. She stares at her arm for a beat before looking back at me.
“Do you remember what happened?” she asks softly.
My heart stutters, and then the memory slams back into place with brutal clarity.
The gunshot. The deafening crack tearing through the air. That split second of pure terror that the bullet would hit her.
And it did, plaster flying everywhere.
Instinct took over.
I see myself shoving her to the ground, my body moving without thought, covering her with mine, shielding her with everything I had. There was nothing else on my mind. Nothing else that mattered. Just her. Just keeping her safe.
“I remember,” I say, my voice rough, anger burning through the words.
I tighten my grip on her hand. “Were you checked after I blacked out? You and the baby?”My jaw clenches. “Why didn’t they replaster your arm?”
“They looked me over while you were in surgery,” she says quickly. “The baby is fine.”
She lifts her arm slightly. “The bullet grazed me. It left an open wound. They said it needs to close fully before they can put another plaster on.”
Some of the heat drains from my body at that. Not all of it. But enough.
New tears gather in my angel’s eyes.
“You saved my life,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead.”
I thread my fingers through hers, trying to draw her closer. Sharp pain flares instantly, but I grit my teeth and push through it.
She moves at once, sensing it, stepping nearer and leaning over me until our foreheads touch.
“I vowed to protect you,” I murmur. “Always. Don’t you understand? You’re everything to me. I’d do anything for you. Even die if it meant you’re safe.”
“Don’t say that,” she pleads softly. “Please.”
“It’s the truth.”
“But I couldn’t bear it.” Her voice cracks.
Something warm lands on my cheek.
“Facing a future without you was the bleakest moment of my life,” she says, her words tumbling out now.
“Losing my parents broke me. But this…” She swallows hard. “This was worse. When they said you were gone… if it wasn’t for Peanut, I don’t know how I would have survived.”
I pull back just enough to look at her.
“They said I was gone?”
The words don’t quite make sense yet. I hurt everywhere, yes, but death had never crossed my mind.
She swallows hard.
“They nearly lost you twice during surgery. And then yesterday morning…” She trails off, turning away from me, her gaze fixed on nothing.
I let out a slow breath as she sits down on the chair by the bed, taking my hand in hers.
“What happened yesterday morning?”
If I barely made it through surgery, why am I not still in a hospital?
Something doesn’t add up.
My gaze sweeps the room again, sharper this time, taking in the details I ignored before. The warmth. The wood. The quiet. This place feels lived-in. Safe. Almost… domestic.
Are we back in Sicily? At Mateo’s place?
I don’t remember a bedroom like this one. But it would explain the lack of security. The absence of guards.
But even then, Santino would be standing by the door. And Antonio? The nosy bastard would have barged in already.
I take in the space again. The scale of it. The simplicity.
No, this isn’t Mateo’s place. It’s too small, and… too rustic.
I look back at her, meeting her gaze.
“Ella,” I say, keeping my voice steady even as unease coils tighter inside me. “What’s going on? What happened while I was out?”
She’s been watching me closely, her expression apprehensive. She goes rigid, her back straightening as if she’s bracing for impact.
Fuck. What is she not telling me?
Were my men taken out? Where is everyone? Are we even safe here?
And yet Ella and her friend don’t look like people waiting for the next attack. There’s no urgency. No fear. Just this careful, suffocating calm.
Ella twists her engagement ring around her finger, her breathing uneven.
“Angel?” I prompt again, my voice firmer this time.
“Um.” She clears her throat, her gaze darting anywhere but at me. “Well… um… you see…” She puffs out a breath, lets her head fall back briefly, then stares up at the ceiling as if the answers might be written there.
“Just tell me,” I say, more gruffly than I intend.
She opens her mouth, but a knock cuts her off. The door opens and a tall man with broad shoulders steps inside, dressed casually in slacks and a sweater, a stethoscope hanging around his neck.
“Claudette told me you’re awake,” he says easily.
“Who are you?” I ask, irritation flaring at the interruption.
His smile doesn’t falter. “I’m Dr. Prozesnik. I’ve come to check on you. Let me fill you in on what—”
“Where is Dr. Agosti?” I cut in.
“I haven’t met a Dr. Agosti,” he replies, unbothered by my tone.
“Come back in ten minutes,” I say flatly. “Ella and I were in the middle of a conversation.”
My angel’s cheeks flush, and she suddenly finds the floor far more interesting than either of us.
“No problem,” the doctor says smoothly. “Have Ella get me when you’re finished. I’ll be in the living room, enjoying the spectacular view.”
I track him until the door closes behind him.
My eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion pressing in, but I force myself to stay alert.
I don’t want rest.
I want answers.
When the door closes, I turn back to my fiancée, lifting an eyebrow.
“Spectacular view?” I ask. “Where are we?”
Ella lets out a slow breath. “Homer, Alaska.”
What?
“How the hell did we get to Alaska?”
“By airplane,” she says flatly.
I widen my eyes at her. No shit.
“We didn’t travel together,” she adds quickly.
“I thought you were dead, and then Lex said we had to leave, and Antonio was acting strange, and then I found out about the car bomb, and if it wasn’t for the shooting we would have been dead anyway, and Santino, and—” She breaks off, dragging in a breath.
“God. I was beyond devastated. Then I fought with Claudette, and Rhia and I were moving between cars and planes and detours—”
“Ella.” I interrupt gently but firmly. “Take a breath.”
She stills at once, chest rising and falling as she reins herself in.
The pull of sleep tugs at me again, insistent. My thoughts feel thick, sluggish, but I force myself to stay present.
“Angel,” I murmur, my voice rough. “Give me the summary version for now.”
My words blur together as I close my eyes for a second.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “Do you want the short version or the short short one?”
“Short short,” I say, my strength ebbing fast.
“We’re both dead.”
That snaps my eyes open.
I stare at her, not quite processing. Unless this is some twisted afterlife, we’re very much alive.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Then give me the short version.”
She swallows.
“Lex faked both our deaths. Officially, we’re deceased.”
Her gaze holds mine.
“You’re out of the Mafia.”