65. Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Five
Mariella
W e enter through a back entrance, soldiers flanking us on all sides. Given what happened, it’s hardly surprising. Mateo is the acting Don now, his safety the highest priority.
The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic as we walk down corridors that seem to stretch endlessly before us. One sterile hallway bleeds into the next, their similarity making it impossible to tell where we are.
My stomach clenches. I’ve never been in a hospital before. If sick or injured, a physician working for la famiglia always tended to us in the privacy of our own home. The stark white walls, the cold sterility of the corridors, the sharp echo of our footsteps are foreign and unsettling.
The weight of eyes on me is undeniable, and I can almost taste the curiosity of the men surrounding us. Their gazes dart to our intertwined hands, lingering longer than they should.
A woman by Mateo’s side in broad daylight is new, especially one whose hand he’s holding possessively. The rumors will spread in no time, and I’m tempted to pull my hand away to spare us both the added scrutiny.
But beneath my fingertips, Teo’s pulse pounds erratically. Outwardly, he’s composed, his expression carved from stone, betraying nothing. If I weren’t touching him, I might believe the mask he’s wearing.
He seems to need my touch, and I need his too. I won’t let him go.
The soldiers fan out as we reach the private waiting room, stationing themselves outside the door, their presence a silent warning to anyone who might intrude.
God, what will await us in there?
The moment the door slides open and we step inside, dark, cold eyes lock onto mine.
My breath catches. My stomach knots.
Father.
I didn’t expect him to be here, though I shouldn’t be surprised. Most of the high-ranking capos are assembled.
A flicker of something, disbelief of seeing me here, perhaps, passes across Father’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. His gaze drops to where Mateo’s hand still encloses mine, and then lower, to the engagement ring glittering on my finger.
Merda.
A chill runs through me. This is not how I wanted him to find out.
His eyes narrow slightly, and for the briefest moment, I see the calculations running through his mind.
Antonio Accardi doesn’t like surprises, but he adjusts quickly when necessary. The almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me everything.
He’s already planning how to take advantage of this.
Involuntarily, I tighten my grip on Mateo’s hand, and he glances at me before following my gaze to my father. A heartbeat later, he leans in, his breath warm against my ear.
“I will deal with him.”
I exhale slowly, trying to loosen the knot in my chest. There’s nothing I can do about my father right now. My focus needs to be on Mateo, on what he’s about to face.
Mateo straightens, his commanding presence filling the room.
“Any news?” His voice is steady, but I can hear the tightness beneath it.
Romeo, Santino, and Barroni, the family’s current consigliere, are gathered, along with my father and a few high-ranking capos. It’s a room full of powerful men, yet all of them look to Mateo now.
Barroni steps forward. “Still waiting, sir.”
Silence settles over the room, unbearably heavy. Mateo’s gaze drifts across the gathered men, searching their faces. When his eyes land on Santino in the corner, tension stiffens his posture. Without releasing my hand, he pulls me toward him.
In a hushed voice, he asks, “Did Ella show up in Brazil?”
A shadow flickers across Santino’s face, dark and uneasy.
“She did. Your brother was right.”
Wow. I can hardly believe it.
When Teo first told me about his brother’s dream and his unwavering conviction that Ella would show up at the Formula One event in Brazil, I thought it was nothing more than a desperate man clinging to hope.
But now? Now, I’m in awe of just how in tune he must be with her.
“Then where is she?”
Santino hesitates, his gaze flicking around the room before he lowers his voice even more. “Signor De Marco left without her.”
Mateo goes rigid beside me. “What? That makes no sense.”
I feel the shift in him, the barely restrained tension, and I understand why. Gualtiero De Marco would never willingly leave Ella behind. I’ve seen the way he was with her, obsessed and consumed. Devastated when she ran.
The idea that he’d just walk away from her? Impossible.
“What happened?” Mateo’s voice is dangerously quiet. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Santino opens his mouth, but before he can answer, the door swings open.
A doctor steps inside, still wearing dark blue scrubs. His face is unreadable, his expression composed, but his eyes go straight to Mateo. He bows his head slightly in acknowledgment. Everyone in Sicily knows who the De Marcos are.
Mateo straightens. “Everyone leave the room.”
The order is immediate, and the men obey without hesitation. I try to slip my hand from Mateo’s, but his grip tightens, an almost imperceptible shake of his head telling me to stay.
My father lingers by the door, his eyes drilling into my back before he finally steps out. If he had any doubts about what I mean to Mateo, he doesn’t now.
The doctor wastes no time. “Sir, Signor De Marco made it through surgery,” he says, his voice measured. “But his condition remains critical.”
The air in the room shifts, a silent inhale of tension.
“The damage was extensive. The bullet destroyed his left lung, and the right is too compromised to sustain him. He needs a transplant, and soon.”
I clutch Mateo’s arm instinctively, horror closing my throat.
“We don’t have the facilities here for a transplant,” the doctor continues. “As soon as he’s stable enough, he’ll need to be transported to Rome.”
Mateo’s jaw clenches. “How soon?”
“That depends. Transporting him in this condition is extremely risky. But there’s another complication…” The doctor hesitates. “Signor De Marco’s blood type is rare. Finding a suitable donor will be difficult.”
The room feels smaller. Tighter. The air is too thick to breathe.
Mateo’s fingers twitch against mine, and I rest my free hand on his forearm, hoping my touch will ground him, or at least remind him I’m here.
Don De Marco is the only family Teo has left. Losing him would devastate him.
Please, God, please don’t take his brother.
“How much time does he have?” Mateo’s voice is rough with the weight of it all.
The doctor exhales, his expression grim. “We’ve placed him on a ventilator, but his oxygen levels are unstable. We’ll need to put him on ECMO to keep him alive while we search for a donor.”
He pauses, his next words hanging in the air like a death sentence.
“Even with ECMO, we’re talking days. Maybe a few, if we’re lucky.”