53. Lucia
53
LUCIA
T he wait. . . the less said about the wait, the better. It’s agonizing.
But I’m not alone.
Enzo is here. Tatiana, too, huddled in a corner of the hospital waiting room, looking young and very vulnerable. Valentina had to stay behind with Angelica, but Dante stays all night, eyes grim and shoulders tense. Antonio’s lieutenants, Joao and Tomas, arrive at some point during that long night. Agnese arrives as well, with freshly baked bread and containers of warming soup that she insists we eat.
Right after Agnese’s arrival, I call Rocco Cacciola’s work phone. He doesn’t answer—it’s four in the morning—but I leave him a message withdrawing my application. I expect to feel a twinge of regret—it really is a great job—but I don’t. If tonight’s events have done one thing, they’ve brought clarity about what’s truly important in my life.
The only person who’s missing from that hospital waiting room is Leo. “He blames himself for what happened,” Dante replies when I rouse myself enough to ask. “He’s questioning Marco. Uncovering the plot, putting a team together to take Verratti out.”
Enzo lifts his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he says wearily. “Verratti is in custody. The DIA took him in an hour ago.”
Dante shakes his head. “This is a hydra. You can cut off one head, but it’s not enough. We need to dismantle the organization or the violence will persist.”
Yesterday, I might have had doubts about whether I could cope with the ever-present danger. Today, I’ve been given a fresh perspective. Life is short, and nothing is guaranteed to us. I love Antonio, and I want to spend my life with him. I’m going to seize the time we have with both hands and refuse to let go.
Six agonizing hours later, the surgeon who operated on Antonio comes into the waiting room. She looks around at the crowded room, and her face turns pale. I think it just occurred to her that she was operating on Venice’s most dangerous man.
I’m on my feet immediately. “The surgery?”
She focuses on me. “Everything went well,” she says. “We found some additional bone chips, which made the surgery more complicated than expected. But, like I said, everything went well. Signor Moretti is in post-op recovery.” She appears to count the people in the waiting room. “He’s sleeping off the effects of the anesthetic. I can allow one person in to see him for five minutes. Who will it be?”
“Lucia,” Enzo says firmly. Tatiana nods in agreement. “It’s got to be Lucia.”
My legs feel like they’re going to give way as I follow the doctor through a maze of hallways. When we reach his room, she opens the door for me. “Only five minutes,” she says again.
“Okay,” I whisper, and go inside.
The sight of him steals the breath from my lungs.
Antonio lies still, his skin pale against the crisp white sheets. He’s hooked up to an array of softly beeping machines, but his chest rises and falls steadily, and I feel the knot of dread in my stomach loosen a little.
I take a trembling step forward, and then another, and take his hand in mine.
It’s warm. not cold and clammy. Because he’s alive.
Tears prickle at my eyes. I could have lost him today, but I didn’t, and he’s still here. And I’m not going to take this miracle for granted. No more fears. Antonio was right: I’d rather take a chance on love than go through life without it.
“Hey,” I say softly, not wanting to wake him. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” I press my lips against his hand. “It took almost losing you to really realize how much I love you, and now that I know, I’m making you a promise. No more running, Antonio. I’m holding on to you for the rest of my life, and I’m never letting go.”
* * *
Thirty-six hours later, Antonio is transferred to the general ICU. Two days after that, he’s moved into a regular hospital room, albeit a very fancy one in a private wing.
It’s finally time for us to have a conversation about our future. I perch on the side of his bed and lace my fingers in his. “I figured out why you sent me away.”
He stiffens. “You did?”
“It wasn’t hard. As soon as I got over my hurt feelings, it became obvious. You freaked out because I could have been shot.” I brush a kiss over his forehead. “You’re not as inscrutable as you think you are.”
“I almost got you killed.” He sounds agonized. “Lucia, I can’t?—”
“But that’s just it. You didn’t get me killed. Instead, you dived in front of a bullet for me. You’re the one who got shot, not me.”
“I can’t put you in danger.” He doesn’t pull away from me, though. “Life with me isn’t safe.”
“Bossy of you,” I tell him lightly. “Presumptuous, too, thinking you can make these decisions for me.” I squeeze his hand gently. Any moment now, a nurse will come into the room and throw me out, so I need to hurry up. “Remember how I hate hospitals? How I get sick at the sight of blood? And yet, I’m still here. Not fainting. You didn’t think I’d be here, did you?”
“I was clearly wrong.”
I look around with exaggerated shock. “Where are witnesses when I need them?” I ask. “It’s not every day that Antonio Moretti admits he’s wrong.”
His lips twitch. “Brat.” He draws in a breath. “Lucia, nothing’s changed. I can’t promise safety.”
He’s still trying to push me away. But I saw the fierce joy in his eyes when he woke up and saw me in his hospital room. And it’s the memory of that joy that gives me the courage to stay.
“The thing is, you’re the love of my life.” I meet his eyes. “You can send me away, and that’s not going to change. I can leave Venice and move to, I don’t know, Siberia or something, and I’ll still love you.”
“Or Florence?” he asks wryly.
I sit up in shock. “You knew about the job at the Uffizi? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem that important. Florence is only a couple of hours away, and I own a private plane.”
“I pulled out of the process. I don’t want to be in Florence.” I squeeze his hand again. “I want to be right here.”
“Lucia, I?—”
“I don’t want safety,” I continue. “Safety is an illusion. My parents covered me in protective bubble wrap, and my heart still broke. I just want you.”
His eyes are both hungry and haunted. A conflict rages inside him. “You should leave me,” he grinds out, his grip on my hand tightening. “It’s the smart thing to do.”
“Never going to happen.” I give him a tremulous smile. “This is the part where you realize you’re stuck with me.”
He stares at me for a long time. I see the exact moment he stops fighting it because his eyes flare with possessive fire. He opens his arms, and I move in closer and lean into the warmth of his body.
“I’m never stuck with you,” he says. He smiles at me and moves my hand over his heart. “Stuck implies an absence of choice. I love you, Lucia. There’s no one else for me, little thief. I choose to spend my life with you. Speaking of which, it’s a pity you made me return the Titian to the Palazzo Ducale. If you hadn’t, I would have given it to you as a wedding present. I’ll have to think of something else now.”
My mouth falls open. Is this a?—
“You should see your expression.” Antonio laughs softly at my reaction. “This isn’t the actual proposal, by the way. I’ll be damned if I’m going to ask the woman I love to marry me dressed in a hospital gown.” He brushes a kiss across my lips. “Consider it a preview.”
“If this is the preview,” I manage, “I’m going to love the main event.”
He holds me in his arms, and I hug him as tightly as I dare. No more safety nets—I don’t need them. I’m finally ready for a leap of faith. We’re going to live happily ever after.