Chapter 74 Waiting Game
Chapter seventy-four
Waiting Game
Sophia
Watching the bullet hit Marco in the back plays out like a horror movie on repeat in my head.
No amount of Chicago PD prepares you for the brutality of the real thing.
The gut-curdling shock of seeing the vivid burst of vibrant red instantly spread across his white shirt as his blood seeped through it in the same way red wine seeps through a tablecloth.
It feels burned into my retinas. I stare at my hands, still covered in his blood from when I tried to stop the rush of it as it poured from his body.
My attempts were futile. It just kept coming, seeping through my fingers, pooling around us.
By the time the paramedics arrived minutes later, Marco had lost so much blood, his eyes had taken on a faraway look before they closed completely.
Once he was stabilized and in the back on the ambulance, the paramedics took the gold chain from around his neck, and I secured it to mine.
Instantly, I felt comforted in being able to have a piece of him close to my heart.
I know I’m in shock. I feel heavy, almost like I want to sleep for days on end but also entirely too wired to even contemplate it.
I’m not even sure I’m blinking right now.
Stress and anxiety swirl with panic, a lethal combination fueling the rampant what ifs that ping- pong around my brain.
People talk about wanting something with every fiber of their being.
The dream job. The new house. To move across the world.
For me it was always him. Marco is the very fiber of my being, even if I kept trying to fight the inevitable for the sake of taking it slow.
The reality is, there was no going back to slow or anything else after I had a taste of that elusive once-in-a-lifetime kind of love in his every touch.
In the small and big ways he loves me. Now I could lose him.
For good this time. I’ve never had more regrets for things left unsaid than in this moment.
I wish I had let him walk me down the red carpet.
I wish I had told him to kiss me. I wish I had asked him to come back home.
I wish I told him I choose him because I need him to feel whole.
My breathing becomes labored, my hands start to shake, and the tears I thought had run dry are back with a vengeance.
They stream down my face and off my nose, swirling with the blood staining my hands to create a watercolor painting of my very worst nightmare brought to life.
“Sophia. Sophia, darling.” My mom is calling me, but I can’t make my mouth move to form the words to answer. I’m lost in my grief. A grief so big it feels like it’s swallowing me whole.
“He’s going to make it, darling. The doctors were confident that once they got him stabilized, the operation to remove the bullet would be successful.
Please, let’s get you washed up and out of this dress,” she says, kneeling before me, a hand cupping my face gently like she’s dealing with a skittish animal.
“H-h-h-how long has he been in surgery?” I was there when the doctors outlined the next steps, but I didn’t register a word, just watched as their mouths moved and jumbled sounds tumbled out.
“They’ve given him a blood transfusion, and he’s in the operating room with the trauma surgeon now.”
“Did you know?” I whisper on a sob, lifting my eyes to meet hers where she’s crouched before me.
A look passes over my mother’s face that conveys everything she’s having trouble finding the words to say.
“For how long?”
“Elena was about three months pregnant to her teenage sweetheart, Marco’s biological father, when we met her in Sicily.
I was four months pregnant with Sebastian at the time.
I felt an instant connection to her. After we learned of his death and the circumstances surrounding it, I begged your father to help Samuel figure out a way to get her safe passage to America,” she answers truthfully.
“But it’s not my story to tell, Sophia. Especially not before Elena and Samuel have a chance to speak with Marco. ”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t they tell him? How could they lie to him for his whole life?” I say as rage engulfs me and indignation rises through my shock and grief.
“It’s complicated, sweetheart.”
Deep hurt burns through me on behalf of the man lying in an operating room right now.
His blood on my hands is testament to the fact that he will go to great lengths to protect those he loves—even with his own fucking life.
Then, as if taking an actual bullet and almost bleeding to death wasn’t enough, he finds out, in some sick twist of fate, that the man he calls Dad is not his father by blood.
He’s been fucked over in the worst of ways in one solitary, life-altering moment.
But I refuse to let this define him or take away from the beautiful life he’s been given.
One that is so intricately interwoven with my own, that had things gone differently thirty years ago, I probably wouldn’t get to call him mine.
When he’s out of the OR, I’m going to be there to help him pick up the pieces like he’s always done for me.
I’m going to hold his hand as he walks through the hurt of seeking answers to the millions of questions he deserves answers to.
I’m going to make sure he knows with absolute certainty that I vow to love him for better or worse.
To give him strength when he can’t find his own.
To be his refuge and his sanctuary. I choose him, because he is the best man. My man.
“Mom, can you please grab me the clothes Evie brought for me. I need to get cleaned up and talk to Chiara before Marco is out of surgery.”
She nods once and stands. Worry, sadness, and remorse are written all over her face.
As she turns to walk back out to the waiting room where the rest of our family and friends wait, I tell her:
“Not all our stories can be rewritten, but it doesn’t mean we can’t write new ones. Ones with chapters shaped by the lessons of hindsight that give us renewed strength. And others with chapters overflowing with the purest type of love, a love that exists to weather every storm.”
Maybe that’s the lesson of tonight and everything that led us here.
I’ve washed up and put on the change of clothes Evie went and fetched for me, knowing me so well that I didn’t have to say a thing for her to know exactly what I needed.
The shock of what’s transpired tonight is starting to settle.
Enough that I’m ready to start having some hard conversations to try and piece together the fragments left behind thanks to the proverbial bomb that went off when Marco was wheeled into the trauma bay earlier this evening.
I’ve always known Marco’s life could literally be on the line given his career.
But like anything, it’s almost fairytale folklore until it’s a reality and happening in front of your eyes.
Surrounded by his clean, crisp, woodsy scent thanks to his hoodie and sweats I’m wearing, I feel a little closer to him even though I know he’s lying lifeless on that operating table, hooked up to machines to help him breath while a team of surgeons and doctors work to remove the bullet lodged in his perfect body.
Even thinking those words sends a cold chill down my spine.
I pull the neck of his hoodie up over my nose, breathing him in, trying to drown the doubt and emotions threatening to spill over with his calming presence embedded in the fibers of the soft fleece.
I messaged Elena and got directions to Chiara’s room. Like she said, she was a blood donor match. As soon as they confirmed, they hooked her up so they could take what they could to give Marco a blood transfusion.
I knock before walking into the room where she’s recovering.
She’s in a hospital gown now, her dazzling gold gown discarded in the corner of the room, red smears of Marco’s blood visible in places.
Another reminder of how glitz and glamour descended into bloody warfare.
Her eyes are red-rimmed. She looks broken and small, almost childlike, lying under the covers of the hospital bed.
She’s surprised to see me and immediately adjusts her body to a more upright position.
“Sophia…is Marco okay? What are you doing here? Oh God, you must absolutely hate me,” she rushes out, not waiting for my answers or bothering to stop the tears that stream down her face as she sobs quietly into her hands.
I move to sit next to her on the bed and wrap my arms around her, letting her cry and trying hard not to join in.
I rub her back comfortingly as she gets herself under control, and once she’s composed, I answer her questions—and address her statement.
“Marco is still in surgery. There’s no update yet, but his parents said they were confident that he will make it.
And for the record, I absolutely don’t hate you.
In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve come to feel like family.
” I give her a reassuring smile. “And I’m here because I want you to tell me everything, from the start. ”
Casting her eyes toward me, Chiara's pain hits me like a thunderbolt. It lets me know that behind the sunshine and rainbow exterior, she’s suffered more than we know.
“First, can I just say I am so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you or to Marco, but I just didn’t know what to say.” She looks away and sniffles. “I’m a fucking curse. Bad things always happen when I’m around.”
“Stop. Just stop,” I say, placing my hands on top of her shoulders to ground her in the present.
“Spiraling into self-loathing isn’t going to help anyone, least of all Marco.
When he wakes, he’s going to question everything about his twenty-nine years.
Help me understand so I can help him through this. ”
Her chin trembles, but she swallows down her emotion and starts from the beginning.
“It actually all started with this,” she says, lightly tugging Marco’s gold chain peeking out from the hoodie all the way out, before placing it on the outside rather than inside the neckline.
“I noticed it the very first morning he picked me up from the airport. I recognized the family crest on his medallion immediately. My dad and his brothers all have the same one. When he told me he was my driver, I immediately had my suspicions he was someone from the family that my uncle had instructed to babysit me. I guess I wasn’t too far off the mark, but just not like this,” she says, gesturing around us.
“The thing that threw me was when I asked about his necklace, he just said it was a gift from his mom and that he’s had it since he was born.
He tucked it away, and he didn’t get nervous about being found out by me.
Obviously his surname is Marrone. I was so confused.
So I confronted my cousin and uncle, even sending them a picture of Marco and a zoomed in shot of the necklace I managed to get.
“That’s when my uncle Gino pieced it together.
His brother, Roberto, Marco’s biological dad, was shot dead because he’d gotten Elena pregnant.
Elena was the daughter of the rival Mafia family in Italy.
So a real Romeo and Juliet story,“ she says ruefully.
“My dad was his twin. So it felt like he lost half his heart when he died.
It set him on a path of revenge that also ended badly.
“AJ knows the truth too,” she adds. “I’m not sure for how long, or how much he knows.”
“So what now?”
“Hopefully once he’s out of surgery and stable, he’s strong enough to have a very frank conversation with Elena and Samuel.
I can’t help but think there must be a compelling reason for them to choose to carry the burden of that secret in silence for this long.
Everyone’s hurting tonight, even if all the wounds aren’t visible,” Chiara murmurs.
Hugging her gently, I tell her, “He might have saved my life, but without you, he might have lost his. You’re not a curse—you’re a life saver.”
“That’s what you do for family,” she says, and I feel her smile against my shoulder. A knock at the door puts an end to the conversation. It’s Raf.
“Marco’s out of surgery,” he says to me, but his attention is solely focused on the other woman.
I move off the bed and go to leave quickly, only pausing to hug my brother on my way out.
“Just be gentle with her.”
He nods stoically and I know he’ll stick to his word.