33. Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Three
Emilia
A man named Martin cuts the binds on my wrists as a group of Vincenzo’s men pick up his unconscious body, carrying him out the door of the apartment and out of my sight.
Various muffled voices sound like the buzz of bees, a background hum, but my focus is stuck on the pool of blood that marks the floor.
“...Miss Walters?”
I lift my head when Martin’s voice breaks through.
“If you want to come with us to the hospital, we need to go now. The team is getting Enzo stabilised to transport, but we have to leave shortly.” Martin’s tone suggests it’s not the first time he’s given me this information, but it’s the first time I’ve actually heard it.
“Yes, I’m coming.”
Martin helps me to stand and follows behind me as I hurry down the stairs and through the loading bay door that stands open.
Men that I presume are Vincenzo’s rush in front of me, but I dodge them all when my gaze fixes on the flurry of activity near one of the large, black SUVs.
Someone helps me into the back of the car, and I move Vincenzo’s legs slightly so I can fit in the seat with his feet.
“The Alfred Hospital is closest. Get the trauma team on standby. It looks like a clean through and through, but I want him on monitors asap to make sure his pressure doesn’t tank,” says the man who has Vincenzo’s head in his lap, as he presses down on the wound on his chest. His eyes dart to me as I’m piled into the back seat, but he dismisses me just as quickly.
“Are you a doctor?”
“Four tours with the Army Medical Corp in Iraq and Afghanistan. Not a doctor, but gunshot wounds are not new to me,” he replies, his gaze stays in Vincenzo though.
The car lurches forward as we take off, and I have to brace myself against the driver’s seat headrest and the back seat, so I don’t fall onto Vincenzo.
“Here,” the medic beckons me closer with his head.
He takes my hands when I shuffle forward, pushing them onto the cloth that covers the wound on Vincenzo’s chest, “press down, hard. Harder than you think you should.” The car slides around a corner and I only just manage to use my weight to counter the unexpected move, so I don’t go flying through the gap between the front seats.
The medic barely moves from the sudden motion. He picks up Vincenzo’s wrist and turns his wrist over to look at his watch.
“The trauma team is prepped and will meet us at the ambulance entrance,” Martin says from the front seat.
My blood rushes in my ears, and my eyes, suddenly very heavy, droop closed. With Vincenzo’s name on my lips, I feel myself pitch forward, but there’s nothing I can do to stop the darkness from claiming me.
The faint ‘beep’ sound grows louder until I can’t ignore it any longer. I try to roll onto my side, but something presses down on my shoulder and stops me.
“Emilia, can you open your eyes for me?” An unfamiliar older woman asks.
My lids flutter open briefly, the room I’m in is thankfully dark. I groan from the effort of trying to open them again when they close. By the looks of it, I’m half reclined in a bed, but that’s all my brain can register.
“Can you tell me what hurts?”
My mouth is so dry that no sound comes out when I try to respond. I manage to open my eyes when something presses against my lips, the woman holds a plastic cup and straw up. I open my mouth and take a long suck on the straw, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat.
“My head, mostly,” I respond once I’ve had a few mouthfuls of water.
“You most likely have a concussion from the blow to your head. X-ray cleared you of any significant damage, but you required a couple of stitches to close the wound.”
My hand lifts to my head automatically, but a bandage covers the area. I turn my hand over in my field of vision, noting the IV line inserted into the back of my hand and a hospital admission bracelet with my name on it circling my wrist.
I push against the mattress so I can sit upright, my mind a blur of the events of the last few days as I try to remember why I’m here. A moment later it hits me.
“Vincenzo,” I say in a rush as I shove the blankets off my legs and get out of bed, a wave of nausea slams into me at the sudden rush of movement, and my legs crumple beneath me.
“Woah. A little help in here,” The woman shouts the last part, but thankfully she catches me underneath my arms before I end up in a heap on the floor.
Two men in scrubs rush into the room and help her push me back up to sit on the edge of the bed, but I push against them all when they try to lift my legs to make me get back in.
“Where’s Vincenzo? Is he okay? He was shot. God, there was so much blood…”
“Emilia, I need you to stop fighting us and get back into bed. You’re in no fit state to be up and about yet,” The woman says with a grunt as I push against their collective hold, the adrenaline surge takes away my pain and helps me to focus on the most important thing right now, finding Vincenzo.
“Let me go!” I shout. “Vincenzo! VINCENZO!”
Martin rushes into the room in response to my cries.
“Miss Walters… Emilia… you need to stop right now, or we will sedate you for your own safety.” One of the men exclaims in a gruff voice as he grabs me from behind, but I still fight against their hold. My focus on Martin who’s standing in the doorway, a look of shock on his face.
I throw my elbow back and a satisfying crack sounds loudly throughout the room, and the hands that have been pulling me backwards, let go.
With less resistance, I get my legs under me on the mattress and use all my force to shove through the man and woman who try to push me back onto the bed.
I stumble over to Martin and grab onto the lapels of his jacket, his wide eyes looking down at me.
“Where…the fuck…is Vincenzo?” I pant from the exertion.
Martin’s eyes stay on me as his hand goes up, the motion stopping the people behind me. I don’t bother to turn, I know they won’t be coming to try and drag me back to bed again.
“She shouldn’t be out of bed,” the woman says, annoyance clear in her tone.
“Take me to him, Martin. I need to see him.”
“She can’t be wandering the halls. It’s a liability nightmare. We’ll lose our jobs,” the man complains behind me, much closer than I originally realised. But my eyes are fixed on Martin’s, pleading.
His gaze darts around the room until it lands on a wheelchair near the door.
He gently pulls at my hands, making me release the death grip I have on his lapels.
“Fine, I’ll take you to him, but you only get five minutes, then you’re back in that bed without complaint.
And you have to promise to keep your ass parked in that chair. ”
“I swear,” I agree quickly and hold my hands up in surrender.
“She’s your responsibility,” the woman murmurs with a shake of her head as she passes Martin and me to walk out the door. The man follows closely behind.
Martin grabs the chair and wheels it over to me, nodding his head at it.
I take the hint and sit down carefully, lifting my feet to the footrests before he pushes me forwards.
He steers me out of the room and around a couple of corners.
Nothing catches my attention, until we round another corner and I see two enormous men standing in front of an open door at the end hallway.
Without a word, the men move aside to let us by, and as Martin wheels me into the room, my eyes immediately zero in on Vincenzo’s still form laying propped up in the hospital bed.
His eyes flutter open, and a small smile lifts the corner of his lips when he sees me.
My heart nearly bursting out of my chest in relief.
Martin pushes the wheelchair up to the side of the bed, and my hand reaches for Vincenzo’s at the same time as he searches for mine. Our hands gripping each other tightly in silent thanks, we are okay, and the world finally quiets.
“Give us a few minutes, Martin.” Vincenzo’s voice is raspy, but authoritative.
“Your family will be here shortly, boss.”
Vincenzo nods in acknowledgement, but he only has eyes for me. I listen as Martin walks back out of the room and closes the door quietly behind him.
“Hey, beautiful,” he greets me with a smirk.
“Hey, yourself.” I smile back.
“How’s the head?” he asks with a frown as he gestures to my forehead.
“A couple of stitches and a concussion apparently. How’s the gunshot wound?”
“Doesn’t tickle.”
I laugh at his joke, but he groans in pain, his other hand going to the source of the hurt when he goes to laugh, too. I squeeze his hand in comfort. It’s about all I can do while stuck in this chair, but it’s better than nothing.
The silence stretches between us, until I can’t stand it anymore. “We should probably talk about a few things-”
“Well then, Mr Rossi. Let’s take a look at you.” A man barges through the door, presumably a doctor judging by the long white jacket. He doesn’t spare me a glance as he walks around the end of the bed to the other side and looks at the monitor Vincenzo is hooked up to.
“Good news is the bullet was a clean through and through and missed everything of importance. We’d like to keep you admitted for a few days to keep an eye on you and make sure no infections pop up. You’re a very lucky man, Mr Rossi.”
“I sure am,” Vincenzo replies, but his eyes are on me, his meaning clear. I can feel the blush creep up my cheeks.
“Here’s the patient's chart, Dr. Stevens, a young woman in scrubs walks into the room from behind me and goes straight to the doctor. His full panel just came back, and you are going to want to look at the results,” she says, her eyes narrowing at me with what seems to be anger, as she hands over a clipboard with a folder attached.
What the fuck is that look for?
Dr. Stevens opens the folder and scans the contents.
The woman, who I presume is a nurse, leans over his arm and with her pen, points to a specific spot on the page.
Her eyes go to his face, and we all watch as he reads whatever it is that she’s pointed out, his eyebrows suddenly lifting in surprise.
“Are they sure?” he murmurs, but the room is so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.
“They ran the test twice just to confirm,” she replies in an equally hushed tone.
Both of them look up from the folder, and over to us. Vincenzo squeezes my hand, and I return the gesture. Whatever it is, it doesn't look good. But we can face it together, I know we can.
“Mr Rossi, have you been working with any chemicals or pesticides recently? Maybe around a lab or in an old building?”
“No. I’m regularly at construction sites, but they are all new builds. I haven’t been to a tear down and re-build for more than a year. Why? What’s going on?”
“Perhaps we should discuss this in a more private setting, Mr Rossi.”
Vincenzo looks at me with concern. I lift his hand to kiss the back of it, giving him a smile and small nod in reassurance.
I’m with him. Whatever it is. He has become so important to me.
I know whatever we have is still new, but it’s real.
More real than anything I’ve ever felt. “We got this,” I say.
Vincenzo takes a deep breath in, taking in the strength I’m offering.
“Whatever you have to tell me, doc, you can do it in front of Emilia.” I beam a smile at him.
We both turn our focus back to the medical team, Dr. Stevens and the nurse’s eyes dart between the two of us, watching our interaction.