34. Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Four
Emilia
“ V ery well. When you came in, we took a full routine blood panel, which is just to confirm your blood type and test for general levels of your body’s function.
Your test came back mostly normal, but with elevated liver enzymes.
Because of that, we ran a full toxicology and heavy metals screening.
Those results,” he gestures to the folder in his hand, “have come back to show that you have significantly elevated thallium levels.”
“From the look on your face that isn’t good, doc. Just spit it out. What does that mean? Am I dying?” I look at Vincenzo, his face is pale. That’s to be expected, after all, the man got shot in the chest. But he looks scared.
“Thallium is extremely toxic, and thallium poisoning can be fatal. It’s rare to see the levels of exposure you have outside of an industrial setting, unless…
” Dr. Stevens hesitates. Both he and the nurse turn their focus to me.
Vincenzo notices their attention and looks at me as well.
I know I gasped when the doctor said it can be fatal, but I didn’t think it was enough of a reaction to stop the conversation.
“Unless…” Vincenzo prompts.
“Unless that person was being poisoned. Have you been feeling unwell recently? Nauseated, unusually fatigued? The symptoms might present like elevated stress.”
“Things have been intense recently at work, and in my personal life,” Vincenzo looks over at me again. I can’t help but feel guilty, to have added to his stress levels since we met. “How could I have been poisoned though? I would have noticed someone sticking a damn needle in me.”
“Thallium is insidious. It is colourless and tasteless. The most common form is a fine powder, so it could have been added to your food or drink easily. Perhaps even in capsule form if you take any supplements.” Vincenzo’s hand goes up and cuts off whatever else Dr. Stevens was going to say.
“That will be all, doc. I’d like a few moments alone with Emilia, please.”
“I would feel better if we had security come in and-”
“I have men outside and more on the way. They can protect me better than any of your so-called security. Now get out,” Vincenzo addresses Dr. Stevens but his eyes are fixed on mine.
Dr. Stevens sighs loudly but leaves without another word. The nurse trails behind him.
“Vincenzo. Oh my god,” I shake my head in disbelief, “Who would do this? And why?”
“I’m asking myself the same questions,” he replies, his tone flat.
“Is there anything from the other side of your family business going on that may be a reason?”
“The other side-”
“Yes, the mafia side. I know about your ‘family business’ Vincenzo. Now’s not the time to hide things from me.
Is there something-” I look around the room, my mind racing.
I try to go back over my memories of our time together and see if anything in particular stands out that might be perceived as a threat against Vincenzo.
“What did you put in the pasta sauce, Emilia?”
Vincenzo’s question comes out of nowhere. “What? I don’t understand.”
“What did you put in the pasta sauce?” I pull my attention back to Vincenzo’s face, and I’m shocked to find it so cold looking. What the hell?
“Vincenzo, you aren’t making sense. Maybe I should go get the doctor?” I stand up out of the wheelchair and go to turn but Vincenzo’s grip on my hand turns painful and he yanks me back.
“Why, Emilia? Some misguided vengeance because you thought I killed your father? Because I didn’t. I had nothing to do with it. In fact, his death was the last thing I wanted.”
“My father? Wait, you think I did this?” My voice raises to a shout.
I hear people rush into the room, but before I can turn around, Vincenzo grips the front of my hospital gown and pulls me in close to him. Our faces close together. But it is the utter hatred on his face that has my blood running cold.
“I saw you,” his voice drips with disdain, “I saw you put something in the pasta sauce at my house. I may have been on the phone with my father in the other room, but I saw you. I can’t believe I fell into your trap,” he shakes his head and huffs a humourless laugh, “my father would be so ashamed of me. I got fooled by a pretty face and a tight cunt.”
“Vincenzo, I didn’t do this. It was salt. I just added a pinch of salt to the sauce,” I plead as I grab his hand, trying to get him to release me, but his grip on the gown just tightens.
“Boss?” Martin’s uncertain voice comes from behind me but neither of us acknowledge him or the others.
“Maybe you poisoned your father as a way to kill the deal we had struck for the gallery, and then to get in close to me? Who are you working for? Was it the Volkovs?” He practically spits the name in my face. The accusation hit me like a physical blow. How could he think I did this?
“What? No! I don’t know any Volkovs. I did not poison my father, and I did not poison you.
I mean, yes, I thought maybe you had something to do with my father’s death in the beginning, and I planned to get close to you to find out if you did or not, but I know you didn’t do it, Vincenzo.
I know you didn’t. I have no proof, but I know it in my gut, and I trust that.
” Tears spring to my eyes and start to fall down my cheeks.
I feel like there is a crushing weight on my chest. How could he think I would do this to him?
He releases his grip on my gown and shoves me, the sudden move makes me stumble backwards. Thankfully the wheelchair catches me, as I roughly fall back into it.
“Get her out of here.” Vincenzo shakes his head at me, almost sadly.
“No, Vincenzo, please listen to me,” I beg.
My words are rushed and broken between sobs.
“I swear I didn’t do this. I wouldn’t. You have to believe me.
” I try to surge out of the seat when Vincenzo turns his head away from me, looking at the opposite wall in the room, as large hands come down on my shoulders and push me back into the seat.
“Vincenzo! I didn’t do this!” I fight against the hands holding me down, but my body is sluggish. I don’t have the strength. The chair is turned as someone pushes from behind.
“Vincenzo! I believed you when you asked me to. When you said you weren’t going to marry Kayla.
I chose to believe you because of what we have.
Please! Please, believe me!” But my words are met with silence as I’m wheeled from his room.
My pleas become sobs as I am pushed past a gathering of rough looking men outside his room, all eyes following me with barely contained disgust.
As we round the corner, we nearly collide with a group of people coming from the opposite direction.
“Sorry, Sir,” Martin says, pushing the chair over to the side out of the way.
“Where is he? Where is my pookie?!” Kayla’s screeching voice breaks through my internal thoughts, and I look up to see Mario Rossi and Kayla in the group. Kayla’s heavily made-up face is streaked with black mascara lines, as she wails loudly while she grips onto Mario’s arm.
“That’s enough, Lala,” A woman standing on the other side of Kayla says viciously. Her face pinches when she looks down at me, like I am offensive to her just for being in her way.
“Martin, where is my son?” Mario doesn’t acknowledge me, but his quick glance down lets me know he has seen me, and it is intentional. More tears fall down my cheeks, but I stay silent and quiet my breathing as much as I can.
“Around the corner at the end of the hall. I’ll be there in a second,” Martin replies from behind me.
Kayla releases her death grip on Mario’s arm and rushes past us. The older woman follows after her at a more sedate pace with a heavy sigh. Mario, however, doesn’t move. He continues to stand in front of the wheelchair, blocking the path, his cold eyes looking down at me.
“Anything I need to know?” His question is not for me, but his gaze doesn’t move from my face though he takes in my appearance.
“Enzo will fill you in, Sir. He’s awake. Doc says he’ll recover fine.”
“Thank you, Martin.” Mario walks off, not saying a word to me.
“Martin, I swear, I didn’t do this. Please, tell him.” I know it’s pointless. This man owes me nothing, but I have to try.
“If I were you, I’d get myself out of this hospital, and out of the state, as soon as possible, Miss Walters. I doubt the next lot of orders I get will just be to remove you from the room,” Martin says. His tone drives the threat home, but his words are not cruel. Just factual.
Martin pushes the wheelchair into my room, then turns and leaves.
As soon as he is out of the door, I get up as quickly as I can, my head swamped with dizziness that slows my movements.
“Miss Walters, you really should be in bed.” The older woman from before comes into the room and takes my arm as I teeter on the spot a little.
“I need to get out of here. Where are my clothes?” I ask as I look around the room for any of my personal effects. Did I bring my phone?
“Your dress was bagged and handed over to the police as evidence.”
I brush off her hold and move around the room, opening cupboards and draws. “I need some clothes. Did I have a phone on me, or my purse?”
“You can’t leave, Miss Walters, you have a concussion,” she follows behind me as my rummaging becomes frantic. “What’s going on? Do I need to call security or the police?”
I ignore her questions and rush into the adjoining ensuite. Maybe there will be a change of clothes in there I can use. I just need something other than this hospital gown so I can get home.
“Miss Walters? Emilia?!” I come out of the bathroom empty handed. The woman looks at me with concern. I suppose I am acting strangely.
“I need to leave. Right now. Do you have any spare clothing I can wear? Scrubs?” I grab hold of her hands and implore her to take me seriously. I don’t have time to explain, I just need to get out of here. Now.
She nods her head slowly, but her voice is uncertain. “Yeah, I can get you a set of scrubs from the changeroom.”
“Please. I don’t have time for questions. I need to leave now. And I need your help,” I beg, squeezing her hands.
“Okay. Wait here.” She hurries out of the room.
I pace the floor. My mind is a whirl. How the hell did we get here?
One minute I was thinking that Vincenzo might be sick, maybe cancer or something, and that we could face anything together, and the next he’s accusing me of poisoning him and now the fucking mafia are going to kill me.
My thoughts go round in circles, but I just can’t understand how Vincenzo could think I am responsible.
My heart hurts that he doesn’t believe me like I did for him.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt when I didn’t have to.
Why can’t he do the same? Can’t he see how much he means to me?
My mind is still racing when the woman rushes back in and closes the door behind her.
She shoves a set of blue surgical looking scrubs, still wrapped in plastic, into my hands, and gestures for me to put them on.
I rip open the packets and lean on the bed to steady myself while I step into the pants and pull them up under my hospital gown.
“I don’t know what you have gotten yourself into, but the halls are starting to buzz with an energy that I don’t like.” She cracks open the door and watches the hallway through the gap.
I turn my back to her and remove the hospital gown, then pull the top over my head.
My breath hitches in pain as I lift my arms, my left shoulder hurts from where I’d been thrown into the wall, and I use my hands to hold open the neck hole to get the shirt over my head, without it rubbing on my bandage.
“You have a concussion, so you will need to monitor yourself for symptoms. If you suddenly start vomiting, if you get tingling, weakness or numbness down your arms, or if you start to have trouble staying awake, call an ambulance immediately.” Her voice is quiet, and her instructions hurried.
I grab out the pair of runners from a second clear bag and slide them on.
Once I’m standing, I tie the draw string on the scrub pants.
Everything is a few sizes too big, but they’ll do.
“There is some pain medication in the bag, instructions are on the bottle. Do not take more than the prescribed amount. No drugs or alcohol. Try to limit screen time, especially close to your face.”
Screen time. A phone. “I need a phone.”
“I just said-”
“No, I need to make a call. It’ll be quick.”
She looks back at me with a frown but grabs her phone out of her pants pocket and tosses it over to me.
“Code is 74598.”
She turns her focus back to the gap in the doorway as I punch in the code and dial the only number I know by heart. The ring tone sounds loud in the otherwise quiet room.
“Hello?” The familiar, heavily accented voice answers after another ring.
“It’s Emilia. I need help. Now.”