Chapter 22
LUCIA
“Salvatore, no!”
I held his face with one hand and pressed my other hand to the place on his side that wouldn’t stop bleeding. I kissed him. Kissed him and kissed him. When I tried to push the hair back from his forehead, I left blood in its place. His blood. God, there was so much of it. Too much.
“Don’t die.”
He hadn’t promised me that. He’d made me three promises, but he’d never promised me he wouldn’t die.
I’d never asked him to promise that. I’d never…
“Don’t die,” I whispered just to him.
He was too still, and when my sister touched my shoulder, and I looked up at her through the blur the haze of my tears caused, I sucked in a trembling breath. Her face, the look in her eyes, telling me it was bad.
“There’s a helicopter on its way to take him to the hospital,” she whispered, kneeling down beside me, holding me when I turned my attention back to him.
They would take him away. They would take him away, and I would never see him again. Why did they do that? Why did they take them away? How could you hold an empty space? How could you say good-bye?
My lip trembled. I bent down to his face, his beautiful face so pale, so still. My hair made a curtain between us and the room, and I listened for his breath, tried to feel it on my skin, feel its soft warmth. I wanted him to call me pigheaded again.
I wanted to hear him telling me he would keep everyone safe.
He had. He’d kept that promise.
Why hadn’t I made him promise to keep himself safe?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Lucia.”
My sister said my name, but I ignored her.
“I should have made you promise,” I said, tears rolling from my face onto his.
I smeared the blood with them, trying to clean him, remembering then that he had made one promise to me he hadn’t yet kept.
“You have to wake up, Salvatore,” I stated, gaining some strength.
He kept his promises. He wouldn’t not. “You promised me you’d give me what I wanted.
The life I wanted. You promised. You have to wake up now. ”
“Lucia,” Isabella said again.
“Go away,” I told her, still cleaning his face with my tears.
“Ma’am.”
Other hands were on me, another voice was talking to me.
“Lucia, they’re here. They’re going to take him to the hospital. You have to let them see Salvatore.”
I kept one hand on Salvatore’s chest, trying not to think about the fact it was still. I looked up at the men, at the room around me, and I leaned away, letting them look at Salvatore. Letting them start their work.
Two other men lifted Franco Benedetti onto a stretcher. Roman looked at all of us, his face one of shock, blood splatters marring it and ruining his perfect suit.
“Ma’am, we need to take them now.”
“Which hospital?” Isabella asked.
“Bellevue.”
“Come on,” Isabella said, dragging me to my feet.
“He’s not dead?” I asked, confused.
The paramedic gave me a cautious look. “We’ll do what we can for him.”
“Let’s go,” Isabella said again. “We need to get to the hospital. They’ll be much faster with the chopper.”
“What’s happened?” Natalie asked from the doorway, her face crumpling when she saw Salvatore unconscious on the stretcher.
I looked around the room, searching for him, for Dominic. “Where is he?” I asked my sister. “Where is he?” Anger gave me strength, but my sister held fast to me.
“Salvatore got in the way between Dominic and his father,” Isabella said to Natalie.
“Where the hell is Dominic?” I screamed to anyone who would answer.
“Let’s go,” Isabella said. “Salvatore needs you now.”
That got my attention. I turned to her and nodded. I followed her to the front door, cursing the crutches and my damn ankle.
“He’s so fucking stupid,” I said to her as she drove too fast off the grounds.
“He wanted to save everyone,” she modified.
“Why did they take Franco?”
“Heart attack.”
A fresh onslaught of tears came, and I sucked in a loud breath. “He did it for nothing. He tried to save that horrible man for nothing.”
Isabella took my hand and squeezed it, forcing me to look at her. “He’s not dead yet. He needs you to believe in him, understand? You can’t be weak now, not now, Lucia. He needs you.”
I looked at her face. She looked much older than her twenty-two years all of a sudden, and her eyes—they held lifetimes of sadness inside them.
“How’s Luke?” I asked, remembering.
She focused her attention back on the road. “No change.”
“Where’s Dominic?”
“He slipped out.” She shook her head. “I saw his face. He just kept looking at Salvatore, lying at his feet. For so long, it was what he wanted, but then, when it happened…”
“Where is he?”
“His face, Lucia. I’d never seen him look like that before. Not ever.”
But I didn’t care about Dominic or what he felt or what his face looked like. I would kill him with my bare hands when I saw him.
My sister was right, though. Salvatore needed me now, and I would focus all my energy on him. He was a survivor. He would survive. He had to.
When we arrived at the hospital, he was in surgery. They’d brought him to the same unit where Luke had been.
Déjà vu.
Only this time, the doctor wouldn’t talk to us. We weren’t family.
“Fuck! I just want to know if he’s alive!”
“Ma’am, you need to calm down,” the doctor said.
“Lucia.”
I heard a man’s voice behind me. I turned to find Roman walking into the waiting room, his face cleaned of blood, although his shirt still had splatters of it.
“They’re operating. There’s nothing for them to tell.” He turned to the doctor. “Add Lucia DeMarco to the list,” he said. “Keep her updated on Salvatore Benedetti’s condition.”
The doctor nodded and made a note of what I assumed was my name and walked away.
“Thank you,” I said to Roman.
He nodded and sat down. Defeat was the one word I would use to describe him in that moment.
“What about Franco?” Isabella asked.
“Stable”
“Of course. Of course he’s stable while his son is in there possibly dying.” I sank down into a chair, and Isabella wrapped her arms around me.
“Shh. Remember, you have to be strong. He needs you now more than ever.”
I nodded, wiping away tears and snot.
We sat in the waiting room for a long time. Isabella excused herself to make some calls, to make sure the sitter could stay with Effie longer, to check on Luke. Roman and I remained silent, lost in our own misery. All the while, my ankle throbbed.
“He should never have goaded Dominic like that. He’d sworn never to do it.”
I turned to Roman. “What are you talking about?” I hadn’t been in the room, not until it was almost the very end.
Roman glanced at me. “Franco isn’t Dominic’s father, but he loved my sister. Loved her enough to keep it hushed. To act like Dominic was his son all along. He had no right to tell him like this.”
“You’re worried about Dominic? He deserves to be the one in there, not Salvatore.”
He met my gaze. “No one should be in there. Period.”
“I may be a horrible person, but I don’t agree.”
He sighed. “You’re nowhere near a horrible person.”
He got up and left the room. I remained where I was. Isabella stayed with me until, almost four hours later, a doctor finally came out, looking for next of kin.
“That’s me,” I said, although it wasn’t quite me. “Lucia DeMarco.”
He checked his sheet of paper. Satisfied, he looked back at me. The space of that second stretched to an hour, and I dreamed the worst, thought I should prepare myself to hear it, but how did one prepare to hear something that terrible?
“Mr. Benedetti is an incredibly lucky man. And his will to live is tremendous.”
I smiled, feeling a thousand pounds lift from me. “He’s going to make it?”
“He shouldn’t have, not given the route the bullet took, but he is. He’s asking for you.”
“I can see him?”
“Only for a few minutes. He needs to rest. We’ll sedate him, but he’s insisting on seeing you first.”
“He’s pigheaded,” I said, wiping away fresh tears. I followed the doctor, a joy filling me that I’d never in my life felt before. Never knew possible.
I walked into the private room, where machines beeped and doctors and nurses worked around the bed where Salvatore lay, eyes closing, then opening, turning his head away from the nurse who tried to attach yet another tube.
“Salvatore!” I hobbled over to him and took the seat someone pushed behind me.
He opened his eyes and gave me a weak smile.
He kept opening and closing his hand, and I placed mine inside it.
He stilled then, lay back, and shut his eyes.
I sat there and watched, not sure if he held my hand or I held his, not sure it mattered anymore.
I watched him sleep, counted the needles in his arms, watched them inject something into the tube of one of the IVs.
“He will be out for a while. You can go home and get some rest. We’ll call you when he’s awake.”
“No,” I said, not taking my eyes off him. “I’m staying here.”
“Ma’am…”
I felt Salvatore’s tiny attempt at squeezing my hand and turned to the doctor. “I’m just as pigheaded, just so you know. I’m not leaving.”