Chapter 27
FRANKIE
In…and out. In…and out.
I pull another breath in through my nose and then let it out slowly through my mouth. I’m doing my best to concentrate on my breathing, trying to keep it steady, but it hasn’t been going so well. Ever since I woke up in this hospital room, I’ve been shaking uncontrollably.
Not because I was surprised to find myself here. Even as I struggled to stay conscious in the ambulance, part of me was still aware enough to know what was happening to me and where I was being taken. The hospital itself isn’t what’s making me tremble.
It’s the memories. The nightmare of what Charlie and I went through.
My brain just keeps replaying all of it, down to the last detail, over and over again.
The horror of being tied up and held captive.
The feel of that man on top of me, the smell of gasoline and alcohol rolling off him.
How utterly helpless I was, how it felt to see Charlie getting hit and touched and violated.
The moment I realized there was nothing I could do, when the fight in me started to die.
And my baby…nobody has been able to tell me anything. They keep saying I have to wait for the doctor. So I’ve been riding the edge of a panic attack ever since I opened my eyes.
I look down at my shaking hands and turn them over. Some of my nails are broken, my fingers abraded. My wrists are bandaged but they still feel raw, and I can make out the shadow of dark blood under the gauze.
Footsteps sound down the hallway, and when I look up, I see the nice nurse I had earlier walking into the room—with Dante following behind her.
A flood of relief goes through me. I reach for Dante’s hand, and the feel of his fingers in mine brings tears to my eyes. Suddenly I’m shaking again, but for a different reason.
“Hi,” he says softly.
He clasps my hand and kisses my knuckles, his eyes searching mine. All I see in his gaze is worry, relief, love. This is what I need. This, and the truth about whatever is going on with the baby. Because I need to know. The not knowing is worse.
Just then a doctor in a long white coat comes in with a male nurse, who is pulling an ultrasound machine behind him.
“I’m Dr. Wyn,” the doctor says. “I’m going to run your ultrasound in a second, once the nurse gets the machine all set up. I’ll be right back.”
Dante nods. “Thank you.”
She smiles kindly and steps out.
As the nurse works on hooking up the ultrasound machine, Dante looks back at me.
He must have so many questions, and I’m not sure I have all the answers.
Where did the men come from? How did they know Charlie and I would be inside the house?
Where the hell was the security team meant to keep the entire Bellanti property safe?
Dante pulls a chair right up next to the bed and sits, gathering me close so he can kiss my forehead. Leaning into him, I can’t help wishing he could climb into the bed with me. The warmth and security of his body is all I want.
“How’s Charlie?” My voice is scratchy and weak.
“Recovering. She’s with Clayton. I don’t have all the details, but it seems like her injuries boiled down to scrapes and bruises. No concussion.”
“Thank God.”
“They wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but she refused. Said she’s going home. They’ve already discharged her.”
I swallow hard. “Good.”
The male nurse turns to me and says, “All ready for the ultrasound, Mrs. Bellanti.”
Dante eyes him suspiciously. I don’t blame him. I’m not even sure that I feel 100% secure having a man put his hands on me after what I’ve been through.
“I just need to lift the hospital gown over your belly,” the nurse says, coming over to the bed.
“Okay.” I brace myself as he gently pulls the white sheet down. But the second he starts to lift the hem of my gown, I flinch.
Immediately, he takes a step back. “Would you like to do it yourself, if that’s more comfortable? I just need the abdomen exposed for the ultrasound wand.”
Gratefully, I nod.
“Not a problem. I’ll give you a moment,” he says, crossing the room to busy himself with some settings on the machine.
Dante takes over where the nurse left off, carefully lifting my gown over my abdomen while making sure I’m still covered from the hips down with the sheet.
I notice he’s staring at my belly, brows drawn together, and that’s when I look down and realize I have a massive bruise on my side, black and purple and ugly. There’s also a small, grazing cut near my belly button. I start to shake again. Dante’s hand grasps mine and tightens.
“We’re ready,” he tells the nurse, his voice strained.
“Great. I’ll go get the doctor. Be right back.”
Moments later, he returns with Dr. Wyn, who moves with soothing, unhurried movements as she wheels the ultrasound machine next to my bed and takes a seat.
“I have some good news,” Dr. Wyn says. “The CT scan of your brain came back clear, with no signs of head trauma.”
As she goes on in more detail, all I can think about is the way that man grabbed me by the back of the head and slammed me facedown onto the floor.
Getting dragged down the stairs, falling into the vanity table.
I guess I should feel lucky my injuries weren’t worse—but right now, all I feel is rage toward the men who did this to me and Charlie.
Rage, yes, and the sheer panic of not knowing if my baby is safe.
Which is something only the ultrasound will tell us for sure.
“...x-rays of your chest show several hairline fractures on the seventh to tenth ribs, which is likely the source of those shooting pains you felt in your abdomen,” Dr. Wyn continues.
“You also have severe external bruising over your ribs. That being said, the fractures will heal on their own in a month or two, so in the meantime you’ll just have to take it easy.
We can give you some mild pain medication for the discomfort, but taking into account your pregnancy, options are limited.
The safest thing for you is going to be acetaminophen. ”
“So just Tylenol, basically,” I say.
“That’s right,” she says.
Dante squeezes my hand gently. “But what about the contractions she had?” he asks.
Dr. Wyn nods. “So what you described, Mrs. Bellanti, are Braxton Hicks contractions—a kind of false labor. They’re unfortunate but perfectly normal and most women do experience them during pregnancy. Think of it as the body’s way of practicing for the birth.”
“So...not early labor,” I say with relief.
“You’re certainly not in labor now,” Dr. Wyn says with a gentle smile. “But we’ll keep you here overnight just to be sure.”
“Thank you,” Dante says.
“Shall we move on to the ultrasound?” Dr. Wyn says, motioning for the nurse to turn the lights off in the room.
Soft gray light spills from the ultrasound screen.
Dr. Wyn readjusts my gown and then squirts ultrasound gel across my abdomen.
How different it is this time. Instead of excitement and anticipation, all I feel is overwhelming worry and concern.
Even knowing my contractions were probably nothing, I can’t help fearing the worst.
As Dr. Wyn moves the wand over my belly, Dante tightens his grip around my shoulder. When the doctor turns the screen so she can see it better, my heart lurches to my throat. Dante leans forward, straining to see the screen.
“And...it looks like your daughter is perfectly healthy,” Dr. Wyn says.
We both let out a breath of relief. And then I realize what the doctor just said.
I turn my head to look at Dante, and his eyes meet mine. An awed smile spreads across his face. A daughter, he mouths. I nod. My heart is so full, it feels like it might burst.
After the doctor leaves, the nurse informs me that I’m going to be transferred to a private room for the night.
Dante excuses himself to go deliver the good baby news to Charlie and Clayton.
The mild sedative Dr. Wyn gave me must kick in then, because the next thing I know, I’m coming to in a different room with pale blue walls, soft lighting, and a huge vase of flowers by the window.
It’s a struggle to keep my eyes open. My brain does not want to be awake.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Dante says from a chair by the bedside.
I reach for his hand, stifling a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”
“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Shaking my head, I look into his eyes and say, “I wanted to tell you something first.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Frankie, don’t—”
“I am, though. I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to the baby. I’d never forgive myself. I just...I really thought we would be safe on Bellanti property. I thought there were security guards all over the place. I never for a second thought—” my voice breaks.
Dante brushes back my hair, shushing me gently. “You should have been safe. Something went wrong. And I swear to God, whoever is responsible is going to pay.”
I see his jaw clench, his shoulders tense—and I can’t help wondering how he intends to make the men responsible pay.
Charlie said to never ask. That it’s just the way this life is. Mafia wives don’t ask questions. But my sister and I and my baby were almost killed tonight because of who we’re married to. Mafia wife or not, I deserve to know.
“Are they going to pay with their lives?” I ask softly.
Dante hesitates. He’s not going to answer me, and I suppose that’s answer enough. But then he rubs my arm. “Maybe. Let’s not talk about it right now.”
He doesn’t want to upset me, I can tell.
But he doesn’t know what I’m really thinking.
My eyes close, and I feel myself start to drift off again. But I can’t yet. I need to tell him…something...important.
“That other man...at the house. I’m glad you shot him,” I tell Dante groggily.
And then I slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.