Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“Elona, it’s time.” My stepfather gently called from the doorway of the ICU room.
Sixty-one, over six feet tall, broad shouldered, Brett Cartwright commanded attention wherever he went.
Even now, in this foreign place, everyone deferred to him.
Part of it was the money, but mostly, it was the way he carried himself.
I shifted carefully in the uncomfortable wheelchair. “A few more minutes?”
His gaze traveled from my face to Luka’s. With a reluctant shake of his head, Brett said, “No. We’ve delayed as long as we can.”
I tightened my hold on Luka’s hand. I’d been sitting with him for a few hours, hoping he would wake up before I left.
There were so many tubes and machines around him.
I understood enough about the numbers on the display to know his blood pressure was too low, and his heartrate was too high.
There was more blood hanging from one of the stands next to the bed along with bigger bags of saline and smaller bags of medications.
The gunshots had torn through his intestines and made a mess of things, but he’d already been suffering a long and slowly bleeding ulcer for months.
Apparently, he’d been ignoring it, taking a little medicine here and there, not following up with his specialists.
Now, he had nearly fatal anemia and a raging infection that the hospital team was valiantly trying to fight before it became full-blown sepsis.
Stupid, arrogant idiot.
I desperately wanted him to wake up so I could tell him off to his face for being so dumb. I wanted to scold him, to see his eyes flash with the angry fire of being chastised. I wanted him to wake up and fight me, argue with me, and then kiss me until my lips were numb.
Wake up, Luka. Please.
There was so much I wanted to tell him, to explain, but the universe seemed to want to keep us apart. Accepting that I couldn’t wait much longer, I finally said, “I’ll go as soon as his family gets back.”
“Drita is here.” Brett mentioned the Beciraj family housekeeper.
She’d been at the hospital nearly as much as I had, moving between Luka’s room and mine.
Whatever prejudices she had against me seemed to be long forgotten.
I suspected Zec had given her a rundown of what had happened on that boat.
I seemed to have earned her respect. She’d even smiled at me—twice!
Drita stepped up next to Brett. Even after practically living in the hospital, she looked so polished and put together.
Bootcut jeans. A white shell top. Blush pink twill jacket that looked like it had come right off a model at a St. John’s runway show.
Gold Aquazurra sandals I recognized from boutique I’d visited a few months ago.
They ran impossibly small and narrow and had gone right back onto the display shelf.
Seeing her there next to Brett, I couldn’t deny that they made a pretty pair.
Considering the way Brett glanced over at her, I suspected my stepfather had more than casual interest in Luka’s housekeeper.
I didn’t want to accuse him of having a type, but first my mother and now the lingering looks at Drita?
He definitely had a thing for mafia adjacent ladies.
“I’ll take care of him, Elona.” Drita quietly entered the ICU room with her handbag and a bottle of water. “He’ll be in good hands.”
But not in mine.
I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to stay here, right here next to his bed, until he woke, but if I didn’t leave today, things were going to get very, very uncomfortable.
So far, I'd managed to avoid the journalists lurking outside and the policemen and detectives and federal agents who wanted to question me. Brett had used his connections and his money to shield my brother and me, but that shield couldn’t stay up forever.
Slowly, I let go of Luka’s hand and lowered my arm back to my lap.
I kept my gaze fixed on Luka’s sleeping face as Brett wheeled me out of the ICU room.
When he turned the wheelchair toward the hallway, I gulped around the ball of emotions clogging my throat.
Somehow, I managed not to shed a tear until I was stepping out of the wheelchair and sliding into the sleek black sedan driving us to the airport.
At least then, I was able to blame it on the discomfort of moving from the chair to the car.
Truthfully, I had hardly any pain at all with my stab wound.
Kristo had cut and damaged enough nerves in that area that it felt mostly numb.
Deeper inside, there was tenderness if I coughed or moved too fast. Overall, I’d been incredibly lucky that Kristo had chosen that spot to drive that blade into me.
And he was not so lucky.
I didn’t dwell on what happened to him. Nothing good would come from it, and there was no changing what had happened. The moment he’d chosen to betray Luka he had signed his death warrant.
“I spoke with Zec this morning,” Brett said as our driver navigated the streets of Tirana.
“Oh?” I couldn’t even imagine the two of them in the same room together let alone sitting down to talk.
“I was very clear that all of this,” he made a circular gesture in the air, “is done. It doesn’t touch you or your sister or your brother ever again.”
“And he agreed?” I asked skeptically.
“He saw reason.” Brett slid his thumb down the screen of his phone and opened a message. “I should have taken care of this years ago.”
“You tried,” I reminded him. Memories of that last year of his marriage to my mother flashed before me. “I heard enough of the fights you had with our mother to know you tried.”
“Not hard enough,” he muttered.
Sensing this was a sore subject, I let it go. Instead, I asked, “What are we telling people at work?”
Not looking up from his phone, he said, “You were in a car accident. I thought that was the best option. It explains why you’re injured and why you’ll be taking some time to recover.
Zec managed to keep the details of the bombing and the hotel attack out of the media here.
There was a little story about a faulty oven and a gas leak at the wedding venue.
A drunk who fell off his balcony at the hotel. ”
“Just like that, huh?”
“If it keeps people from prying into your business, I don’t care who lies.”
At his mention of business, I thought about my trip to Shanghai. “I didn’t have time to follow up with you about the Jackson and Drake situation.”
“You don’t need to worry about work for a while. You need to rest and recover.” Brett finished with his phone and made sure to meet my gaze as he said, “But I handled it.”
“Handled as in—.”
“Fired Drake. Kicked asses that needed to kicked. Put Jackson on a PIP. His department is under Selina’s purview until I can be sure they’re behaving like grown adults.”
If I’d liked Jackson more, I might have felt bad for him. Aunt Selina had helped build Cartwright Solutions with Brett. She’d raised four boys on her own after her husband died in a car accident, and she demanded the best of everyone, the highest standards, or else you were gone.
“The next time we have a problem like the Tokyo hotel you better come to me as soon as it happens.” Brett seemed upset I hadn’t done just that. “Finding out about the hotel incident in Japan almost a year later is not a good feeling for me, Elona.”
“I wasn’t there. It was hearsay, but convincing hearsay.”
“I need to hear rumors about the company and within the company.”
“I know.”
“Although I expect that’s going to be a bit harder for you once you’re in Shanghai,” he said, a heavy sadness in his voice.
“I don’t have to go.” Like him, the idea of being so far from Dallas, from family and friends, left me feeling homesick and sad.
“You have to go.” He was using his no-nonsense-dad voice. “This is your chance to spread your wings and make a name for yourself. You’ve earned this chance. Go to Shanghai. Show them who you are and what you can do.”
Already feeling emotional from all the trauma I’d survived, hearing my stepdad’s pep talk and knowing he supported and believed in me was enough to make me start crying again.
“Oh, darlin’, don’t cry. You’ll break your stitches.” He reached over and soothingly patted my shoulder. “You’re all right.”
“I am all right.” I patted his hand. “Just tired and emotional.”
“I know you are.” He gave my shoulder a fatherly squeeze. “I need to get you home. You need your people around you. You need to rest and be loved on.”
“That sounds really nice.” I wiped my face. “Honestly, I think a chicken fried steak would solve a lot of my problems.”
“You and me both,” he said, laughing. “Although, I have to say that Drita can cook.”
“Oh, no. You’re not flirting with Luka’s housekeeper!”
“I didn’t flirt!” The tips of his ears turned red. “I was simply expressing my appreciation for her skills in the kitchen.”
“That’s how it starts,” I warned. “She makes you cupcakes. You eat the cupcakes. You start to crave the cupcakes. Suddenly, she’s making more than just cupcakes—in your kitchen, after spending the night.”
He clicked his teeth. “That is not happening. And it wasn’t cupcakes,” he corrected as if it mattered. “It was some kind of pastry thing with spinach and cheese. Reminded me of spanokopita I get at that little Greek restaurant down the street from my office.”
“Byrek,” I named the dish.
“Yeah, that’s sounds right. There was a casserole, too. Lamb and rice. A couple of other dishes. A cake with candied orange peels.”
“Good lord,” I said, taken aback. “She brought all of that to a hospital waiting room?”
“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck and studiously avoided my gaze. “I went to their house for a face-to-face with Luka’s people. She fed me after.”
“Uh-huh,” I remarked, realizing he was so far gone. “You realize she had a blood oath against me a few days ago.”
“And your side had one against hers.”
“Whose side are you on again?”