Chapter 32
Alessandro
I become aware of the smell first. Antiseptic. The sharp tang of disinfectant. Then sounds begin to enter my consciousness. A steady beep. The low drone of a TV. Then the pain. I force my eyes open. I’m in a hospital room. The room is dim, curtains drawn, just the light from the TV flickering.
I try to remember why I’m here, but my thoughts are engulfed in a thick fog, out of reach.
“About time you joined the land of the living.” Rocco’s voice drifts toward me like a kite in the fog. And then he’s standing beside me.
I turn my head slowly and wince at the jackhammer assaulting my skull.
“You look like shit,” I whisper through a dry throat. And he does. His face is unshaven, dark circles under his worried eyes.
He grunts. “If you haven’t noticed, you’re the one laid out in the fucking hospital, brother.”
And then it hits me. I remember.
Lennon.
An SUV slammed into us. A rush of adrenalin, rage and fear floods me.
“Lennon,” I breathe. I push myself up on one elbow.
“Whoa, whoa, stop.” Rocco presses my shoulders, gently guiding me to lay back down. “We’ll talk but you have a concussion. You’re not going to be any good to her if you don’t look after yourself first.”
I’m too weak to resist and my head is now in a vice and swimming from the motion.
I swallow bile. “Where is she?” My heart thumps hard against my ribs.
Which, now that I’m paying attention, feel like I got kicked by a coked-up horse.
Oh god. If anything happened to her, I will burn those motherfuckers down in their own homes.
Rocco sighs and pours some water from a pitcher into a paper cup. He raises my bed and helps me sip some. I suck in a breath as the move jostles my ribcage. I can tell by the worry pinching his mouth that I won’t like what he says next.
“Okay. I need you to try to stay calm.”
Fuck.
“I’m serious, Sandro. You have to let your brain recover.”
“Just fucking tell me.”
He rakes a hand down his face. “After the two Russian pricks slammed into your car, they…they took her.”
“Motherfucker.” The word is a rumble in my throat. A fist squeezes my chest. Black spots cloud my vision as the Beast rears its head.
“She’s alive. That’s the good news.” He shifts on his feet and shakes his head. “And so are you. Thanks to the person in the black Mercedes who was following you and Lennon.”
Through the pounding in my head and the roar of blood in my ears, I try to understand what he just said. I can’t. It doesn’t make sense. “Explain.”
“There’s someone here who needs to talk to you. It’s better if he explains.” He squeezes my arm, being careful to avoid the IV-line dripping god-knows-what into my body. “Be right back.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. And the memory hits me like a Mac truck.
Her green eyes widening in terror. My name on her lips. Then the loud boom of impact. The screech of crushed metal. Her scream. Then nothing. Nothing until I woke up here. I fucking failed her. I didn’t protect her.
The door opens and Rocco enters with another man behind him.
The man is as tall as Rocco, with broad shoulders and the lean, muscular body of a jungle cat.
He’s wearing all black. Black T-shirt, black jeans, combat boots.
His eyes are locked on me with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
He stands at the end of my bed, hands shoved in his pockets as Rocco slides a chair beside my bed and motions for him to sit.
I ignore the thumping in my skull as he sits, and we assess each other.
He lets me look him over, staying silent with a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth and intense green eyes unwavering.
His hair is cropped short and dyed a white blond, there’s a silver bar piercing through his eyebrow, and black tats crawling up his neck and down his arms. Despite this man’s easy-going manner, I know he’s dangerous.
I can feel it in his calm, lethal energy.
My questioning gaze moves to Rocco, who’s standing behind him, arms folded. He nods.
Trust him.
I move my attention back to the man. “Who are you? And why have you been following Lennon?” Damn it. My voice sounds hoarse, weak. I clear my throat and give him my best “don’t fuck with me” stare. The effort causes a fresh wave of thumping behind my right eye.
He nods slowly. “Name’s Killian. I have been following your girl, aye.”
Fuck me. The accent. The quiet confidence of a killer. I immediately know who he is.
Irish mob.
My jaw clenches, sending a burst of white-hot pain through my skull. I break out in a cold sweat.
His gaze travels over my face and his brows press down. “Take it easy, mate. It’s not what you think. I have no intention of causing harm to Lennon. In fact, I was protecting her. I wasn’t sure what your agenda was, and I wasn’t too keen on her gettin’ wrapped up with the costa nostra.”
“Why the fuck do you care?”
His eyes light up and I get a flash of white teeth as he leans back in the chair and grins. “Because she’s my half-sister.”
I blink. And blink again. Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. What the fuck?
He chuckles at the disbelief on my face. “Take a minute. I get it. I just found out a few months ago myself.”
I look at him. Really look at him. There is a slight resemblance there. The green eyes, the full mouth. “Go on,” I manage, though the fatigue is beginning to engulf me.
“Her mam, Angela Rinaldi, was my Da’s mistress. My Da is Mac Donnelly.”
He pauses, giving me a second to digest that information. Mac “The Mako” Donnelly is Chicago’s Irish syndicate boss. He’s saying Lennon is the daughter of Mac Donnelly?
Christ. How is that possible?
He continues. “Angela left him. The thing is though, she didn’t tell him she was pregnant.” He shrugs. “Probably why she left. Didn’t want to raise her kid in our world. Anyway, she changed her last name. Started a new life here in Florida, never looked back.”
I’m fighting to stay conscious despite this revelation. “How did he find out about Lennon?”
He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Her mam’s sister. She’s got a gambling problem. Came to Da, offered information for a bailout.”
Fucking cunt. Betraying her own sister and niece. “You have proof of what you’re saying?”
“Aye.” He slides his phone from his jeans pocket, pulls up something and hands it to me. “These are the results of the DNA test I had done from a coffee cup Lennon discarded. Just got them back yesterday. It’s why I haven’t approached her yet. Wanted to make sure we weren’t swindled.”
I will my eyes to focus as I stare at the results. Looks legit. “Can you forward this to my email?”
He takes his phone back, and I recite my email.
“Done.” He slips it back in his pocket and folds his arms. “But you have some questions about what happened yesterday, yeah?”
Yesterday? The horror hits me. While I’ve been lying here, the Russian pricks have had Lennon for a full day. A moan escapes my throat.
Rocco walks over, grabs the water cup, and makes me take a few sips. I swallow and grit my teeth, pushing away the pain.
Killian continues. “I was down the road a bit, behind you when that white SUV came out of nowhere and slammed into you. Unfortunately, they got to Lennon before I could. But I managed to stab one of the fuckers when they came ‘round and pulled a gun on you. Stopped him from puttin’ a bullet in your brain. There were too many witnesses to slit his throat.” He cocks his head.
“He cursed me in Russian. What do the Russians want with Lennon?”
It takes me a second to process what he just said. He basically saved my life.
Well, fuck. No wonder Rocco trusts him already.
“We’re trying to run them out of Tampa for trafficking.
They’re going to use her to control me.” In other words, it’s my fault.
It’s my fault she’s in the hands of the same people who killed her mother.
I reach over and yank the IV out of my arm.
Blood immediately runs down my forearm. I press the sheet against it.
“Sandro,” Rocco barks, leaping toward the bed.
I hold up a hand. “Just get my fucking clothes. We’re getting her back. Tonight.” The room tilts and spins as I push myself up. My stomach heaves. A cold sweat breaks out over my body. I breathe through clenched teeth.
Rocco shakes his head. “For Christ’s sake.”
“That’s an order as your Don.”
Rocco glares at me and throws up his hands. Then he makes a call to Gunnar and tells him he’s bringing me home before he pulls a plastic bag from the closet.
Killian stands and moves the chair back to the window. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets again, a serious gleam in his eye as he watches me.
I’m in too much pain and too filled with anxiety and rage to deal with it. “What the fuck are you staring at?”
He smiles. It’s part amusement and part respect. “Just thinking I may have misjudged you.”
Rocco takes my clothes out of a plastic bag. They smell sour and my white dress shirt is stiff with dried blood. He frowns as he unfolds it, then shoves it back in the bag. “I’ll give you my jacket to put on.”
I concentrate on my breathing instead of the pain in my head and ribs as I get dressed.
Rocco glares at me and scrubs a hand down his face.
“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? I’m getting you a wheelchair to get to the parking lot.
” He holds up his hand as I start to argue.
“Non-fucking-negotiable. Save your strength for whatever fucked up plan you’re going to come up with to get Lennon back.
” He turns on his heels, throwing behind him, “Killian, watch him. Make sure he doesn’t pass out and bust his stubborn head open. ”