Chapter 57
Dean
For the first time in fuck knows how long, being in the hospital didn’t bother me. I still hated the place but with the amount of blood I lost, and with how much shit we went through, I was happy laying in a hospital bed for a night, processing and recovering.
In a fresh change of clothes, thanks to Kira and Seb visiting earlier, and finally free of the blood and debris of the basement, we shared the bed. Lily was asleep, tucked against my side under my arm and bandaged hand, with her head on my shoulder.
I never wanted to let her go again.
At least for the next twenty-four hours.
Three hours ago, Lily had given her statement to the police while I got my hand sewn back together and checked for nerve damage — my middle finger was the only one I couldn’t feel.
While I was getting stitches in the emergency room, chaos exploded as paramedic after paramedic wheeled several stretchers in.
Survivors of the shooting — police and criminals.
No sign of Antonio. Or Vince.
It was way past midnight, officially Saturday morning. And a whole week since Mom’s death. It was a bitter pill to swallow, accepting how fast the week had gone without her.
I waited for the tears; the lump in my throat, but there was nothing.
Maybe my emotions were worn out. My life had been blown apart, and I was too exhausted to think.
I guess that’s why, two hours ago, when Mark arrived with news that there were no more survivors from the shooting, I just stared blankly.
Antonio’s body was found where I left him and Vince. They were men I had shared most of my early adult life with, making it hell but also providing me a fucked up form of job stability, and I felt…indifferent by their passing. There was no love lost there, but there was a loss of something.
Lily stirred with a small stretch. Her eyelashes fluttered open, and those pretty blue eyes sleepily took in the room. She seemed to remember where we were before she sighed and closed her eyes again.
“You okay?” I mumbled.
She smiled softly and nodded, keeping her eyes closed. “I am. You’re the one who was stabbed.”
I huffed a laugh. “Fair enough.”
“My therapist will hear all about it, though.” She snuggled against my chest, placing a hand on my stomach.
“I thought he was a psychologist?”
“Tomato, tomato.”
My lips twitched, and I kissed the top of her head, savoring her scent. She smelled of fresh linen and jasmine again. It lingered in her clothes from home and the soap Kira had brought. I never wanted to forget that smell.
This scene was a stark contrast to the one when we first arrived. That one was filled with questions from doctors, worried friends, and detectives. But the most intense interaction came from Lily’s mom.
I had forgotten that she was none the wiser about anything Lily and I were involved in from day one.
Kate thought I was just a tattooed petty criminal.
When she found out Lily was at the hospital after a hostage situation, and Mark gave her a rundown of everything, she exploded in a fit of rage.
Mostly aimed at me, in the form of a misaimed water bottle and a pillow, until Mark led her from the room before she could scream the hospital down.
Jane was with them, understandably shocked to find out what else I did for a living. I hoped it didn’t change how she saw me.
Kate had every right to be mad. If I were in her shoes, I would also want to smother whoever put my loved ones in danger with a pillow.
Since that moment, Lily and I had found some peace for the night.
Lily slid her hand to my chest, leaving her head on my shoulder as she lightly traced invisible shapes into the front of my hoodie. Her voice was quiet. “How long before they take you away?”
Our attention went to my left arm. There were cords and needles, replenishing my fluids and blood, but it was my wrist, cuffed to the side of the hospital bed, that prompted the question.
Outside the doors, two cops were stationed in the hallway in case I tried to escape.
Mark had warned me about the arrests. It hadn’t come as a surprise when some of his colleagues strolled in to read out the charges, and my rights, and slap the cuffs on me.
At the end of the day, I was what they had written on paper — an unofficial member of Antonio’s soldiers and an illegal fighter.
A criminal. I worked for him and saw things that any law-abiding citizen would go to the police for.
I enabled his crimes, I was an accessory, I blackmailed, stole, and threatened violence…
The only thing that didn’t come up was the forced suicide of Gio Calacoci.
“Twenty-four hours,” I responded.
She hugged me tighter.