27. Enzo
ENZO
“Sleep, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” I raise her hand to my mouth again and kiss her knuckles.
Her eyes are heavy, and I can see her fighting it, her mouth going slack with sleep, and the jolt as she drags herself back to consciousness.
“I don’t want to.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it.
“Demi, we have all the time in the world to be together… if that’s what you want.”
Her eyes grow huge with tears. “It is.” She chews her bottom lip, and I tug it out from under her top teeth with my thumb. “I should’ve—”
“Hey, no should haves and what ifs, okay. Things will be different from now on.”
“Different how?” She smiles, and my insides squirm because she is, and always has been, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, even with the pain causing her to flinch whenever she thinks I don’t notice.
“That’s a conversation for when you’re not floating up there on drugs.” I point at the ceiling.
Demi glances at the door, her eyelids drooping again. “Gio reneged on the coffee agreement. It’ll keep me awake…”
“I can send Davide out for coffee.”
“Will you get it?” she asks, voice drifting. “I’ll doze until you get back.”
I don’t want to leave her, but Gio appointed Davide, the son of our father’s closest confidante, to guard her, and there will be other guards posted around the hospital.
“I’ll be back before you can miss me.”
I lean in and kiss her lips, but she’s already away with the fairies.
It’s been too long since I had the opportunity to study her in slumber.
When we were together, my mind trained itself to rouse early, so I could have her all to myself before she woke up.
I didn’t realize at the time just how precious those moments were, but I know now, and I’ll hold on to every goddamned one of them.
I kiss her eyelids, noting the fine veins like tiny streams beneath the skin, her soft lips, her top teeth barely visible as her mouth relaxes, the curve of her cheek, bruises turning from purple to green. Then I notice the darker bruises around her throat, and my fists clench.
If I could kill the Russian over and over, every day for the rest of my life, it wouldn’t quench the anger inside me. I don’t know if it was my bullet that finally finished him off in the basement, or Gio’s, but my gut is telling me that this isn’t over, and my closure is yet to come.
“I love you.” I kiss her lips, and she stirs against the pillow, her hair fanning around her face, but she doesn’t wake up. “I’ll be right back.”
Perhaps a walk will do me good, loosen some of the tension in my back and shoulders, and I could use the caffeine buzz to keep me alert.
Davide glances at me when I step outside and close the door behind me with a small click. Not much older than me, he appears to have aged prematurely, his tanned skin heavily creased across his forehead, deep grooves around his mouth.
“I need some air,” I say, keeping it brief.
He nods once. “I’ll be right here.”
Outside the hospital, the streetlamps light the way, creating a golden bubble around those citizens not tucked up in bed. There’s a tiny, family-run Italian café nearby that will still be open at this early hour, serving some of the best pasta dishes and espresso I’ve ever tasted.
The owner, Marco, comes out from behind the counter when I enter, shakes my hand warmly, and claps a heavy hand on my shoulder in greeting.
He doesn’t question the blood drying on my clothes, or the dressing on my shoulder, or the way I slump onto a bar stool.
He doesn’t try to swap pleasantries while he brews espresso and places pastries I didn’t order into a brown takeout bag.
But when I’m ready to leave, he walks to the door with me. “You need anything, Mr. Sabatelli, you come and find me, you hear?” Then he turns around and walks back inside before I can thank him.
That simple gesture of friendship buoys my steps walking back to the hospital.
I raised the barriers when Demi left me, shut myself off from the people who cared about me, from those who only wanted to help, who wanted to support me when I needed it most and didn’t realize.
I know now that they’ll be right beside me every step of the way when I tell them what I plan to do next.
If this were a Disney movie, I’d be whistling a cheerful tune as I step out of the elevator and into the hushed corridor leading to Demi’s room.
The nurse’s station is unoccupied, the night staff in the office catching up on paperwork and monitoring the patient alarm system.
The lights are dimmed to emulate a softer, more pleasant version of nighttime while the occupants are asleep.
But everything changes when I realize that Davide is no longer outside Demi’s room.
My hackles rise like a wolf on the scent of a hunter. Balancing coffee and pastries in one hand, I pull out the silenced revolver Gio gave me when I came out of surgery and listen outside the door to Demi’s room.
Silence, other than the low beep of the equipment monitoring her vital signs.
Nothing stirs in the corridors or from behind other doors.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I open the door and peek inside. Demi’s hair is still fanned across the pillow, her pale hand with the IV cannula inserted rests on top of the covers, the monitor beside the bed registering her heart rate and blood pressure.
I enter the room, close it behind me, and lean against it. Everything appears to be exactly as I left it, which gives me two scenarios: someone is hiding in the bathroom, or they’re yet to arrive.
Either way, they won’t be walking out of here alive.
Setting down the coffee and pastries on the nightstand, I check out the bathroom, instincts already telling me that they wouldn’t be that predictable.
When I find it empty, I leave the door ajar and move quickly. Someone alerted them to my departure, which means they only needed enough time to get Davide out of the way before making their move. And I can think of only two reasons why he would’ve abandoned his post.
One: Gio gave him the order to leave.
Two: he’s working with the Russians. But that’s a problem for later.
Sliding the visitor trundle bed out, I tug a pillow out from underneath Demi’s head without disturbing her, and a spare blanket from the cabinet on the far side of the room.
Then I scoop her into my arms, unable to resist a smile when she leans into my chest and wraps an arm around my neck while she sleeps.
“You’ll be safe here,” I whisper as I settle her onto the thin mattress and cover her with the blanket. “Sweet dreams, baby.”
Demi curls up into the fetal position, one hand tucked beneath her face, and her breathing immediately slips back into the regular pattern of sleep.
From the door, she’s hidden by the bulk of the hospital bed, and I’m not letting the fuckers anywhere near her. I open the window and take her place in bed, revolver in one hand, the remaining smoke canister in the other, and pull the covers over me, trying to make myself as small as possible.
Then I wait.
It isn’t long before the hazy gray shape of danger passes by the window. I cover my head and count down the seconds.
The door opens, hushing across the floor as it allows in a slice of faint light from the corridor and careful footsteps. It closes again, the blind rustling its own gentle warning.
Showtime.
I pop the ring and listen with a sense of satisfaction to the hiss of smoke pouring from the canister as I toss it towards the intruder’s feet.
My first shot enters his thigh before he vanishes in the dirty cloud, and I slink out of bed without a sound as he pumps the mattress with bullets.
Using the smokescreen as cover, I circle around him and fire a shot into the back of his skull as he inches closer to the bed.
He goes down with a heavy thud, his gun skittering across the floor.
I don’t wait around to check his pulse. I pull on a sterile mask from the equipment trolley, take a second one for Demi, and carry her into the bathroom, locking the door behind us.
She doesn’t stir in my lap. Still, I don’t relax my hold but keep her against me, feeling the steady beat of her heart through the hospital gown, and the gentle flutters of her eyelids as she wanders through her dreamscape.
I would stay like this forever if that’s what it takes to keep her safe.
I’d take her to Sicily, pick olives in winter, and serve authentic pasta dishes to tourists all summer if that’s what she wants.
It’s a pleasant thought that keeps me smiling while I wait for the smoke to dissipate.
When it’s comfortable for us to go back to the room, I settle her back on the pull-out bed low on the floor, cover her up, and move the corpse to the waiting room.
I recognize him instantly from the night I followed the police commissioner to Kate Glasgow’s apartment.
His driver.
The loose end Gio left to tackle; the corrupt police commissioner with a penchant for Caribbean cruises, vulgar gold jewelry, and billionaires willing to swell his bank account in return for looking the other way.
I sit the corpse in a plastic seat in the visitor’s waiting room, place his gun back in his hand, and write a message on a blank sheet from a notepad I locate at the nurse’s station.
I WORK FOR THE POLICE COMMISSIONER.
Then I go back to the woman I love, slide onto the trundle bed beside her, spooning her body with mine, and close my eyes.
“Enzo?” Demi is facing me, so close, our breaths are mingled.
“You’re awake.”
I blink, aware that I slept when I should’ve remained alert. Painfully aware of what it would’ve cost me if the commissioner had sent another man to finish the job. She’s alive, I tell myself through the woolly nest that appears to have replaced my brain.
She’s safe.
Nothing happened to her.
“What are we doing down here?” Demi whispers.
I glance up at the bed, shielding us from view of anyone who might walk in.
“I thought we could use a little privacy.” I tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her lips softly.