Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Instead, I stroked her cheek. “Say the word, Emilia, and I’ll kill everyone who played any part in Chiara’s death.”
She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch as tears clung to her lashes. So beautifully broken, my fragile little kitten.
Jackson rang again, and I let out a frustrated growl.
She swiped at the tears on her face. “Answer it.”
I clamped a hand on her hip before she could escape and answered the phone. “What?”
“Tommy’s been shot.”
My whole world came to a grinding halt, my heart hitting my damn throat. “What?”
“Irish hit. He’s in the hospital. I…” Jackson’s voice broke. “I don’t think he’s gonna make it, Gio.”
I hated hospitals. Death seemed to linger in the air, not even offering its victims the dignity of speed. Emilia and Jackson sat in the corner of the busy waiting room, my enforcer still covered in blood—Tommy’s blood. Too much for me to believe he could possibly pull through this. Three bullets to the chest. I paced across the waiting room, my stomach knotting. Fuck, if he died… he was my friend, my brother, my family.
“Gio—” Jackson started.
I held up my hand, silencing him. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say right now.
The double doors that led to the hospital rooms opened, and Una and Nero stepped through them.
Nero clapped a hand on my shoulder. “He pulled through the surgery, but they’re keeping him in a coma for the next two days. We just have to wait….” His brows were pulled together, and I knew he was struggling as much as I was to process this.
We were supposed to be untouchable. Had been for years. No one dared to come for us, and I knew from the look on his face that Nero was about to remind every-fucking-body why.
Una approached Jackson and whispered something into his ear.
He nodded and stood. “We’re going to find this fucker,” he announced.
I nodded, unable to even give orders. Maybe I shouldn’t be giving them. I’d gotten us into this. Gotten Tommy into this. Nero was feared enough to keep everyone away from us. I tried to be better than the bloodshed and violence and constant war, but better wasn’t what kept my family safe.
Jackson walked out with Una.
Nero glanced from me to Emilia sitting silently behind me. “You can go see him. Want me to stay with her?”
“No, it’s okay.” I held out my hand to Emilia, and she pushed to her feet, threading her fingers through mine.
I wasn’t prepared when we stepped into Tommy’s hospital room. I’d seen countless men die, ended them myself, maimed and tortured. This was different. The lack of violence was what made it disturbing. The silence permeated only by the click and rasp of the ventilator breathing for him. It hurt to see him so helpless. It hurt to be so helpless. The tubes and wires all served as a reminder of just how fragile he was right now, how tentatively he clung to life.
Emilia took a step toward him, tears shining on her cheeks. She didn’t know him like I did, but she’d spent time with him. And like anyone who spent more than five minutes in Tommy’s presence, she liked him.
“I can wait in the waiting room,” she said quietly. “I won’t run. I promise.”
Did I want her to go? No. I’d always weathered my grievances alone, violence and whiskey my own brand of therapy. But here she was, like some angel, offering me a dose of reprieve in my suffering.
“No. Stay.”
With a small nod, she took a seat on the far side of the bed, taking Tommy’s limp hand in hers. When I sat beside her, she took mine, too, acting as a link between us. And that was how we remained for hours, a silent vigil in that hospital room. If he had any awareness, I wanted him to know I was here. That I would be there for him where I had failed before. Guilt was like a damn knife in my chest, twisting with each passing minute until I was full of self-loathing. If he died… No, he would not die.
The nurses finally kicked us out at midnight, and it wasn’t until the early hours of the morning, when I held Emilia in the darkness, that she finally spoke.
“It’s not your fault, Gio.”
It was, though. I was the boss, and that meant every single decision that led to this point was on me. I should have known that kid was Shane O’Hara long before he had ended up dead. I’d dropped the ball. Because I was distracted at a time when I should have been one hundred percent focused.
Emilia rolled over and placed her palm on my cheek. “He’ll pull through. He’s too stubborn and annoyingly optimistic to die.”
I hoped she was right because I didn’t know what I’d do without him.