Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

Angelo

The doctor's words ring in my ears.

Ice fills my veins.

I call Gianni again and get the same response. Network error. I check my messages to verify his activity. He sent his last report a few hours ago.

I dial the call-in number.

A voice replies, "Everything clear. Over and out."

"State your time," I order.

Click.

The line is dead.

It's a pre-recording. They jammed our system. Gianni or my uncles must've leaked the numbers. Toma and Nico had keys for the house. They could've messed with the camera feed while Sabella was out on a walk. Then again, anyone with access to the password could've done it remotely. But I'm the only one who knows the password, which leaves me with the first option.

My hands shake as I dial the guard in charge at the old house again. "Turn around. Take six men with you to the hospital in the village. My wife has been admitted. Guard her room. No one comes near her except the doctors. Even then, go in with them. Make sure nothing happens to her. The rest of the men stay at the house. The kids will be home soon."

"Your wife? At the hospital?"

"Just do it," I say through gritted teeth. "And tell the men to get ready for war."

"Yes, sir."

I walk on wooden legs to the 4x4 and open the passenger door in the front.

Fuck.

What do I tell the kids who've just been through a traumatic experience? How can I deal them another blow when the horror of tonight is still fresh in their young, vulnerable minds? How do I say those words out loud without going to pieces?

I rack my brain for an excuse, but no. I made a vow not to betray their trust. This isn't a lie I can sweep under the carpet and hope they don't notice.

I swallow. "Sabella is in the hospital." Just saying it makes me tremble with maddening violence and crippling fear.

"Is she sick?" Sophie asks, sounding small and scared.

Assaulted.

In a coma.

"Yes, darling," I say, miraculously keeping my voice even. "I'll go there now to check on her. The driver will take you home. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Will she be okay?" étienne asks.

I want to say yes. I have to say yes. But the terrifying truth is I don't know. And it's killing me.

I reach over Guillaume and pat étienne's shoulder. "I'll call Heidi when I have more news."

Sophie starts unclipping her safety belt. "I want to come with you."

I stop her with a hand on her arm. "What will help Sabella is knowing you're safely at home and out of the cold. We don't want you to get sick."

She abandons freeing herself with a slouch of her shoulders.

"You're in good hands," I say. "My driver will take care of you, and my men are following in the car behind."

"What about you?" Johan asks, twisting in his seat.

"Don't worry about me. Just take care of your sister and your brothers."

"We can take care too," Guillaume pipes in.

I smile at him. "I know you can."

I nod at the driver. When he starts the engine, I close the door and watch the vehicle as he pulls off. Sophie, étienne, and Guillaume stare at me through the back window. They look forlorn. I store that observation in the back of my mind, leaving it for another time to examine. I can only think about Sabella now.

The second car pulls up.

"Make sure they get home safely," I tell the driver. "If anything out of the ordinary happens on the way, shoot first and ask questions later."

The tires shoot up gravel as he takes off.

To the driver of the third car, I say, "Go to the new house. Check on the men and call me." I dip my head, catching his gaze in the dashboard light. My insides shake as I tell him, "My wife was assaulted. Our communication was compromised. Expect an ambush or worse. I can't send more men. I need the others at the old house to protect the kids."

"We're on it, sir."

I tap the roof, their sign to go.

"What's going on?" Uncle Enzo asks when I slide onto the backseat next to him.

"Go to the hospital in the village," I instruct the driver, firing off a message to Heidi to let her know I'm on my way to the hospital. That something happened to Sabella. To lock the doors and keep two armed men with them in the house. "And floor the gas."

"Angelo," Uncle Enzo says, but I tune out his whining and look through the window, seeing nothing while coming more undone with every meter of road we cover too slowly.

He gives up after the third try, leaving me in peace to stew in my maddening anxiety.

It's close to two when the driver pulls into the parking lot of the hospital. I'm out of the car even before he's brought it to a complete stop, making my way inside the humble but well-equipped building in record time.

The nurse at the front desk looks up when the electronic doors slide closed behind me. A shutter drops in front of her eyes. She doesn't meet my gaze when I stop in front of her.

"My wife," I manage to say. "Sabella Russo."

She glances at the stairs. "The doctor is still with her."

"Where?" I bite out.

"First floor." She wheels her chair back, looking ready to flee. "Third room on the right."

I take the stairs two by two. The amount of people crowding the hallway restrict the passage. What the fuck are they doing here at two in the morning? I scan each person I push out of my way, assessing the danger, but they're mostly elderly men and women wearing troubled expressions.

They catch on that I mean business after my shoving invites a hum of protest in the throng. The people step aside. They stare at me as I walk down the human tunnel. I only breathe again when I spot my guards at the end, three on each side of the door.

I'm about to push the handle down when the door swings inward and a woman wearing a white coat and a name tag that reads Dr. Casanova steps out.

"No visitors yet," she says in a gentle but firm tone.

She's young. Not from around here. That's why she doesn't know me. She has no idea who I am or what I'll do to her if she doesn't let me see my wife right this minute. When she closes the door, I utter a sound close to a growl.

"I'm her husband," I say in a tone that'll frighten the toughest of men.

"Mr. Russo." She pauses and winces as if she doesn't know how to say what needs to be said. Touching my arm, she continues. "Let's talk in my office."

She walks to a door at the end of the corridor. When I don't follow, she turns. Her smile is friendly but professional. "The office is more private."

I look at the faces around me that belong to people I don't know. One of them seems vaguely familiar. When I catch his gaze, he looks away. The grocery store owner. That's right. I remember flattening his nose on his counter for refusing my mother's money. What the fuck is he doing here?

"Mr. Russo," the doctor says, reminding me she's waiting.

"I want to see my wife."

"In a moment," she says. "We need to talk first."

Fuck that. Wild horses won't drag me away from this door. I push it open and step inside, my heart beating with shallow, painful thuds in my chest.

Sabella lies under a cloud-blue blanket on the bed, her face as white as the pillow on which her head rests. Nasal cannulas are inserted in her nose. Monitors beep around her. The sight of her connected to those machines fucks with my head. She looks too vulnerable. Too fragile. I only saw her like this once when her brother paid the doctor to put her in an induced coma, but one look at her now is enough to tell me that this time, regaining consciousness isn't a certainty. This time, she's fighting for her life.

I go closer. My insides twist. Fear digs sharp claws into my chest. I thought I knew terror when I chased after the children's kidnappers in the dangerous landscape of the mountains. That was nothing compared to the dread tearing me apart now.

The soft click of the door behind me makes me reach for the gun in my waistband under my jacket. I spin around, ready to blow off heads, and come face to face with the doctor. I loosen my grip on the gun, leaving it in my waistband where my jacket conceals it.

She crosses her arms. "I would've preferred to have this conversation somewhere private. She may not hear us on a conscious level, but I do believe on a deeper level, people in a coma are aware of what's happening."

I stare at Sabella's pale features. Her skin looks as thin and white as rice paper. "She's still in a coma?"

"I'm afraid so."

"When will she wake up?"

"It's hard to say."

With much difficulty, I tear my gaze away from my wife.

"She suffered a severe concussion and an abdominal hemorrhage," the doctor continues. "We had to administer a blood transfusion. The bleeding stopped, but we're keeping an eye on it. Five ribs are broken. She has multiple bruises with shallow bleeding, but those should disappear on their own."

"What happened to her?" I ask, shaking with fury and something else I can't allow myself to examine now.

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"I just got back from Bastia. I was away on business."

"I see." She watches me with a level-headed expression. "Judging by her injuries, she's been brutally kicked and beaten. She's lucky to be alive."

Kicked and beaten.

Lucky to be alive.

My vision unravels. The doctor's mouth forms words, but I don't hear them through the blood gushing in my ears.

"How?" I clench my teeth, fighting the urge to rip the room and the whole damn village to pieces. "Who? Who found her?"

"Mr. Martin."

"Who?"

"Mr. Martin. He lives in the old mill. He said she knocked on his door for help, but that's all I know. That information concerns the police. My only interest is in your wife's wellbeing."

Sabella walked? She walked in her state all the way to the village to knock on someone's door? With broken ribs and a concussion? Bleeding internally. Because she didn't have a choice. Because I left her alone in that house.

"Mr. Russo." The doctor takes on that gentle tone again. "You should also know that your wife's injuries indicate that she was sexually assaulted."

I hear her and I don't. The words get stuck in my brain, but my mind doesn't process them. A moment of silence stretches as she gives me exactly that—time to process something I can't. Something I can't fix.

"I'm sorry," she says. "The baby didn't survive the attack."

The baby.

The baby.

Sabella was pregnant?

With my baby.

The blow nearly cripples me.

Our baby.

Spearing my fingers through my hair, I pull hard, trying to ground myself with the pain, but no physical torture can outweigh the incredible grief.

Fuck.

Sabella.

"You may want to see someone for counseling. I'll leave a number in the front. The receptionist will give it to you when you fill out the paperwork. You can stay with your wife for a few minutes, but let her rest. That's the best medicine for her right now."

The cold, calculated violence that builds inside me is the pillar on which I lean. The familiar sentiment is the only thing that allows me to function. If not for the vengeance already dictating my actions, I'd fall apart.

She turns, reaching for the door.

"A boy or a girl?" I ask in a voice I don't recognize as my own.

"It was too early to tell," she says, looking at me from over her shoulder but not meeting my eyes. "She was no more than five or six weeks pregnant."

I nod. Internalize that. Bottle it up to deal with later. There's only one thing I need to hear now. "Will she be all right?"

"She suffered physical trauma, but the damage isn't permanent. She'll be able to fall pregnant again if that's what you mean."

My tone is cutting. "That's not what I meant. Will she be all right?"

Unfazed by my hostility, she says, "That depends on how well her body heals, but from what I've seen, she's a strong woman."

"I want the best care for her, the best medical treatment."

"She's got it, but you're welcome to transfer her to a private clinic in Bastia when she's stronger. We may not have all the advanced technology here, but our staff is dedicated."

I nod again, just wanting to be alone with Sabella now.

"Remember, five minutes," she says before leaving us with a smile.

The moment she's gone, I walk to the bed and take Sabella's hand. Her skin is cold. I can't think about what she went through or how she feels because I'll lose the little reason I have left.

I press my lips on her knuckles and hold her cold palm against my cheek. I want to get into bed with her and hold her against me, but between the IV in her arm and the heart rate monitor that's clipped onto her finger, not to mention her broken bones, there are too many obstacles between us. There's been too many damn obstacles for far too long.

I carefully lower her hand and study her face. A purple bruise swells over her temple. Her bottom lip is split. I can't see what's hiding under the bandage that's wrapped around her head, but I don't need a visual to strengthen the killing rage that's running through my veins.

Taking the corner of the covers, I pull them open. She's dressed in a hospital gown that reaches mid-thigh. Bruises bloom on her arms and her legs—big, angry marks that are black and purple. My gut ties into a knot when I grip the hem and lift the gown.

The sight of her body sends me over the edge of sanity. Her midriff is one big violet canvas. A bruise peculiarly shaped like the sole of a shoe stretches from under her breast to her side. The marks on her inner thighs stand witness to what they did to her.

How fucking many?

How does she come back from this?

With me, that's how. I'll get her through this. I'll help her heal if it's the last thing I do. But first I need to make sure she's safe and that she stays safe forever.

I take great care to cover her, making sure I don't touch her and cause her pain. Then I kiss her forehead. It takes all I've got and more to walk from that room, but once I close the door behind me, I turn into what I was born to be.

A monster.

"How is she?" an old lady with a pink woolly hat whispers.

I frown. "Do you know my wife?"

The woman glances at the people around her.

A woman with dark-rimmed glasses and too much red lipstick for two in the morning steps up. "We all know her."

I glare at her. "And you are?"

"Mrs. Campana. I own the pharmacy in the village."

"How exactly do you know my wife?"

Her pout makes her mouth look like a prune. "We're her friends." Lifting her chin, she says, "We're all her friends."

I don't ask how or why. There'll be time for that later. I single out the only other man there except for the grocery store owner. "Are you the one who found her?"

The man looks me up and down. "She knocked at my door, yes."

A lump lodges in my throat. "What did she say?"

"Nothing. She was unconscious." He shakes his head. "I found her in a small heap on the doormat."

I shove down my emotions. "Thank you for calling an ambulance. I'll reward you of course."

He pulls up his nose. "If you think I want money for helping a friend then you don't understand the first thing about friendship."

My phone rings. I let that comment slide, pulling the phone from my pocket.

The woman with the pink hat pulls at my sleeve. "You didn't say how she is."

I press the phone against my ear, already walking away as I say more for my benefit than for theirs, "She'll be fine."

She has to be.

I don't want to build this life without her. Everything I did, I did for one reason only—to bind us together. Every thought and every smallest action were aimed at making her a part of my future.

I can't give her up.

Not now.

Not ever.

"Sir?" the man on the other end of the line says.

It's the driver I sent to the new house.

I make my way downstairs with quick steps. "What did you find?"

"We need to call an ambulance to the new house. Roch is here. He's been shot, but he's alive."