Valentino had to physically restrain me while they wheeled Antonella away. Her hand slipped from mine as they pushed through the doors. Her eyes were closed. Her face was pale as death.
The blood on her dress wasn't all Scar's.
I slam my palm against the door again. The impact sends pain shooting up my arm. Good. Pain means I'm still alive. Pain means I can still feel something other than this crushing terror that's eating me from the inside out.
"Bruno."
I ignore Valentino.
"Bruno, they're doing everything they can."
"They should be doing it faster."
Footsteps echo from the end of the corridor. I wheel around, hand going to the gun at my hip before I register who it is.
Lorenzo walks toward us with Sophia at his side. My brother looks like he came straight from bed—shirt untucked, hair disheveled, no jacket. Sophia wears one of his sweaters over what looks like pajama pants. Her face is tight with worry.
"We came as fast as we could," Lorenzo says. He stops a few feet away, taking in the blood on my clothes, the wheelchair, the closed door behind me. "Any word?"
"Nothing." The word comes out like broken glass. "Fifteen minutes and nothing."
Sophia moves past Lorenzo and crouches beside my chair. She doesn't touch me but her presence is oddly grounding. "The baby?"
"I don't know." My voice cracks on the last word. I hate it. Hate showing weakness. But this is my child. My wife. Everything I never thought I'd have, everything I was certain I didn't deserve.
"Where's Pietro?" Lorenzo asks Valentino.
"Went back to Nora." Valentino pushes off the wall and moves closer to our group. "He couldn't leave her alone, not with everything that's happening."
Lorenzo nods. His jaw is tight. "The Castellanos."
"War," I say flatly. "They took my wife. There's no negotiation. No diplomacy. We burn them to the ground."
"Agreed." Lorenzo's voice is cold in a way I haven't heard since Luna's betrayal came to light. "But we need to be smart about this. Marco Castellano has connections in Detroit. If we move too fast?—"
"I don't give a fuck about Detroit."
"You should." Lorenzo meets my eyes. "Because if we start a war without proper planning, we won't just be fighting the Castellanos. We'll be fighting everyone they're connected to.And right now, with Antonella in hospital and you—" He stops himself.
"Say it." I wheel closer to him. "With me in this fucking chair?"
"With you exhausted and injured," he finishes carefully. "You walked tonight. Actually walked. Valentino told me. That's incredible, Bruno. But it also means you pushed your body past its limits. You need to recover before?—"
"I need my wife to be alive." I cut him off. "I need my child to survive. Everything else can wait."
The door behind me opens.
I spin the chair so fast I nearly tip it. Doctor Morrison stands in the doorway, surgical mask pulled down around his neck, grey hair damp with sweat.
"Mr. Sartori."
"Is she alive?" The words tear out of me.
"Your wife is stable." Morrison holds up a hand before I can push past him. "She has a concussion from blunt force trauma to the head, bruised ribs to her back, and significant stress to her system from the ordeal."
"The baby." I can barely breathe. "What about the baby?"
Morrison's expression shifts. Something flickers in his eyes that makes my stomach drop.