Remorse blisters through the doctor’s eyes. It discloses everything.
While not all is lost, things don’t look good.
Grief claws at my chest, but the sheer relief that Valentina is alive soothes its wounds. “Can I see her?”
“Soon,” the doctor answers, alerting me that I asked a question.
Silly me.
“Iwantto see her,” I correct.
“Soon,” he repeats. “She’s still under anesthesia…” His words trail off when I arch a brow. I wasn’t asking permission to see Valentina. I’m telling him I want to see her. Those are two very different things.
His throat works hard to swallow before he briefly nods. “Okay. But only one visitor at a time. She needs time to recover.”
My brothers nod in understanding. I stand my ground.
“Two.” I curl my hand around Concetta’s shuddering one before tugging her forward so she stands next to me. I was furious she didn’t immediately heel to Valentina’s request for her to stop. Then I remembered who she was dragging her away from. Tomasso is aworthless piece of shit. He’ll trade his own daughter for some coin, so there’s no way I’d let him anywhere near Valentina. Concetta must be of the same belief. Although I would have handled things differently, a parent doesn’t have the same crutches as a partner. “Two visitors this time.”
Again, the doctor surrenders. “Very well. Follow me.”
It takes only one glance at my brothers for them to move forward with correcting the injustices that occurred tonight. I’ll join them the instant Valentina is out of the woods. She comes first.
She willalwayscome first.
It’s business as usual for the Caruso realm when Matteo leads the pack of wolfhounds out of the hospital while shouting, “It’s party time, boys!”
Excluding the steady beep of monitors, the room Valentina is recovering in is quiet. Tubes snake from her arms and under the sheet, and a heart monitor shows the safe rhythm of her pulse. I move to her side and take her hand in mine. It’s warm now.Thank fuck.For hours now, I’ve been suppressing the urge to go on a rampage. It was close to bubbling over, but one brush of her skin against mine and the viciousness of the tornado consuming me downgrades from catastrophic to an EF3.
“I’m here,tesoro,” her mother whispers from the other side of her bed as her thumb strokes her left hand. “I’m not going anywhere, so you take all the time you need to rest. It’s my turn to take care of you.”
Valentina’s eyelids flutter, and I swear a ghostlike smile twitches on her mouth when I correct her mother’s promise. “It’sourturn to take care of you.”
Hours later, in the silence of the ICU room Valentina was recently moved into after recovery, Concetta uses the alone time to interrogate me. We had a dozen nurses and doctors between us in the recovery unit, so this is her first opportunity. “Did you know Valentina was planning to sell her eggs?”
Too shocked to remain tight-lipped, I shake my head. She said she knew Valentina was pregnant because a mother knows, but I didn’t know motherly instincts stretched this far.
“Did you?”
Her eyes lock with mine, and they shimmer with unshed tears. “I suspected,” she says softly. “She didn’t tell me. I found a prescription for gonadotropin the first night she didn’t come home from her interview.” She returns her eyes to Valentina, who now looks like she’s sleeping instead of fighting for her life. “I wasn’t snooping. I just needed to know you were okay.” Her hand tumbles when she runs it down Valentina’s cheek. “I wanted to ask you, but I didn’t want you to feel ashamed.” A broken sound escapes her. It’s jagged and bitter. “I also didn’t want to explain how I knew what gonadotropin is administered for.” With six short words, she underhandedly announces who her daughter got all her good qualities from. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” A huff rattles in her chest as she returns her focus to me. “If only they were interested in fifty-five-year-old, overcooked menopause eggs, then maybe this could have been avoided.”
Laughter whistles from my nose. It’s unexpected, but it lowers my agitation a ton. I hate what Valentina has gone through and what she still has to face, but if she hadn’t gone to the clinic on thatspecific day, I could still be scrounging the streets of Carlisle, trying to find her.
Concetta cuts off the peculiar sensation bombarding me by reminding me I still have a minefield to tiptoe across before I’m close to putting this chapter of my life to bed.
“Who was that lady earlier? The one in the ER? I know she was at the dinner party, but anytime I went to introduce myself, she scuttled off.”
Not wanting even a snippet of frustration to hinder Valentina’s recovery, I guide Concetta to the corridor outside her room before answering. “That was Valeria Giuffrida.”
“Giuffrida,” she whispers, as if testing the name out to see if it’s a good fit.
When her brows furrow, stumped, I ask, “Do you know her?”
Her headshake isn’t overly convincing, so she adds words to the mix. “It’s probably for the best. I would have hesitated slogging her with my bat if she were the daughter of someone I know. Now my conscience is clear.”
Before I can assure her a clear conscience isn’t needed for someone like Valeria Guiffrida, the doctor who saved Valentina’s life joins us in the corridor. I owe him everything, and the way he walks like his head is shoved up his ass announces he knows this.
He can strut. If he asked for my soul right now, I’d hand it over without blinking.