After pulling back from the counter, I smoothed down my suit. “Can you please tell me the direction of my wife’s room?”
“I’ll be happy to escort you there.”
“Thank you.”
With every step I took down the hallway, my heart beat like a cannon in my chest. When we reached Drea’s room, I peered through the sliding glass doorway. At the sight of Drea hooked up to all the machines, my knees buckled, and I sank to the floor.
“Fuck,” Rafe muttered before quickly helping me to my feet.
Every shred of strength I had evaporated in that moment. I’d never felt more helpless in my life. As I started walking to the bed, tears started streaming down my cheeks. I took her hand that was wrapped in IV tubing in mine.
“Drea, I’m here. It’s Leo,” I choked out.
Instead of her voice, the only sounds were the symphony of machines beeping. “This is all my fault,” I said both to Drea and my brothers.
“No, it isn’t,” Rafe argued.
I shook my head. “If we hadn’t fought…if I hadn’t told her I never wanted to see her again, she wouldn’t have gone to Bianca’s.”
“Why did you tell her that?” Gianni questioned.
My shoulders drooped in defeat. “I found out Luca isn’t mine.”
“What?” Gianni and Rafe both demanded.
Although it pained me to talk about it, this was more than just airing dirty laundry. This was a betrayal that was originally going to be perpetuated on Rafe.
When I finished, Gianni stared in shock while Rafe muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
“Even though I’m so hurt and angry with her, I can’t bear for anything bad to happen to her.”
Rafe exhaled a ragged breath. “As someone who has dealt firsthand with Edoardo’s wrath, Drea isn’t to blame.”
My brows shot up in surprise. “You’re joking, right? She was going to pretend the baby was yours.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“The Neretti heir would’ve been a lie.”
“She didn’t have a fucking choice, Leo. The man was holding the life of her nanny over her head. You told me what he did to her boyfriend. Do you honestly think Drea wasn’t terrified?”
Shaking my head, I said, “I can’t do this right now.”
“You have to. You’re going to have to let all your animosity go.”
At a voice clearing behind us, I whirled around. A man in surgical scrubs and a cap stood in the doorway somewhat out of breath. Glancing between us, he asked, “Which one of you is Andrea’s husband?”
“I am.”
“I’m Dr. O’Shea. I was the surgeon who did your wife’s c-section.”
“C-section? She isn’t due for three months.”
“You’re aware that your wife was brought in with a gunshot wound to the shoulder?”
“Yes.”
“While the injury wasn’t critical, we found it necessary to take the baby. Unfortunately during the C-section, something went wrong, and she began to hemorrhage. While we were able to stop the bleeding, her body went into shock.”