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Michael
I burst through the hospital doors and shout, “Gabriella!”
“Michael?”
My eyes immediately zero in on my little sister curled up on a seat in the corner. Climbing to her feet, she runs toward me and crashes into my chest. I hold her tight as she cries hysterically against me, her small frame shaking from her sobs. After a moment, I gently grasp her shoulders and push her back to get a better look at her. Dry blood covers the front of her clothes and cakes her arms and hands. I hate knowing the blood belongs to my best friend, but I’m also relieved that my sister is not hurt.
Dad appears beside me, and when Gabriella sees him, she lets go of me and falls into his arms, seeking the comfort only a father can provide. My heart squeezes painfully at the sight. I may have only known I’m a father for a week now, but the time didn’t make the truth any less real. And seeing Gabriella with Dad is a harsh reminder of that.
“Has she said anything more?” Dad directs his question to me, and I shake my head. We only know that Enzo was shot when that bastard Patrick O’Leary broke into my home and that he took Rose and our son with him when he left.
“I can help fill in the details.”
I turn toward the voice and lock eyes with a familiar pair of icy blues. “What the fuck are you doing here, Dimitri?”
The stoic Russian gestures toward Gabriella’s crying form. “I brought your sister and friend to the hospital.”
Confusion washes over me. “What? Why?”
“Because she asked me to.”
My eyes flick between my sister and the pale, dark-haired Russian looking at her in a way that’s a little more than mere acquaintances. The memory of their encounter at Grace O’Leary’s wedding flashes across my mind. Immediately, my temper flares, and I storm over, grabbing the soon-to-be-dead man by the lapels of his jacket. In one swift movement, I shove him hard against the stark white hospital wall. The commotion draws the attention of the emergency room occupants. I have maybe a couple of minutes before the sorry excuse for security guards shows up. “What the hell is going on between you and my sister?”
I can feel the tension building in his body, winding up like a toy, ready to explode, but instead of breaking free, he levels me with his eerie bright blue gaze and says in an irritatingly calm voice, “Let me down, DiAngelo, and I’ll explain.”
“The fuck I will, Volkov.”
“Do you want me to answer you or not?”
“You can answer from where you are just fine.”
Suddenly, Gabriella stands beside me, her blood-caked hands digging into my arm that holds the Russian captain to the wall. “Let him go, Michael.”
Dimitri glances at Gabriella, and I growl under my breath at his audacity to even put eyes on my sister. “No. I’d rather not.”
“Please,” Gabriella pleads. “He helped us. He’s the only reason Enzo is alive right now.”
“Michael.” Dad’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Let the man speak. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Begrudgingly, I release the bastard and step back, folding my arms over my chest to keep from strangling the man more than anything else because Dad’s right. Every minute that passes is another minute Rose and Liam are forced to spend in Patrick’s hands.
“Gabriella and I are—”
“Friends.” My sister cuts in, her eyes as sharp as her tone.
Dimitri’s lips thin as if he doesn’t care much for her answer, and honestly, I don’t care much for his reaction.
“Right. We’re…friends. She called me when they broke in, and I rushed over when I heard what was happening. But by the time I arrived, Patrick was gone along with Rose and the baby. I took care of the men he left behind and brought Gabriella and Enzo to the hospital.”
“I just received word that our guards on patrol tonight were killed, including the Doc. From the looks of it, they tortured him to get the override code to the penthouse elevator. That’s how they got in,” Dad says, answering my next unspoken question.
I bow my head and take a couple of deep breaths to calm the rage spiraling out of control in my mind. Doc was a good man who loyally served our family for decades. It would take a lot to get the code from him, so I can only imagine the pain he must have been in at the end.
“Enzo’s in surgery,” Gabriella says, her words pulling me from the red haze that clouds my head. “He lost a lot of blood, but the doctors are confident he’ll be okay.”
Relief floods my system at the news of my friend, followed by the guilt of his situation. If I had just stopped and listened to Rose, he would never have taken her home. He never would have been at the penthouse. He would be safe and not here on death’s door at the hospital.
“There’s more,” Dimitri continues, his voice annoyingly calm. “Patrick plans on marrying Rose to Igor tonight at midnight at St. Paul's Church.”
