What the fuck is wrong with me?
Audrey is the mother of my child, my wife, yet I still can’t put her first.
Because you don’t love her,screams a voice inside my head.You never have, and you never will.
Realizing what I need to do, I return my focus to Henry. I don’t get one of the million words in my head out. He just squeezes my shoulder for the second time, wordlessly assures me he has everything under control, then leaves the Intensive Care Unit waiting room.
I’m not surprised when the number of people in the room remains the same after his departure. He has a reputation that doesn’t require muscle. The fact he felt the need to bring backup to our impromptu meeting last week shouldn’t make me smile, especially under the circumstances, but it does.
The boss of all bosses title isn’t a handed-down legacy. It’s earned through hard work and mutual respect—the very things my family’s name was once founded on, and the very things I intend to return to it as soon as possible.
I just have to get a feisty redhead with gleaming green eyes out of the woods first because family comes first of all. Roxanne doesn’t have the blood nor the Petretti title, but she has something more valuable than both those things.
She has my heart.
She stole it when she stood across from me with black, chunky smears rolling down her cheeks, earned it when she put her life on the line for a child she had never met, then secured it for life when she did it all again without the slightest bit of hesitation.
She went to the ends of the earth for me, and I’ll do the same for her. She won’t have to ask for a single thing. I will give her the world, and I might even occasionally smile while doing it.
I’m a cold, calculated killer, but Roxanne not only gives me purpose, she makes me want to be a better man. Since that will also make me a better father, I’m sure the weakening of my reputation will be worth the sacrifice.
I’ve faced worse things in my life, and look how well they’ve turned out for me.
38
Roxanne
It takes me a few seconds to work out where I am. I can feel the thud of Dimitri’s pulse even with no part of his body whatsoever touching me, hear Rocco’s laugh, smell the slightest hint of Estelle’s perfume, and the annoying thump of Smith tapping away on a laptop matches the mariachi beat in my head.
The thought of him always working forces a smile onto my dry, blistering lips. Smith wouldn’t be Smith without a laptop balancing on his hand, just like I wouldn’t be me without Dimitri’s dark, mysterious aura igniting my senses.
While blinking to lubricate my eyes, I attempt to sit a little straighter. I’m already in a half-seated position, but since a pillow is wedged between my bed and the mattress, I’m not comfortable. I’m actually more uncomfortable than sore.
I barely move my hand an inch when a warm one slips over it. “Stay still. You’ll pull your stitches if you move too much.”
Stitches?
The figure that moves to stand in front of me is hazy, but I know who he is. A million droplets of rain couldn’t hide his eyes from me, so I doubt a healthy dose of sedatives could.
Perhaps that’s why I feel so spaced out?
Maybe I’m drugged up on the good stuff Dimitri reserves for his ‘special guests.’
After swishing my tongue around my mouth to loosen up my words, I ask, “Where am I? And exactly how much did I drink to get here?”
Rocco breaks the news since the concern on Dimitri, Smith, and Estelle’s faces steal their ability to talk. “You’re in the hospital. Dimitri shot you.” His last two words come out with a groan, compliments of Dimitri’s fist landing in his stomach.
Always willing to push the boundaries when it comes to Dimitri, Rocco laughs before asking, “Was I supposed to keep that a secret? My bad.”
I half groan, half laugh, the humor in Rocco’s voice too strong for the bland white walls and antiseptic smell surrounding me to discount. I’ve awoken in a room like this before. Thankfully, this time around, I’m not alone.
“It was for the best,” Smith says, not only jumping into the conversation but between Dimitri and Rocco before they come to blows. “Your appendix was a mess. When it ruptured, the infection spread to your abdomen. The sepsis was severe. In a way, it was lucky Dimitri shot you. It forced your stubborn ass to the hospital and allowed the doctors to treat the infection before it became life-threatening.”
He’s joking, right?
He honestly doesn’t want me to believe being shot saved my life.
Actually, come to think of it, it sounds about right. I’m nothing close to ordinary, so why wouldn’t a bullet be my savior?
