I shift slightly. There is a heaviness in my chest. Moving my hands under the blankets, my fingers touch the compression wrap wound tight around my chest and waist. Beneath it, I feel the gauze pads placed over the stitched incisions. There is a slight tugging when I shift my weight.
“I don’t feel any pain,” I whisper as I adjust the thin hospital gown.
“That’s because they’ve got you on all kinds of pain medications right now.” Nonna nods to the IV pole that’s next to my bed. A long tube snakes from the bag of fluid to the needle in my left hand. “Once all that wears off, you’ll be in a lot of pain.” She makes the sign of the cross and mutters something in Neapolitan dialect.
Gigi comes closer to me. “Someone at that party wanted you dead, sis.”
No shit.
“But who? Everyone at the party was family and close friends…” My voice trails off as I pause then glare at Gigi.
“Elio didn’t do it. I had eyes on him the whole time,” Gigi protests, reading my mind.
I don’t believe it, but I’m too exhausted to argue.
I search their faces for answers, but my family’s only response is silence. The reality is they don’t know who it could be and neither do I.
Sighing, I take in their disheveled appearances. They are all still dressed in their elegant gowns from the night before. Gigi is missing a gold earring. Nonna’s lipstick is smudged. Mama lostan eyelash. Wariness lines their faces, and dark circles are under their eyes.
A sinking feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. Flashbacks consume me like a whirlpool: cutting the cake, the sharp pinch at my side, lots of blood, pretending nothing was wrong so as not to freak out the guests, but they found out anyway, and then the mad dash to the hospital.
Everyone got checked at the door.
Everyone at the party was someone I trusted.
Well, as much as you can trust someone in this line of work.
The air becomes heavy with unspeakable thoughts.
I gasp.
Someone at that party has betrayed me.
Someone I trusted wanted me dead.
Someone I cared for tried to kill me.
What the fuck.
I part my lips to say the inevitable when the door opens interrupting me.
Bruno enters, followed by Salvatore.
“Thank God, you survived!” Bruno exhales and bows his head, touching his cross. His fancy jacket is gone and his shirt is half-untucked. Even through his gratitude I can tell by his clenched jaw that he’s pissed.
“Grazie a Dio,” Salvatore breathes. His gray hair is mussed and his eyes are swollen from lack of sleep.
Bruno grabs the bed rail with both hands, locking eyes with Mother and Nonna. “I hate to interrupt this joyous moment but we need to speak with Cipi, alone.” A serious expression crosses his face.
Mama’s eyes turn stormy. “Bruno,” she hisses. “Are you crazy? Cipi almost died. I’m not leaving my daughter’s side.”
“It will be quick Valentina, I promise,” Bruno begs. “I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important. It will only take a minute, please.”
“It’s okay, Mama,” I whisper.
Mama kisses my forehead and smooths my hair. Straightening, she gestures to Nonna and Gigi. “We are going downstairs to get coffee, then we are coming right back.”
“Hospital coffee sucks,” Nonna makes a face. “They can’t even make an espresso.”
