“It’s better than being dead,” I mutter.
She gives me a look. “Don’t say such things.” Grabbing my robe off the chair, she tosses it to me. “Andiamo, Nonna is making you breakfast. She said you need to keep your strength up.” She glides out of the room.
I push myself out of bed. My teeth clench as my chest tightens in protest. Every small movement pulls at the wound. It’s a sharp, burning reminder that I’m still breathing instead of lying in a casket.
Grabbing my robe, I struggle to put it on. Gratitude fills me. No matter how old I am, Mama and Nonna will always take care of me.
Then a wave of panic washes over me as I glance at the clock.
It’s eight o’clock.
I need to make sure they are out of the house before Dominic arrives or I might as well start planning mine and Dominic’s funeral.
Bracing myself, I make my way slowly to the stairs.
The hallway feels longer than it should. By the time I reach the stairs, my pulse is already too fast.
I stare down the long staircase to the foyer.
This is going to be painful.
Oh so painful.
But I refuse to show weakness.
Gripping the railing like my life depends on it, I lower myself onto the first step. How I remember when I used to run up and down this staircase with ease.
Pain flares, stealing the air from my lungs.
I won’t stop. I keep going.
Another step.
My legs feel wobbly.
Third step.
Lightheadedness creeps in. I tighten my grasp, nails digging into the wood.
Fuck this shit, I won’t show weakness.
I keep moving.
Fuck this bitch who tried to kill me.
Fuck the bastard who planned it.
Fuck whoever wants me dead.
The cursing continues as my feet touch each step.
Finally I reach the bottom.
Wait until I find the fucker who did this to me. I’ll make sure he pays with his life.
Forcing my breathing back under control, I enter the kitchen to find Nonna at the stove. Mama is wiping a dish and placing it into the cabinet. I sit down at the circular table in the breakfast nook. The large bay window looks out into the gardens. Mama places a plate in front of me that’s piled high with a frittata, cornetto, ciambella, fresh fruit, and bread.
I pick up the fork, my stomach growling as I eye all the delicious food. There is no way I can eat all of this, but I won’t dare say that to Nonna.
