Page 95 of The Don’s Omega

“That’s kind of you to say.” I can’t help but be flattered by his words, but there’s also guilt. I care about Marcello. Yet, it seems wrong to care about a man who can be so brutal. That’s what causes the turmoil inside of me. Part of me wants to ignore his bad side and only enjoy the good. But is that realistic?

“It’s not right for an alpha to be alone, so I’m glad he’s found you,” Salvatore says. “His life hasn’t always gone how he wanted. He never wanted to be the don, did you know that?”

“Yes, he told me.”

“Did he?” He lifts his brows, surprise glittering in his eyes. “So he feels very close to you then. That’s good. That’s very good.” He clears his throat. “Keep his heart safe, Elio. He’s had too much pain. Now it’s time for his life to become nothing but joy.”

“I’ll do my best.” Again, guilt eats at me because I’ve been avoiding Marcello. I know he’s noticed. I know I’ve hurt and confused him.

“That’s a good boy. He’s lucky to have you.” He drains the last of his wine and sets the glass down. He pushes himself up out of the chair with a grunt. “And now that I’ve had my one drink, it’s best if I go.”

“Aww, must you leave already?” Giulia says, frowning.

“Yes, my dear. If I have more than one drink, I get too sentimental. Nobody needs a sad old man telling his sad old stories.” Salvatore chuckles and meets my gaze. “Elio, it was a pleasure seeing you again. Hopefully we can have another drink next time you’re here. I am always somewhere on this veranda, boring somebody half to death with tales of my youth. Let’s talk again soon.”

“I’d like that,” I say, and I mean it.

He says his goodbyes to the others, and then he ambles off down the veranda the way he came. He stops twice to greet people who brighten at the sight of him.

“Salvatore’s a sweetheart,” Costanza says, watching him go. “Old guard and one of the last true gentlemen. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

“He’s lovely,” I agree, and I reach for the fresh drink that’s appeared at my elbow. Talking with Salvatore has made me want to see Marcello even more. But even if I wanted to talk to him tonight, I can’t. He’s in Italy on business.

Maybe that’s a good thing. It forces me to keep my distance, and gives me time to reflect more on my confused emotions.

****

Twelve days later, I sit alone in a surgical waiting room, paralyzed with fear for my brother. The day I’ve both prayed for and dreaded is finally here.

Fabio went into the operating room forty minutes ago. They came for him at 6:00 a.m., two nurses and an orderly with a gurney. I walked beside him down the hall holding his chilled hand.

He was scared but he tried so hard not to show it. He attempted to hide his fear by joking about the ugly hospital gown, about the showercap they made him wear. But I know my little brother. I recognized the anxiety in his eyes and in his laugh.

Right before he went through the doors and into surgery, the jokes had stopped. He’d clutched my hand painfully and whispered, “What if I don’t wake up?”

Throat tight, I’d responded, “You’re going to wake up.” I’d squeezed his hand, hard, willing it to be true with everything in me. “You’re going to wake up and the first thing you’ll see is my ugly face.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Have I ever broken a promise to you in my life?”

“No.”

“You’re going to be fine.” I’d kissed his hand and he’d given me a teary smile.

Then the nurse and orderly had wheeled him through the doors, and the last I saw of him was his face turning to find me as they wheeled him through, his eyes holding mine until the doors swung shut between us.

That was forty minutes ago. The surgery is supposed to take three to four hours. I’ve been told all the steps. Dr. Ashworth walked me through everything yesterday. But all the information in the world doesn’t mean something can’t go wrong. Knowing the steps of the operation doesn’t mean Fabio’s heart can’t stop. Or someone might make a mistake.

Or I’ll be punished for caring about Marcello by losing Fabio.

My eyes burn with unshed tears at that thought. No. God wouldn’t be that cruel. Although, he’s been plenty cruel to me over the years, so maybe he would be. Maybe today is the day I lose my little brother and my reason for living.

No. Stop it.

I stand quickly, trying to run from my thoughts. But the fear follows me. It’s just me and my scary thoughts as I pace the small waiting room. It’s a nicer room than any waiting room I’ve ever been in, soft chairs, warm light, and a coffee station with actual decent coffee. But I don’t want nice chairs and gourmet coffee. I just want Fabio to come back to me healthy and safe.

I want to cry but I don’t cry. Crying does nothing. It won’t make the surgery go faster or Fabio’s heart beat stronger. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone though. I’m sure if I’d asked, Noemi would have come with me. But I didn’t ask. I wouldn’t even know how to ask. I’m so used to being alone and handling everything by myself, it doesn’t ever occur to me to ask for anyone’s company.