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“I’m fine.” My eyes move to Natalia as they wheel her down the hall. She doesn’t look back at me. “Where should I wait?”
“It may be a while. I can call you once I know—”
“Where can I wait?” My tone dissuades him from any further argument.
He sighs and points to a room down the corridor. “In there, if you’d like.”
I go to the room and collapse into one of the chairs, leaning my head back against the wall as I stare up at the ceiling. For the next three hours, I dissect every second of our interaction this evening. I think of everything I should have done differently, and in every scenario, I’m questioning how I could have saved her. That’s not right, not when I took her out there to end her life. My nerves are shot, and I’m fucking exhausted, and her confession is stuck on replay in my head. I’m trying to be rational as I consider every valid explanation for her thought process. If she’s confused, I will have to find a way to give her clarity. But what if she’s not? What if she’s just insane?
I realize I don’t care. If she is, it doesn’t change the glaring truth I can no longer deny. Killing her isn’t an option. Neither is letting her go. Right now, looking at her really isn’t an option either, because every time I do, I feel these fucking feelings I don’t want. I’m still not any closer to a solution when the doctor finally makes an appearance in the early morning hours. He gives me a rundown of the tests and the results of her evaluation, informing me Natalia has a concussion, but otherwise, she appears to be doing well. They want to keep her for observation to be safe, and I decide that’s for the best. Then he asks me if I want to see her.
I hesitate, trying to consider what would be smartest for both of us. They can keep her safe here under lock and key until she’s released. That will buy me some time to figure shit out, but I also know I can’t go without seeing that she’s alright for myself. Tonight, I was so certain that she was gone forever. I don’t want to admit how much that terrified me.
I nod to the doctor, and he leads the way to the elevator bank and then up to the third floor. Her room isn’t far from the hall, and the door is cracked open, so I catch a glimpse of her before I even enter. She’s lying there, asleep, monitors beeping quietly in the darkness around her.
“Did she communicate with you?” I ask.
“Yes,” the doctor replies. “She was able to communicate via ASL with one of our interpreters.”
Some of the tension in my body ebbs away. “And you’re sure she’s okay?”
“She’s okay,” he repeats. “She was responsive, alert, and cooperative during the evaluation. What she needs most right now is rest, and I suggest you get some too.”
“What if she wakes up?” I look around the sterile room. “Will she know where she is?”
“She is already aware.”
Part of me is held hostage by my desire to stay, but my self-preservation shuts it down, reminding me why I have to go. I can’t think straight when I’m around her. The only logical solution is to send Manuel to keep an eye on her. He’s a familiar face, and I know he won’t let her out of his sight.
“I’d like two guards at her door,” I say. “I’ll send my own as well. She’s not to leave unless she’s discharged under my approval.”
“Understood,” he agrees.
I linger uncertainly before I make one last request. It’s a matter of formality at this point. Something concrete I can give Natalia when we inevitably revisit the conversation about Nino.
“I need you to run a maternity test too. How long will that take?”
He stares at me in question. “I’ll need the child’s DNA as well. But once I have both, I should have results in three to five days, give or take.”
“When can you come to collect it?” I ask.
He checks his watch, noting the time. “Will ten o’clock work?”
I meet his gaze, lowering my voice. “Nobody else is to know this is happening.”
His brows draw together. “Of course, Mr. Scarcello.”
“Ten o’clock,” I repeat. “We’ll see you then.”
Back at home, I give Manuel my instructions and send him to the hospital. I still need to handle Gwen’s remains, but I can’t do that with Nino alone here.
I climb the stairs, pausing on the second landing. I’m fucking spent, but the sanctuary of my room doesn’t beckon to me as it typically would. Instead, I find myself moving down the corridor, opening the door to Nino’s room. He’s asleep, huddled beneath the alien comforter Natalia insisted he should have. The recollection makes my throat tight, and I try not to dwell on it as I approach him. For a long moment, I stand beside the bed, studying his features. He looks like Enzo in some ways. He has his eyes, his hair, and his skin tone, but some attributes don’t match. His nose, jawline, and cheeks are different. Softer. I always credited that to his still being a child, but now I’m trying to recall his mother's characteristics in more detail.
