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I laugh while rubbing where he made contact. “If your dad makes it out of the hospital alive, my wrath will be ten times worse than that.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
NEOMI
Getting shot sucks.
But being taken care of by Benny Marchetti is heaven.
A bit overbearing at times, yes.
He’s been at the hospital every day.
He helps me bathe and either orders or picks up every food I crave.
He also created acoming homequestionnaire for me to fill out before leaving the hospital. I stifled a laugh when I read the note, written in his harsh, thick-stroked handwriting.
Do you want me to move the bed into the office downstairs in case walking up and down the stairs is painful?
List of foods and snacks from the store.
List of medicines needed.
Any additional requests.
I spend five days in the hospital before the doctor discharges me. I’m grateful to be alive. They referred to me as agood-outcome gunshot victim. I might be sore, but the injuries could’ve been worse or even fatal.
A bullet lodged itself into my great-uncle Piero’s spine and paralyzed him.
My grandfather was shot in the intestines and now lives with a colostomy bag.
I got lucky.
Clouds block all the sunlight on the drive. When we pull up to the house, I spot my mother’s Mercedes parked in front. I sip my Starbucks cold brew as Benny whips his Escalade into the garage. He jumps out of the SUV and rushes to my side.
He’s gentle while he takes my elbow and helps me out. I loop my arm around his waist and give him my weight. The house smells like a bakery, and opera music plays when we walk in.
“She’s home!” Bria yells, skipping into the foyer. She wraps me in her arms.
My mom wipes her hands on her white apron and hugs me next.
I wince when she pulls away.
“Come on. Let’s get you comfortable,” Benny says, guiding me into the living room.
The music lowers as he helps me onto the couch.
“Be right back,” he says before handing me the TV remote.
A faint bark echoes through the house.
What?
Moments later, Isabella appears in the doorway with a puppy in her arms. He’s tiny with black-and-brown fur, and he can’t be any bigger than her fist.
“Stop it right now,” I shout. “You got a puppy?”
Bria and my mother stand on each side of Isabella.
