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He looked like he was hurting. For me. With me.
Did he really care for me or was it just because of the baby?
I groaned, then lost consciousness again.
I woke up strapped to a stretcher with Gabe holding my hand but looking over his shoulder.
“Alessio, call the hospital, tell them we’re coming,” Gabe barked, his voice sounded strangely garbled, or maybe it was just my hearing that was impaired.
And then his cold blue eyes locked on mine, and everything came back into sharp focus.
As they carefully wheeled me out of the house, Gabe refused to leave my side, hovering close like a protective lion.
“Signore, I’m sorry, but you need to step aside,” the EMT informed Gabe as he loaded me in, then blocked him from getting in.
Gabe growled something in Italian, his voice low and dangerous.
They stood their ground, caught in a staring contest.
The EMT hesitated, clearly intimidated by Gabe’s dominating presence, and when his partner approached from the house and took in the scene, he immediately took the guy aside.
After a murmured conversation, the guy’s eyes bulged. He looked at Gabe and said, “Mi dispiace, signore Falcone.” Then bowed.
Like honest to God, bowed before Gabe.
Who, with a curt nod, acknowledged the submissive gesture as if it was completely normal and climbed in beside me.
The doors slammed shut, and the ambulance sped off, sirens blaring.
Our arrival at the hospital was equally absurd.
The hospital staff scurried around me as if I was the queen of England—and he the evil king.
The nurses sent stolen glances at Gabe, their eyes following him as he paced like a caged animal, but not once did he leave my side.
They drew blood, took my temperature, and asked all kinds of questions. Gabe answered for me in rapid-fire Italian.
“I’m fine, Gabe.”
With an accusatory glance, he regarded me for a few seconds. I could see the storm raging in his eyes, could see the hardly contained fury. “Rest. We’ll talk about everything else later.”
Then he continued to pace, tension visible in his broad shoulders, emanating restless energy that made him seem larger than life. Deadlier, too.
A doctor approached, and even he seemed to revere Gabe.
It was unnerving, seeing for the first time how truly powerful he was.
An evil king residing in his kingdom.
“Alright, Mrs. Falcone,” the doctor turned to me, after finishing his hushed conversation with Gabe that lasted what felt like an eternity. “The head wound isn’t too serious, but we want to make sure there’s no lasting damage. We’re going to perform a CT scan, just to be sure, and admit you for observation. Your husband told us you’re having trouble with nausea?”
My eyes shot to Gabe. How the heck would he know?
“My mother,” he mouthed, and I nodded, then looked back to the doctor.
Gabe rubbed his face with his hands, his eyes dark with worry and something else—regret? “She’s pregnant,” he admitted, “and she’s been having trouble keeping anything down, even water.”
My heart squeezed at the concern in his voice, then started to race, and suddenly I had the overwhelming desire for him to hold my hand.
