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“Don’t die… please!” Her voice trembles. “I couldn’t bear it.”
Soft drops of something moist land on my cheek.
“Facing a future without you in it was the bleakest prospect I’ve ever faced. Losing my parents was devastating, but it was nothing compared to what I felt when they pronounced you dead. If it wasn’t for peanut, I don’t know what I would have done.”
I frown. “I was pronounced dead?”
Sure, I hurt everywhere, but I didn’t think I came that close.
She swallows hard. “They nearly lost you twice during surgery. And then yesterday morning…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, turning away from me and avoiding my gaze.
Letting out a long breath, she sits in the chair next to the bed, taking my hand in hers.
“What happened yesterday morning?”
If I barely made it through surgery, why am I not still in hospital?
The wheels in my mind start turning. Something doesn’t add up.
My eyes dart around the room once more, trying to take in everything. This place is so homey.
Are we back in Sicily? At Mateo’s place?
I don’t remember a bedroom like this one. But it would explain the lack of security around us.
But even then, I would have expected Santino standing guard by the door. And Antonio? The nosy bastard would have barged in long ago.
I take in more of the décor and the size of the room.
No… this couldn’t be Mateo’s place. It’s too small and… too rustic.
“Ella, what’s going on? What happened while I was out?” I ask, connecting my gaze with hers.
She’s been watching me carefully, her expression screaming of apprehension and… guilt?
She’s gone stiff, her back ramrod straight, as if steeling herself for what’s coming.
Fuck, what is she not telling me?
Were my men taken out? Where is everybody? Are we safe here?
But Ella and her friend seemed too relaxed to be fearing for their lives. What the hell is going on?
Ella twists her engagement ring nervously, her breathing choppy.
“Angel?” I prompt again, a little more forcefully.
“Umm.” She clears her throat, looking anywhere but at me. “Well… umm… you see…” She puffs air into her cheeks and lets it out slowly, letting her head drop back before staring at the ceiling.
“Just tell me,” I say more gruffly than I intended to.
What happened?
She opens her mouth to speak but gets interrupted by a knock on the door.
A tall man with broad shoulders wearing slacks and a sweater walks into the room, a stethoscope around his neck.
“Claudette told me you’re awake. I’ve come to check on you,” he says.
