He continued unfazed, “But I enter our marriage without baggage.”
“Don’t worry about my baggage.” I hopped off the bed. “Do you need anything?”
Clifford seemed to find my question strange. “You’re the first person who asked. My father only told me how we had to handle the situation. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I hesitated. “I’ll try to be a good wife, Clifford.”
“And I’ll try to be a good husband. Maybe next time I’ll take a bullet for you.”
I gave him a tight smile, my thoughts drifting back to the man who had taken not just one but three bullets for me.
I left. I didn’t allow my thought to linger on Santino. We all would do what was best for the future of our families and the Outfit.
When Mom woke me the next morning, I knew something bad had happened.
“What is it?” I asked, stumbling out of bed, sleepy and disoriented. I’d dreamed I was back in Paris, lying in Santino’s arms.
Mom touched my shoulder, her eyes softening. “Santino suffered a sepsis and they had to put him in an artificial coma.”
My whole world shattered. “Will he be all right?”
“The doctors can’t say right now. They’re doing their best.”
I felt hollow, especially because my body could still feel his ghost touch from my dream. “I should go see him.”
Mom touched my arm. “Enzo called to inform us about Santino’s state and he asked to give him and his family space. He wanted me to tell you that you should focus on wedding preparations as that’s what Santino would have wanted.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “He’s probably right.”
Santino’s family wanted me to give Santino free, to move on. I had to honor their wish. They knew Santino, and if my visit would only cause him turmoil and endanger him waking up then I had to be selfless. Santino deserved happiness.
I was disoriented as shit when I opened my eyes. My vision was murky and my surroundings unfamiliar, but I recognized the sound of a hospital, the familiar beeping I’d heard when I’d visited fellow Made Men after they’d gotten injured on the job.
“Sonny,” Dad said. I turned my head slowly. He sat beside me, looking as shit as I felt. His gray-brown beard had crossed the border to scruffy. Behind him Frederica rose from a chair, her nun frock wrinkled and she wasn’t wearing her veil for once.
“Hey Dad, hey Freddy, you look as shitty as I feel.” Hearing my own voice made me wince. It was rough and scratchy, as if I hadn’t used it in a long time.
Frederica approached my bed and kissed my forehead as if I were a small kid. When she didn’t correct me for not using her official new nun name, I knew things were bad.
I searched the rest of the room. “Where’s Anna? Is she safe?”
Dad looked down at his hands. His fingernails could use a trimming too. “Not here. She’s perfectly safe, don’t worry about her.”
I tried to sit up but my body punished the attempt with a wave of nausea and dizziness.
“I have to see her,” I got out. “Now.”
I’d tell her every fucking thing I felt for her, how when my life had flashed before my eyes, every moment had been one I’d spent with her, and when I’d dreamed about my future when I’d been drugged it had been at her side. I wouldn’t let her marry Clifford. I didn’t care if I had to kill him but she wouldn’t marry him. She wouldn’t marry anyone but me. I didn’t care how long I’d have to talk to her to get it into her stubborn head but eventually she’d agree.
Dad and Frederica exchanged a look, one I hated and rarely was on the receiving end of, pity.
“What’s going on?” I asked. My throat was impossibly scratchy and dry. Even after a bad night of partying, I’d never felt like this. I reached for my throat and felt a bandage around my throat. I froze. “Was I in a coma?”
Dad nodded. “You suffered sepsis shortly after your surgery. You had several bullet wounds. They had to remove your spleen.”
I forced my body into a sitting position even though I almost passed out. Dad stood and quickly adjusted the bed so I could lean against the cushions. “How long was I gone?”
Dad sighed. Judging from his beard and nails, it was definitely more than a week, maybe even close to two. Fuck.
“Dad?”
“Two weeks and two days.”
I blinked. “What day is it?”
Dad wasn’t stupid. He knew what I was asking. Frederica stepped up to the bed and put her hand on mine. “Today’s Anna’s wedding day.”
I tried to swing my legs out of bed, almost ripping the IV out of my hand and fell forward when another wave of dizziness crashed down on me. Dad caught me, or I would have faceplanted.