Black Hearted (The Margarelli Brothers 1)

I also had every kind of clothing rack imaginable, I mused. I told Pietro to bring something, anything, as long as it was sturdy and secure, whatever he and the rest of the staff could find quickly. Doc nodded, holding the bag aloft. He was strong. He could handle the bag for a few minutes.

When I saw that Vincent’s color was already starting to improve, I left the men to their own devices. I tiptoed down the hall to open Angelique’s door. Maria was sitting in there, reading quietly to herself. I reminded myself to get her a new Kindle. The woman was reading yet another dog-eared paperback book from her vast collection. I kept trying to get her to join us in the current century, but she just poopooed me with a smile. She held a finger to her lips to indicate that Angelique was still sleeping, thank goodness. I smiled in understanding and backed out of the room again.

It was barely light outside. My day had already been eventful, to say the least. But for the rest of the world, the sun was just starting to shine.

Even the garbage men were still in bed. Maybe the farmers, too. No one was outside on the streets other than cops and taxi drivers.

“So, what do we do now?” Michael asked after the IV stand had been procured. Vincent was still out like a light, but his blood pressure was steadily improving. He was out of the danger zone, apparently, but I made sure that Doc knew he was not leaving until the man I loved woke up and stopped scaring the hell out of us.

“Auntie wants to come over and cook for everyone,” Tony offered, holding up his phone. If I weren’t so worried, I would have laughed. Of course their auntie wanted to come over and cook. I wondered how Maria would feel about it.

Two Italian women in the kitchen together could go very, very well or very, very badly.

I gave my permission. Of course I wanted to see their Auntie again. It had been years and years since I saw her at one family event or another. More years than I cared to count.

Where had all the time gone?

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to wish for a time machine. If I could go back in time, I never would have lost touch with Vincent. I would never have wasted those years doing what my father wanted, trying to please a husband who would never be satisfied. Never be kind.

I would have told Vincent how I felt about him, let him make me his. I would have loved him every day of my life.

I would not have spent all those lonely years not knowing him. Not loving him. Not being so well and thoroughly loved.

Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so bad to imagine losing him now. It was excruciating to think of all those lonely years where we could have been there for each other. All the lonely nights . . .

“Coffee?” Michael asked gently, holding out a cup. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He looked tired. We all did. But we would get through this. We didn’t have a choice. I nodded gratefully. “Want anything in it?”

“No, thank you.”

Tony pulled a chair toward the bed and gestured to it. I sat and sipped my coffee, watching over Vincent. Watching the bag of fluids drip, drip, drip into his veins. A moment later, a little side table appeared next to me. A plate piled with food was placed upon it.

I smiled and whispered my thanks.

“Save room. And don’t tell Auntie you ate already,” Tony warned. “She will be devastated.”

“I promise,” I vowed solemnly. But a warm feeling filled me. They were looking after me like a sister. Maybe they knew how seriously Vincent and I were about each other. We could all sense that something was happening. Something beautiful and rare was forming in the air between the people huddled in my bedroom, staring at an invalid lying unconscious in my bed.

We were becoming a family.

We already were a family.

Half an hour and three more cups of coffee later, a maternal tornado blew into the house. We were being fed and fussed over by a very cute, round, and cuddly Italian lady. Auntie had arrived. She was a miracle worker. A magician. Even I could hardly wait to taste her creations. And Vincent opened his eyes at the first whiff of her food.

The woman had crowed proudly that she knew how to get her boys out of bed immediately before scolding him when he tried to stand up. He was trying to get to me, the daft man. He was such an alpha male, he simply could not take no for an answer.

Auntie was a mother to them, I realized. Just as Maria had been a mother to me. There were so many parallels between our lives. How had we not realized years ago that we were made for each other?