“I’ve seen plenty of things in my line of work,” the doctor muses.
“Besides, he owes the Italians a favor for saving his daughter a couple of years ago.” Ricardo winks.
The doctor swallows. “Indeed.”
Awkward. Very awkward. But I guess that’s to be expected from a bunch of mobsters owing each other.
“Where can I see Marcello?” I ask.
“Just go through that door,” the doctor says, pointing at a door that’s on the side of the desk. “Room number fifteen.”
“Thanks.” I head toward the door with my head held high.
Ricardo stays behind, which I appreciate. I don’t want anyone listening to our conversation. If there even will be one. I don’t know how long it will take for Marcello to regain consciousness, nor do I know if he’ll be the same. He lost a lot of blood, and I’m not sure if he was breathing properly. What if he has brain damage?
No, don’t think like that, Harper. He must be okay. He has to be.
I look at the door numbers until number fourteen comes in sight, and my heartbeat begins to skyrocket. I rub my belly, whispering, “It’ll be okay, little one. Your daddy will be here to see you grow up. I’m sure.”
I blow out a breath before I go inside. Marcello is there on a comfy-looking bed, stuffed to the brim with pillows and blankets while there’s an IV in his arm. His skin is pale, and the beeping machines make my head spin. I’ve never seen him this vulnerable before, and it makes it hard to breathe. I never imagined a don of his stature and power would end up in a hospital bed like this.
That even men as strong as him could be brought to their weakest point.
I sit down on the chair beside his bed and scoot closer until I can grab his hand, and I squeeze tight. Marcello groans, still completely out of it, but it looks like he’s alive, and the mere thought brings joy to my heart and a smile to my face.
“Marcello … I’m here,” I say, forcing the tears to stay down.
“L-Harper?” he mutters slowly, his voice as raspy as that of an old, dying man.
I squeeze harder. “I won’t leave this place without you. Promise.”
“Harper …” he murmurs again, still half-asleep as his eyes remain closed. “Kitten.”
My cheeks turn red, and I’m glad there’s no one here to witness just how much I love hearing him say that word. I used to hate it when he called me Kitten, but now? Now it makes me feel loved.
And I lean in and place my other hand on his cheek, caressing him softly. “I’m so glad you’re alive. Don’t ever leave me.”
A tepid, soft smile appears on his face. “Wasn’t … planning … to … die.”
I snort a laugh and place a kiss on his cheek. “Good. Because the only person who’s allowed to kill you after all the shit you pulled is me.”
He laughs and groans right after. “That’s … my … Kitten.”
Marcello
When the meds have worn off, and I finally feel like I’m not in a weird dreamland anymore, I open my eyes and wake up to the beautiful sight of my Harper’s face lying on my lap, her eyes closed while she snores lightly.
I smile and caress her cheeks, which makes her suck in a breath. Her eyes flutter open, and a smile grows on her face.
“Marcello …” she murmurs. “How are you feeling?”
I try to sit up, but pain shoots up and down my stomach.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Harper says.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, and as she leans up, I pull away the blanket to look at my wound. I remember getting shot while trying to save Andrea and then going after Molly and Frank, but I don’t remember what happened after I shot Frank.
The wound looks gnarly, to say the least, but at least I’m patched up. “How did you even get me here?”
“Ricardo helped me carry you out.”
“What about Molly and Frank?” I ask.
She takes in a deep breath and sighs. “They’re gone.”
I nod a few times. “I … know they may have been important to you, but—”
“They weren’t. Not anymore at least. Especially not after what she put me through back there in that warehouse.”
“I’m sorry. If I’d gotten to you sooner, I might have been able to stop them.”
“I don’t blame you,” she replies. “I just wish I could’ve chopped the guy’s dick off myself.”
I laugh. “Always the feisty one.”
“I could say the same about you, going after Molly and Frank with a bullet in your body. Risky.”
“It was their time to die,” I say. “And I don’t regret it for even a second.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds. Too quiet.
“What happened to Claudio and my father?”
“Claudio and Mario stayed back to deal with the leftover Irish and Polish,” she replies. “And Ricardo had a call a few hours ago that they were already surrendering.”