Enzo looked at me and shame washed over me. He knew too. Silent accusation lingered in his eyes, and I knew it wasn’t because Santino had taken a bullet for me.
“I’m sorry for what happened.”
“But not sorry for the thing you should be sorry for,” Enzo said coolly.
I stiffened. Enzo had always been kind to me, had made jokes and even played with me when I was younger. However, his loyalties lay with Santino as they should.
“Dad, Santino is as much at fault as Anna. He could have ended things. He’s an adult who has to take responsibility for his actions.”
Enzo shook his head, looking tiredly down at his son. “No. His heart wouldn’t let him.”
I stepped back from the bed, away from Santino. He was right.
“We shouldn’t discuss this now. We don’t know how much Santino can hear,” Frederica admonished.
“Your fiancé is in this hospital as well. Maybe you should see how he’s doing,” Enzo said.
I nodded, swallowing hard. “I hope Santino wakes soon. I won’t bother you or him again.”
I turned on my heel and left. Enzo was right. Leonas was right. I had to be strong and let him go. Santino wouldn’t end things between us, not even once I was married despite what he’d said. He’d be my lover and slowly wither under the bitterness sharing me with Clifford would cause him. Our bond would become more and more toxic until all the beauty that it had held in the beginning would have died.
Mom waited for me in the waiting area and her expression became worried when she saw me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Santino will hopefully wake soon, and I should probably go to Clifford. I hear he’s here too.”
Mom definitely knew something was the matter but she didn’t prod. Mom had always honored my boundaries and knew I’d eventually come to her if I wanted to talk. It had always been like that—except for my bond with Santino. I wondered if I’d ever be able to talk to her about it, maybe in a few years when I was married and years would soften the blow of this shocking truth.
Together we asked around until a helpful nurse led us toward the room where Clifford was treated. Our two bodyguards stayed in front of the door with Mom and Clifford’s two bodyguards as I slipped into the room.
Clifford was alone in the room. He perched on the edge of the bed, staring down at his bare feet. His upper body was bare but a bandage covered his left chest, shoulder, and arm, which was fastened in front of his chest. He looked up through his unruly blond hair. I hadn’t even noticed that he wore it longer again. Then he smiled strangely. “Another person in my life whose second choice I am.”
I sank down beside him. Because we were alone, I didn’t bother kissing him, and I wondered when having to kiss him would eventually turn to wanting to kiss him. “What are you talking about?”
“Dad’s outside in front of the hospital with his first love, publicity, giving a press conference, talking how shocked and shaken he is about the attack, Mom is with her therapist because she couldn’t handle the trauma.” He let out a derisive laugh. “And you were with your bodyguard, the man you’d rather marry.”
“That’s not true,” I said faintly.
“You don’t have to lie to me. I hate liars. I’m surrounded by them.”
“How are you feeling?” I motioned at his arm.
“The pain meds are decent. The two bullets only did moderate damage.” He met my gaze and again smiled strangely. “Now I got shot. I wonder if this will give me the street credit to make you see me as a man.”
“I see you as a man,” I protested.
“We only have two and a half weeks until the wedding.”
He was right. Two and a half weeks. I’d always rounded up it up to three weeks in my head because it seemed less daunting.
“I know. Everything’s prepared. Dad is probably already upping protection. Are you worried you won’t fit into your suit because of the bandages?”
“Do you want to marry me?”
“We agreed on it. Our parents set everything up. Hundreds of guests were invited.”
“I know. But do you want to marry me?”
“What about you? Am I the woman of your dreams?”
Clifford shook his head without hesitation. “You are gorgeous and intelligent, but I have a feeling you have a manipulative streak and you are a very good liar which is never a good base for a marriage.”
Ouch. Of course, he was right. If I wanted something I could be manipulative, and that I was a good liar was out of the question. Both were helpful talents in a world as harsh as the mafia, especially if you were a Capo’s daughter, but they weren’t very helpful in a marriage.