As I come back dressed in skinny jeans, an oversized jumper, and Converse, I feel more comfortable. I had rid myself of any and all licks of makeup and dragged my hair up into a messy bun. I don’t care what I look like; I just need to be back by Zane’s bedside.
“Is he okay?” I ask Enzo as I come back.
“No change. A nurse has just been in, but he’s still asleep,” he remarks and turns away from the window. “I’m going to check on Billy.” His statement is just an observation that he’s not quite ready to leave the hospital. He takes the bag of clothing from me and gives me a gentle grin. “I’m going to guess you’re not leaving the hospital tonight?”
“No,” I whisper and appreciate how Enzo agrees. He merely places a loving kiss to my forehead and leaves me behind after vowing to be back.
***
I haven’t moved from the seat beside Zane’s bedside all night. He’s had no visitors, and I wonder if I should call his mother. I have no idea what she would think of me making such a phone call, but it’s been on my mind since sunrise. Even when the nurses tried to get me to leave, I just stuck in my chair, telling them there was no chance. They saw I was serious, and from the sympathetic look on their faces, I could only guess the nurse from earlier had told them who I was to the man in the bed in front of us.
I unlock my phone and quickly drag my contacts up to scroll through until I find her number. Michelle Maverick’s number sits on my screen and I stare at it for a moment. I wonder if the number’s still the same, if she and Zane are still on speaking terms. But my better judgment gets me and I cancel out of the contact’s page before I can push dial. I don’t know if she remembers me, or if she even knows Zane and I are reacquainted, and that’s not something I want to toy with. Surely, his next of kin was called anyway? I guess I will have to find out when he’s more awake; for now, I have to occupy myself.
I flick through photos from over a year ago of Zane and me. The smile I wore when I was with him was the biggest I had ever had in my life. I remember some days, realizing my cheeks hurt from the mere gesture of being unconditionally loved and eternally happy. I was young, in love, and unhinged. Now, I have a questionable temper, a loosened mentality, and an unwitting sense for anything but what I want in life.
“Amelia?” My father’s voice is coarse in the air. I drop my phone in response and sit up straight in the chair. He gives me a slight smile and looks at Zane. “How is he doing?”
I immediately want to call out his guilty conscience, but I can’t do it here. I won’t get Zane worked up with this unwanted surprise. I stand only to charge at him, pushing him from the doorway and out toward the hallway. I remain between both Zane’s room and the corridor with my arms crossed upon my chest.
“You have some nerve turning up here,” I comment, albeit aggressively and sarcastically. “An even bigger nerve to dare ask how he is.” I snort as I speak. “He’s too alive for your liking.”
“I’m not here to argue over Zane Maverick’s living status, Amelia. I’m here to see how you are, see how you’re coping.” He sounds, for the first time in a long time, desperate. “Enzo came home in the early hours and told me that you were staying here. I wanted to give you time, but I couldn’t stay away.”
“This isn’t any of your business,” I state, reminding myself to be the fierce Abbiati. “If you remember properly, he is nothing but just another hit to you. There’s nothing to discuss. My feelings and his wellbeing are nothing to you.”
My father releases a heavy sigh of resignation. "The love you have for him is exactly how I felt for your mother in the beginning. Bambina, I don't want you to be hurt by him again. It took you so long to recover."
"We aren't the same people we were back then," I confess with as much conviction as I can garner. He thinks he can warn me about heartbreak when I have been privy to it all my life. He wants to caution me on matters of the heart when my heart has dealt with more than its fair share of traumas. I know, without any reasonable doubt, that my heart is by far the strongest part of me. It has endured death in all its beauty and mess. It has survived being toyed with, cracked, shattered, and left irreparable. But it has also healed itself and me, and all because I was assigned this hit. I might fear the end result, and I might have no idea how I will play it out, but what I do know is that letting Zane back in so easily was one thing I couldn't resist, and as soon as he was back, I knew it was the best thing I had ever done in my life.
“You have brought hell upon me by issuing me with this mission, but I can’t thank you enough for it. I have my plan, but I deserve to be happy, even if for just a little while. The man who broke my heart is not the man lying in there, Papà. He has changed and so have I. I’m not some naive little girl who fell in love with the first man I met. I’m not her. I won’t ever be her because you broke me of my naivety and you stole what innocence I had left by making me into something I never wanted.” I don’t stop as palpable pain bursts across my father’s expression. “I only keep doing it because you’re all I have in the world. Without you, I have no one. But don’t tarnish whatever little time I have with Zane. You will get what you want, but when I am ready to give it to you. Just don’t pressure me.”
As I finish my speech, I see movement in my peripheral and look to see Zane waking up. Looking back to my father, I feel emblazoned to take command. “You need to leave. Now. You’re not needed here, Papà.”
I see the hurt in his eyes, but he knows the deal here. He wants Zane’s blood; I want time with him before he gets his wish – if I ever do it. Now is not the place for it, though. He grants me my wish and leaves, and I have never seen my father look so downtrodden in my life. I feel bad for bringing such despondency upon him, but there are matters I cannot and will not forgive and forget right now. I turn in the doorway and see Zane looking at me cautiously.
“Was that your father?” Zane asks, looking over at the doorway. He looks back at me, his face scrunched up with the pain he’s in. “He hasn’t put something in my IV has he?”
“No,” I laugh and go back to his side. “I don’t actually know why he’s here, but he knows exactly how I feel about you.”
“Am I spared?” he asks jokingly, knowing his fate is more than sealed.
I look away, unable to deal with this conversation right now. Not when I’m living on the edge of another emotional breakdown. I take a steady breath and look back at him. “I was going to call your mother for you,” I tell him, quickly changing the conversation. “See where she is.”
“No point,” he tells me and shifts a little on the spot. “She died just under a year ago. Stage four breast cancer.” I see his eyes glaze over at the thought, and I grip his hand as a wave of grief washes over me. He then releases a short burst of laughter. “She always did want me to get back with you. She told me time and time again to grovel my way back into your life. Fight for you.”
I sit on the side of the bed, and he looks at me sleepily, reaching out as he does so. “There was never going to be a fight.” My admittance might be said with delicacy, but the words resonate within the room. “I thought I could withstand your attempts, but the moment I saw you in that bar, I felt like my life was rewound back to when we were together. Everything I felt never went forgotten. I just buried it, and I don’t want to ever live without it.” I take a moment, keeping the tears back. “I don’t want to live without you anymore, Zane. When Enzo said you’d been shot, my world stopped.” I struggle with my emotions, fighting a battle I’m only losing. “Nothing else mattered in that moment. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.” I allow my tears to fall now with my confession. “I never, ever want to feel that breathless again if it’s caused by you dying on me.”
“I really fucked up your birthday,” is Zane’s only response to me and he offers me his guilt. He is currently riddled with it, and it’s the last thing I want him to feel.
“Maybe so,” I comment back, placing my hand on his arm. “But you gave me a sense of morality. I thou
ght I had to fight keep myself from loving you, but that’s not an easy feat, so why fight a losing battle?” I ask him gently. “I realized that instead of fighting against you, I was really fighting for you. Especially when we had more details about the shooting. This was a set-up, and I will find out who is behind it. I don’t know how, but you deserve justice.”
“No,” he calmly states, reaching for me. “What I deserve is time to work my magic on you and seal the deal.” My heart stutters upon a few choice beats, but regains its rhythm. I go to argue, but he shakes his head. “I have so much lost time to make up for. I didn’t realize how much until I was lying there bleeding out. All I could think about was you, Amelia. I regret so much and much of it is in regards to you.” He looks at me, full of convicted desire to right his wrongs that I feel myself pant on each exhale. “You deserve to have some form of happily ever after, and I don’t want anyone but me to give that to you.”
“Okay,” I respond and drop all my defenses at once.
A silence settles over us and Zane gives in and stops himself from being the tough guy. His passionate tirade has exhausted him entirely. He needs rest and trying to be an alpha male or trying to keep my spirits up will not help him. So I sit silently behind, watching him just lie there, sporadically blinking between waves of exhaustion.
My fingers trace across his tattoos until they’re drawn to my name. My fingertips trail lightly over my name, and I feel the beautiful beating of his heart under them. He’s still here, still fighting for me. I have a man who cheated death for me when he knows that’s the ultimate Abbiati plan for him – a brutal end. He denied the easy way out to show me that my father’s request may hang over us, but he doesn’t care. He will fight to be with me and make me rethink.
Stupid man really, I rethought the moment our lips reunited after months of separation. The chemicals that swam into my bloodstream cried for its addiction, and still even now, I know, within my heart of hearts, that our end is not consequence of my family’s brutality. No, our end is far in the future, a distant swan song.
I know that I will fool my father into thinking that I am working to get enough of Zane’s trust so he enters our home where he will be killed and laid to rest, but that isn’t it at all. I’m really biding my time. I’m dancing with the devil with the fast-spaced steps, praying I don’t fall out of sync until I find myself with the only option left – freedom.
Seeing my lifeline, laid out weak and hurt, is the most murderous thing anyone could ever bestow upon me.
A knock on the door has us both jolting from our reveries. I look up to see a middle-age male doctor standing in a while coat with a file in his hands that I can only suppose is Zane’s.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I heard you were awake, so I just want to check on Mr. Maverick’s progress,” the doctor announces politely, breaking into our soundless haven. “I just need you to step out of the room.”
I hesitate, but Zane grabs my hand, being my strength in the moment. “It’s fine,” he tells me tenderly. “E' tutto OK,” he adds, and I nod, leaning down to give him a quick kiss.
As I step out of the room, I listen to the doctor’s orders and watch through the window trying to forget about the separation as Zane answers the doctor’s questions all while flickering his attention back and forth to me.
The way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m the one and only thing he needs to survive now. It only angers me that it took this for that bolt of realization to creep upon me. How dare someone try to take the reins out of my hands? I don’t care if my father is behind this, or if Zane has other enemies besides those in the Abbiati family tree. When I find out who did this, there will be fucking hell to pay.
People think they know me, but no one knows what Amelia Abbiati will do in the name of love.
It is now that I’m at my most dangerous.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I haven’t moved from Zane’s bedside for almost twenty-four hours. I’ve barely slept, barely eaten, barely even looked away from him. I watched as he ended up sleeping for the remainder of the day, clearly showing that his alertness this morning was too much for his body to cope with. He only woke up to tell me to go home and get some sleep. I didn’t want to listen, but when the nurses started to comment on how exhausted I look, I knew I had to heed their concern. I left, only after vowing to be back almost as soon as I possibly could.
But as I accelerate up the gravel driveway, I feel the pit of my stomach waiting to bottom out. I’m filled with such trepidation; I realize this is the last place I want to be. I’m more volatile than I had ever realized. I’m geared and wound up, ready for whatever fight, but in the same instance, I don’t want to know who was behind Zane’s shooting.
However, I listened to myself and as I get out of the Ferrari, I know I’m going to bypass any and all humans and go straight to my bedroom. I want a hot shower, my pajamas, and at least seven hours of sleep. My intentions are burst as I tiresomely open the door to hear the shrill horror of a man screaming. It’s blood curdling and burrows itself into me like so many before it. As it implants upon my memories, I follow the sound. It’s an unconscious pull, I can’t just flit somewhat merrily off to bed while anarchy is being set loose in my home. I’m emotionally drained right now, not to mention exhausted to all measures, but I need to see what’s going on now.
I walk in to find the culprits of snarling noise – the three Rottweilers that Giovanni holds onto. They are in all their vicious glory about to be set loose, waiting to start biting into one of the Abbiati goons. Giovanni helped to handpick Benji Rossi years ago to join the ranks, but apparently he went one step too far with something. As the man stands cowering before my father, his stance broken, he knows his fate without even being told it yet.
“What’s happened?” I ask as I come to stand beside Enzo.
He looks down, surprised I’m home, and shakes his head. “I’d just listen if I were you.”
So, I listen and watch as my father takes no notice of my additional appearance in the room. He just marches back and forth. His hands placed in one another behind his back, his body stiffened and held rigid. He exudes a multitude of angers, and I fold my arms over my chest and watch him. He marches back toward us, but he makes no acknowledgement of me at all. He’s in ultra Don mode. He is calculating how this will play out, how to assert himself thriftily and leave a mark on what is to come.
“I thought, after all this time, I was the boss,” my father begins to speculate.
“You are!” Benji argues, but my father throws his hand up, silencing him with one swift motion.
“You don’t get to speak,” my father tells him. “You did all the talking behind my back when you planned this little scheme of yours. For whatever reason you did it, I don’t care. All I care about is how you feel you are above me to make such rash decisions that jeopardize my entire family.” My father’s pacing sees him stopping before Benji. There’s a pregnant moment of deliberation, before he turns on his heels to face the doomed man. Pulling up his suit pants, my father crouches before the man, lowering to his level as he kneels on the oak flooring. “You see, Maverick was my daughter’s hit. I gave him to her out of good faith that she would do the right thing. From what I have heard, you didn’t think my daughter would be able to do it.”
My breathing fails at that comment. This has to do with Zane? There before me, weak and pathetic, is the man who had a hand in dealing Zane’s murderous death to him. Here kneels a man who looks ready to beg for mercy and salvation when Zane was shot in cold blood. Images of Zane begging, pleading, bargaining with his life violently assault me, and I wonder if Benji was the one who pulled the trigger.
“Well,” my father begins and stands back up straight. “What gave you the idea to take my daughter’s task out of her hand without permission and go behind my back in such a way?”
“I-I don’t know,” Benji stumbles over his words.
“Liar!” My father’s anger bursts and explodes in
a Technicolor eruption. Benji all but cringes at the sound, and I step closer to my brother’s side. He guards me as my father’s face begins to redden with aggravated upset and turmoil. “You ruined Amelia’s birthday, and you have ruined any chance of me having a relationship with her again. You have ruined any chance of me getting the results I want. The ones I have been working so stealthily toward.” My father may radiate red-hot anger, but he calms enough to narrow his gaze upon the frightened man. “So, Benji, why did you do it?”
There’s silence as Benji strives and struggles for a correct response, but I can see from his face he knows he’s done for.
“Why?!” my father roars at him.
“I-it wasn’t all me!” Benji begins to fight his corner, finally finding some weakly formed defense. He knows he’s losing time as Giovanni lets the dogs close in on him inch by inch. “Big Al!” he yells out and cowers away from the snarling dogs. “He ran the show. He just called me into join it. He, Jimmy, and Marius already had the plan, but they said they needed a lookout. Big Al wanted to remove an issue to your life. He wanted to lend a hand.”
“Right,” my father says, weighing up the details he’s being presented with. “And you thought he was right to do so?”
Benji begins to shake his head, slowly resulting in him looking down and slumping in defeat. “He offered us a handsome wage for it.” He looks back up, trying to be brazen, but he knows the hole he’s digging is just getting deeper and deeper. “We just had to make sure Zane Maverick was dead to get the whole lump sum.”
“You do realize he isn’t, right?” my father asks, and watch as incredulity rips across Benji’s face. “He is very much alive and breathing and you have just caused a larger problem than ever before. You double-crossed me and tried to help when I don’t need the help of men like you, Benji. I run this show. I call the shots. Not someone like you and certainly not someone like Big Al.” I can hear my father’s tone turn venomous, and I wonder what will happen to Benji’s other accomplices. “And if you had thought my pay wasn’t handsome enough, Benji, I’d have done this sooner rather than later.” My father backs away in disgust. “Release them,” my father commands with a flick of his hand.
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