I felt Salvatore’s tiny attempt at squeezing my hand and turned to the doctor. “I’m just as pigheaded, just so you know. I’m not leaving.”

23

Salvatore

I probably dreamed Lucia calling herself pigheaded, but it made me smile all the same. And every time I opened my eyes, there she was, sitting by my side. At first, she still had blood on her. My blood. Then she looked like she’d showered and changed. I saw Roman too, but she was my constant.

She’d remembered what I’d said. What I’d promised her. I vaguely recalled her voice, telling me I hadn’t yet kept the promise to give her the life she wanted.

I had changed rooms. I knew it from the way the light came in the window. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in the hospital until finally, I opened my eyes, feeling a little less groggy, and the things around me didn’t seem so like a mirage.

Was it a mirage? Was Lucia a mirage?

“Hey.”

I looked up at her beautiful, smiling face. She still sat in the same place, holding my hand, watching me.

“Hey.” It felt strange to speak.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

My mind traveled back to that morning. My father, Roman, Isabella, and I in my dining room. Dominic. Dominic with a gun. My father telling him he wasn’t his son. Calling our mother a whore.

Something beeped, and the door opened. A nurse rushed inside.

I took a deep breath, and the beeping leveled, but the nurse gave me a warning look.

“It’s good to see you’re awake, Mr. Benedetti, but you need to stay calm, or we’ll have to sedate you again.”

I opened my mouth to tell her to fuck off, but Lucia squeezed my hand and spoke to her.

“It’s okay. I’ll make sure he stays calm.”

“Thank you.”

The nurse left, and I looked back at Lucia.

“They called you pigheaded,” she said. “Well, I did actually, but they agreed.”

I smiled, but it hurt to speak or move. And as much as I wanted to keep looking at her, my eyelids began to droop.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I did, unable not to, and when I woke next, I was in a different room yet again, this one less sterile-looking. Lucia again sat by my bed, talking to her sister, who sat on another chair, and Effie, who was watching TV with the sound muted.

“He’s awake,” Isabella said.

Lucia turned to me. “Finally. I didn’t mean sleep for three more days.”

This was surreal. “I want to sit up.”

“Bossy already,” she teased and handed me a remote control. “Here, push this button. Stop if it’s painful.”