Page 57 of Vicious Redemption

No one says a word as we drive toward the hospital. And with Tia in tow, as soon as we pull up to the curb, I storm to Piovosa General to demand what happened.

“Where is Dr. Ellis?” I snarl, slamming my hand down on the reception counter.

The woman sitting at a computer behind it squeaks as she jumps back in her rolling chair. “H-He’s… I-I d-don’t know,” she stutters.

“Who can we speak to about Don Moretti?” Tia asks, her voice soft as she rests a calming hand around my elbow.

“Signor Moretti.”

Dr. Ellis’s direct tone cuts through my anger, and I turn to face him. He looks troubled, his brow furrowed, though his graying hair and white lab coat are in as impeccable order as they have been every time I’ve spoken with him.

“What happened?” I demand. I ball my hands into fists to stop their shaking.

Dr. Ellis shakes his head. “I’m not entirely confident. Don Moretti looked perfectly healthy this morning. His charts would indicate a steady improvement, and I found no outward signs of distress. As of now, I’m unsure of what to make of your father’s sudden turn.”

The doctor’s tone is baffled, intensifying my unrest.

“As of now, his cause of death has been ruled as a heart attack, but the inflammation and extreme nausea that preceded his cardiac arrest are more in keeping with a severe drug allergy. When he was admitted, we were told that he has no known allergies to antibiotics. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I confirm, my suspicion rising. “I want a full autopsy performed. I assure you, Doctor, this was murder, and I want to know exactly how my father was killed.”

Dr. Ellis looks stunned by my statement, but he doesn’t attempt to sway me one way or the other. “I already ordered one, considering his death was so sudden, and some symptoms are not in keeping with those of a heart attack. But this could be an accident—or simply his body developing an autoimmune response that his heart simply couldn’t handle after such a serious surgery. Your father was old enough that any operation would incur some heightened risk.”

“I want to be informed as soon as the results come in,” I state, brushing off his attempt to placate me. He can pretend all he wants that this was some fluke, that my father simply couldn’t hold up to the surgery. But I know better. My father was very healthy and as stubborn as a mule.

He didn’t just die.

I’m sure of it.

“Of course.” Dr. Ellis gives a nod. “We haven’t moved him yet if you wish to go see him.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Tia murmurs beside me.

“If you’ll excuse me,” the doctor says, then he hesitates, his eyes shifting back to me. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He can shove his apologies up his ass. I want answers. But I bite my tongue and thank him before placing my hand on the small of Tia’s back and steering her toward the ICU.

The stench of ammonia burns my nose as we enter the sterile hallway, and Tia’s heels rap noisily against the floor as we make our way toward my father’s private room. Levi and Cane stand guard at his door, their expressions sullen, hostile even.

And when they see me coming, both stiffen, standing to attention as they brace for my approach.

“What the fuck happened?” I growl. “How are you two still alive when my father lies dead in the room you’re supposed to be guarding? Did you fall asleep on the job?”

Levi shakes his head, his eyes flashing with distress. “We’ve been standing guard since noon and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just nurses coming to check on him. He was awake and talking an hour ago—going on about the hospital food, in fact, threatening to pull funding if someone didn’t get him a proper meal.”

Combing my fingers into my hair, I pace the hallway in front of his door. Whoever did this was sneaky. They made it past my men without raising any suspicion, which means either my men are lying and failed to do their duty—or the person responsible knew how to get into the room undetected. Both seem equally unlikely.

“Do you want to go see him?” Tia asks, her touch featherlight as it finds my shoulder.

No. Because I know that seeing him will make his death a reality. Just like it did when we visited my mother’s body. But I don’t have the luxury of denial right now.

If I’m going to take my revenge, I need to see what the men responsible did to the man who gave me life.

I nod and turn toward the door to my father’s hospital room. Tia’s right behind me, a silent shadow as we enter the hauntingly still space. It sounds like death in here. The utter lack of hospital noises—the beep of the heart monitor, the hiss of machines, my father’s labored breathing. It’s all gone now.

His body lies flat in his bed. Someone took the time to close his eyes, and as I approach, I find he looks relaxed. Peaceful even. He could just be sleeping.

But the waning color of his cheeks tells me otherwise. The lack of movement in his chest.

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