Page 39 of His to Hold

Janetta fixes me with a sterner stare now. “Go and have a shower, get dressed, and go be with your family.”

“How would I even get to the city?”

I’m looking for excuses now and the pursing of Janetta’s lips tells me she knows it. “One of the big brutes from the gatehouse can drive you. God knows they have little enough to do.”

Although I’m sure the security team doesn’t just sit around all day waiting for trouble to come to them, I nod. “Okay, who should I ask to drive me?”

“Leave that to me, dear. You go get dressed.”

Until I do as she asks, Janetta won’t give me any peace. I’m grateful for her bossiness, though, because she’s right. I need to be by Antonio’s side, for my sake if not his own. If something happens to Gio and I don’t get the chance to say goodbye, I’ll never forgive myself.

Taking one last bite of my waffle and a big gulp of coffee, I go back upstairs to have a quick shower. I set the water temperature cooler than I like so I’m not tempted to linger. On a normal day, I could stay in the shower for hours.

When I’m done washing, I turn off the water and step out. I blow dry my hair and then take a little time to get my makeup just right. I was surprised to find the vanity at the New York house stocked with my favorite brands. It gives me hope that Antonio kept some of my stuff.

As this is my first time seeing the Volante family in more than a year, I need to hide my fear behind a mask of perfection. To project the image of sophistication and control I’m aiming for, I choose a beautifully tailored navy shift dress and accessorize it with a simple black clutch and shoes with a towering heel. It isn’t me, but it works as well as any suit of armor. Nobody will look at me, so carefully put together, and see a woman in emotional turmoil. I want people to realize I mean business, to see that I’m worthy to stand by Antonio’s side. I want him to realize it, too.

Looking in the mirror one last time, I give myself an encouraging nod before going back to the kitchen. Janetta is there with a hulking brute of a man. Dark-haired and build like a tank, he has to be close to seven feet tall. He’s an absolute ogre. My heart flutters in fear. Then he turns to me and flashes a shy, boyish smile and I relax.

“Isabella, this is Paul.”

“Paul.”

“Mrs. Volante.” His voice is a deep rumble rising from the depths of his chest. He’d be truly terrifying if it wasn’t for the sparkle in his baby blue eyes. Something about him instantly makes me feel safe. “If you’re ready, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“Thank you, Paul.”

I give Janetta a quick hug goodbye and follow Paul as he lumbers along the corridor. As we head for the front door, I realize I’m missing some crucial information. “Oh, I don’t know which hospital they’re at.”

“They’re at St. Vincent’s, the Stanhope Wing.”

Of course they are. Only the finest medical care will do for New York’s premier crime family. Paul leads me out to a gray Audi SUV waiting in the driveway and opens the back door for me. I’d rather sit in the front with him, but I understand he might be uncomfortable with his boss’s wife being so close. I slide onto the seat and Paul closes the door.

“You won’t get in trouble for taking me there, will you?” I ask as Paul gets behind the driver’s seat.

Paul shrugs. “The boss didn’t say you couldn’t leave.”

Antonio told me to stay put, but I don’t share that information with Paul in case he changes his mind about driving me.

“Then let’s go.”

We don’t talk as we drive, until we get onto the I-95 and Paul tells me about a terrible accident that happened on the road last night. Apparently, Antonio was delayed getting to New York because of it. That will have pissed him off, no doubt.

After a while, the silence in the car becomes oppressive. Paul clearly isn’t one for chit-chat and I don’t have a cellphone to occupy myself with.

“Can you turn on the radio, please?”

He does as I asked. Some bouncy pop song comes on.

“This okay for you, Mrs. Volante?”

“It’s fine.”

I can’t be bothered listening to inane chatter on some talk show and anything too heavy music-wise would probably depress me right now. 1980s pop plays solidly for the entire time it takes to get to the hospital. It’s not my favorite genre of music, but it keeps my mood up until we arrive at St. Vincent’s. Then, as Paul stops at the entrance and switches off the music, my nerves kick in. As he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door, my heart pounds and my hands shake.

“I can’t do this,” I blurt out as Paul opens the door for me.

His forehead creases in confusion. “Mrs. Volante?”

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