Page 41 of His to Hold

Sitting idly has never been my strong suit, and I don’t do well in situations where someone else is in charge. Being at the hospital tests the limits of my patience. I hate that I hold little power here. I want to demand the doctors hurry up with their tests. We need to spend time with Gio, and so far, only my mother has had the chance to sit with him. I want someone to come in here and tell me my brother is awake and asking for me. If nothing else, I’d like more fucking information on what they’re doing to make him better. Unfortunately, no amount of intimidation is going to get me what I want. The staff might be wary of me and my family, but they won’t budge on hospital protocol and patient care. I suppose I should admire them for that.

I’m not happy with the lack of updates on the search for the shooter, either. Leo left here hours ago to get answers from his wife, and I’ve heard nothing from him since. Then there’s Dante, my supposed right-hand man. Who knows where the fuck he is? According to Matteo, he locked Vinnie up in one of our warehouses and then went to hit the streets to see if he could find anyone who knew anything about the shooting.

As I check my cellphone for the hundredth time, Alessandro crosses the room to where I’ve been leaning against the wall for the last hour, and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m taking Emilia and Livvy home for a shower and a change of clothes.”

“Yeah, they’ve had a long night.” I look over to where my sister is resting her head on Matteo’s shoulder. She’s staring blankly into space, clearly exhausted. “You should take Mamma too.”

Alessandro makes a face. “I suggested it. She won’t leave.”

Her reluctance to go is to be expected, I suppose, but until we have more news about Gio, it seems pointless for us all to sit around waiting. If anything happens, it won’t take long for my family to get back to the hospital. I cross over to where my mother is sitting next to Olivia and crouch in front of her. She curves a hand around my cheek. Her eyes glisten, as if she’s on the verge of tears.

“You look tired, Antonio.”

It’s typical of her to worry about others before herself. “You should take a break, Mamma. Let Sandro take you home. Get some rest.”

She shakes her head as I knew she would. My mother is kind, gentle, but she’s got a backbone of steel. She knows her own mind, and she’s stubborn once she’s set on something.

“I am not leaving this hospital until Gio does.”

“That could take a while.”

My mother fixes me with a determined look. “If it takes all year, I will wait for my youngest son.”

I look to Matteo for help, but he shrugs, jolting Olivia, who sits up straighter.

“How about I bring you some fresh clothes, Mamma?” Alessandro suggests and she nods. “You need anything, Tony?”

“No, I’m okay.”

Alessandro and Emilia both kiss my mother on each cheek and then my brother helps Olivia up from her seat. She wobbles on her stupidly high heels but Matteo puts a hand at the small of her back to steady her.

“Come on, Livvy,” Emilia says, wrapping an arm around my sister’s shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”

“Poor Livvy’s dead on her feet,” Matteo says.

I cast him a stern glare, a warning to choose his words more carefully, but my mother doesn’t seem upset by his remark.

“She’ll be fine.” My mother’s tone is resolute. “And so will Gio.”

Matteo gets up from his seat, stretches out his arms, and goes to the window.

“Why isn’t Leo back yet?” my mother asks. “He’s been gone a long time.”

“He had something to take care of.”

My mother narrows her eyes. “Even if this is Carlo Bianchi’s doing, Vinnie was not involved.”

“You don’t know that, Mamma.”

She purses her lips and I know I’m about to get a lengthy rundown on my sister-in-law’s qualities that make it impossible for her to have plotted against us. Fortunately, I’m saved from that by a tap on the door. I get to my feet as Darryl, one of our newer recruits, pops his head into the room.

“Got a Detective Winters here to see you.”

He’s one of the many cops we have on our payroll. “Send him in.”

“Damien,” I acknowledge the detective as he steps into the room. At thirty years of age, he’s already got an impressive beer gut and an ever-expanding bald spot at the top of his head. He wears the weary expression of a man who took the wrong path in life and can’t find a way off it.

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