Page 47 of Married to the Mafia Devil

My stomach churns with anxiety and fear. “Who did this to him?” I ask, fearing the answer.

The nurse looks at me, her eyes softening. “We're not sure what happened. There were no obvious signs of foul play, but he does have a severe head injury. It’s possible he fell, or it could have been an assault. The police are still investigating.”

Amelia squeezes my hand, trying to offer some comfort as we process the information. “Can we please see him?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“Of course, follow me. She guides us to a room where Dad lies motionless on the hospital bed, hooked up to various machines. His face is swollen, his eyes black. His lip is cut badly. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room, a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation.

Standing by his bedside, I feel a wave of emotions crash over me. Tears well up in my eyes as I reach out to gently hold his hand. “Dad,” I whisper, hoping for any sign of recognition, any small response.

Amelia stands on the other side of the bed, her face streaked with tears. “I was sure he was getting better,” she whispers to me. “He was trying so hard to stay sober. And now this.”

I nod, feeling a mixture of sadness and rising anger. “Someone might be trying to stop him getting better,” I say, thinking of Matteo and the darkness that seems to follow him everywhere. I think of that initial terror I felt when he invaded my bedroom. I think of him punching Vlad in the face at the gala.

Amelia looks at me, concern etching her features. “Emma, we don't know that for sure who did this. We can't just assume?—“

“I know him, Amelia. I know what he's capable of,” I interrupt, my voice hard with conviction.

A doctor enters the room, breaking our conversation. “Are you his daughters?” he asks. We nod, and he continues, “We've done all we can for now. It's a waiting game. He could wake up soon, or it might take a while. We're monitoring him closely.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Amelia says, her voice grateful yet strained. “Please keep us updated on any changes.”

“Of course,” the doctor replies before excusing himself.

As we sit by Dad's bedside, watching over him, I'm torn between my fear of Matteo’s involvement and the hope that somehow, despite everything, Dad will pull through. Amelia and I hold onto each other, finding strength in our shared worry, silently praying for a miracle in the dim light of the hospital room.

An hour later, Dad stirs, his eyelids fluttering open after what feels like an eternity. Amelia and I jump from our chairs, our previous weariness forgotten, drawn to his side instantly.

“Dad, can you hear me?” Amelia asks, her voice a mixture of hope and anxiety.

He blinks slowly, focusing with evident effort. His voice, when he speaks, is hoarse but clear, “Amelia, Emma... what happened?”

Relief floods through me, but it's quickly tempered by pressing questions about his condition. “You were found unconscious, Dad. You're in the hospital,” I explain, trying to keep my voice steady. “Matteo did this to you, didn’t he?”

He winces as he tries to sit up. “I... I need to tell you both something important,” he says, looking between us with a seriousness that tightens my chest.

“We’re listening, Dad. Just take it easy,” I urge him, taking his hand in mine.

He takes a deep breath and begins, his words slow but deliberate. “It's about Matteo.” He pauses, his gaze piercing.

“What about him? What did he do?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to thank him. He put me in rehab, got me a psychiatrist. I was getting better. For you two.”

Amelia and I exchange a look of surprise. Rehab? Psychiatry? This is the last thing we expect to hear.

“I wanted to do something good, for once,” Dad continues, his voice gaining strength. “I wanted to thank him, to prove I could still be useful.”

“What did you do, Dad?” I ask, a knot of apprehension forming in my stomach.

“I went to see Petrovitch. I thought if I could gain his trust...” His voice trails off, filled with regret.

“You went to Petrovitch?” Amelia gasps, her eyes wide with shock. “Are you crazy?”

Dad nods. “I told him I was your father, that I hated Matteo for taking your innocence. Said I'd help take him down. It was foolish, but Petrovitch believed me. He trusted me enough to get talking. He confessed that he was behind the hit on Matteo’s parents. I managed to record him saying it.”

My heart races as he reveals more, each word adding layers to a story we hadn't even known was unfolding. “But something went wrong. He must have got suspicious. I was heading for Matteo’s and he must have had people following me. I heard this voice in Russian demanding I give him the decryption key for the recording I made. I turned around and told him to go fuck himself. That's all I remember before waking up here.”

“So, it wasn’t Matteo...” I murmur, the realization washing over me like a cold wave.

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