Page 51 of Ivory Crown

“I understand, Dad,” I finally said, my voice nearly a whisper amidst the hum of the vending machines and the distant whir of the hospital’s constant life. “I made a grave mistake.”

He regarded me for a long moment before speaking again, his tone softer now but carrying an immovable weight. “Marco is in there because of you. But he’s also alive because of you. You brought him in on time.” His gaze held mine, unblinking and unrelenting. “That’s the only reason why you’re still sitting here. Now tell me why you made this mistake.”

“Something happened. Personal,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

“Personal.” He didn’t ask. He stated it, letting the word hang in the air between us as if it were a dirty secret I had no right to keep.

“Yeah.” I shifted uncomfortably, the seat creaking under my weight. My hands, usually steady and sure, now betrayed me with their slight tremor.

This was not how I wanted him to find out about his grandchild.

“Explain.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command, one that compelled obedience despite my reluctance.

“Jade,” I started, but the rest of the sentence lodged in my throat. This was the moment of truth, where all the cards had to be laid out on the table, yet I hesitated. How could I make him understand something I was still grappling with myself?

“Jade?” His impatience broke through the façade of calm, a rare crack in the Don’s armor. “Who is Jade?”

“Look, I didn’t want to tell you like this.” I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the sweat cling to my scalp. “I’m seeing someone. I’m...it’s serious.”

“Serious,” he echoed back, and I couldn’t read the thoughts swirling behind those steely eyes. I had expected anger, maybe even disappointment, but not this measured silence that stretched between us. But the repetition…the way he used my own words against me…fuck, it made my blood run cold.

“My girlfriend, Jade. Jade’s pregnant,” I blurted out, the words tumbling forth like a confession. “I’m trying to secure something for her. For our baby. Something that won’t be vulnerable to people like Lorenzo Caruso.”

Enzo went still, very still, as if his body had turned to stone. The news seemed to suspend itself in the space around us, charged with an energy that made the very air feel heavy.

“Okay,” he finally said, taking a sip of his coffee before he trained his eyes on me. “When’s the wedding?”

Chapter Twenty-Two: Dante

Marco was alive.

I stood by the door, my back pressed against the cool metal frame, watching. The room was a harsh landscape of sterile whites and grays, interrupted only by the soft beep of machinery and the occasional shuffle of nurses’ feet. Marco lay on the bed, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that fought against the odds. His eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, pain etched deep into his features. A bullet had made its home in his side—a cruel tenant that reminded us all of how close death lurked.

But he was alive.

“Easy, brother,” I muttered under my breath, even though he couldn’t hear me over the hum of the hospital. My eyes flicked to the doctors and nurses moving around him. They wore their professionalism like armor, but beneath it, I knew they were just as aware of the fragility of life as we were.

Our father stood stoic beside me. We hadn’t exchanged words since our tense conversation at the cafe earlier. It wasn’t like we needed to; everything that had to be said hung in the air between us, heavy and unspoken.

“Will he be okay?” I asked the surgeon, a thin man with deep-set brown eyes and a pallor that looked like it came from too many nights under the harsh hospital lights. The surgeon didn’t answer right away, just continued to scribble something on his clipboard, his forehead creased in a frown.

“We’ve managed to stabilize him for now,” he replied in a measured tone, “He’s young and strong, so he’s got that on his side.”

“But?” The word slipped past my lips before I could stop it. I had been around long enough to know when someone was holding back bad news.

The surgeon hesitated, then sighed heavily. “The bullet grazed his liver. Time will tell whether or not there’s permanent damage.”

“The liver…how bad could that be?” Part of me didn’t want to know. The other part of me needed to know everything.

“The liver is a pivotal but resilient organ,” the surgeon said. “Worst case scenario, he’d need a transplant. However, what’s most likely to happen is that, with proper care and management, it will gradually heal itself. But,” he paused, meeting my gaze evenly, “it’s going to be a long road to recovery.”

My jaw clenched at his words. A long road.

Fuck.

Enzo, who had been silent until now, intervened. His tone was calm but laced with unspoken threats. “Do whatever needs to be done,” he said. “Money is not a concern.”

The doctor glared at him. “Money is never a concern,” he said. “I’m a doctor.”

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