Page 60 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

As darkness edges in, I hold onto the promise of the future I need to protect. I'm not going down—not without a fight.

Chapter 36

Patrick

“You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”

The nurse’s voice is unfamiliar, far away.

As consciousness flickers, reality blends into a hazy tableau of blurred hospital scenes.

The constant in and out leaves me disoriented, barely catching glimpses of Allie's anxious face before I'm swept under again, this time for surgery. The details escape me; all that lingers is a sense of being submerged in darkness.

I come to with a start, my leg suspended in traction, swathed in bandages. My head throbs painfully in time with my pulse; each beat a grim drum of reality grounding me back to the present.

But it’s the sight in the corner of the room that sharpens my focus—a man, suited, his presence filling the space with an unspoken authority. It’s Matteo Rossi, Luca Amato’s associate, the last person I expected to see. A chill runs down my spine at the sight of him.

Still groggy, I glance around the sterile room, half-expecting to see a nurse or Allie, but it's just me and Rossi.

"Don't hospitals have rules about visitors?" I grumble, squinting at him through the dim light.

Rossi gives a low chuckle, the sound oddly out of place in the clinical quiet of the hospital. "You'd be surprised what doors open with the right connections," he says, leaning back casually. "Luca’s name carries more weight than you might think."

I don't like the sound of that. My voice is sharp, the pain in my leg fueling my impatience.

"What do you want, Rossi?"

Rossi shifts in his seat, his demeanor all business now. "First off, Luca sends his deepest apologies for the events at Savor. He's distressed about the chaos caused under his watch."

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical but listening. "Apologies are a start. What about the damage?"

"He's prepared to compensate you fully," Rossi continues, pulling a sleek pen from his jacket pocket and flipping it between his fingers—an idle gesture that belies the tension in the air. "Actually, Luca plans to write you a blank check. Whatever it costs to rebuild, consider it covered."

That catches my attention, though the throbbing in my leg reminds me to keep my cool. "Generous. And the cops? How am I supposed to keep his name out of this?"

"Handled," Rossi assures with a slight nod. "There won't be any police investigation that could cast a shadow on him or your establishment. Luca has made sure of that. Discretion is paramount, after all."

I'm not sure how I feel about that—relieved or more entangled. "And what's the catch? There’s always a catch with deals this clean."

Rossi smiles, a thin, knowing smile. "No catch, Mr. Spellman. Though, think of this as an opportunity. The incident, while unfortunate, might just stir up enough intrigue to spotlight whatever you plan next. A little excitement can be quite the draw."

Leaning back, I consider his words. "So, you’re saying I should turn a shootout into a selling point for my next venture?" The idea is absurd yet strangely fitting in this bizarre situation.

"Exactly," Rossi confirms. "Luca believes in your culinary art. He thinks this could be a new beginning, a story of rising from the ashes. A very compelling narrative, don't you think?"

I chuckle dryly, the pain meds making me bolder. "You make it sound like a phoenix rising, not a restaurant reopening after a mob shootout."

"Perception involves the art of painting what you want others to see," Rossi quips, standing to leave. "Think it over, Patrick. And remember, Luca is just as invested in seeing Savor succeed again as you are."

As he reaches the door, he pauses, turning back with a final nod. "Congratulations on the twins, by the way. Luca truly wishes you all the best."

With that, Rossi exits, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the pain in my leg, and a future that suddenly seems as uncertain as it is promising.

Lying back against the sterile hospital pillows, Rossi’s words echo in my mind, a persistent buzz that I can’t shake off.

"Whatever you plan next," he had said. It’s a prompt that stirs something deep within me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is an opportunity to start fresh with something entirely new. The thought is both liberating and daunting.

But I shove those musings to the back of my mind, my focus shifting as I press the buzzer by my bed, summoning a nurse.

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