Page 50 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

I sent a quick text to Peter to get the jet ready as I raced down the stairs. The energy I was putting into jogging downstairs gave me somewhere to push the adrenaline building in me. I didn’t trust myself to stand still in an elevator without punching holes into the metallic box. Peter was already waiting by the time I got to the revolving door at the exit. I stared at the slowly rotatingstructure in fury, wondering whose genius idea it was to put a stupid revolving door at the entrance of an office.

“Is everything ready?” I inquired as I settled into the passenger seat.

“Yes, Sir,” Peter affirmed, his eyes briefly meeting mine in the rare mirror.

“Give me your best speed, Peter,” I ordered, carelessly throwing my jacket and tie on the seat.

A frustrated groan left me as I dragged my fingers through my hair, tugging harshly at the roots and willing the pain to distract me from the images that were taking shape at the back of my head. I know Enzo said she wasn’t badly bruised or in critical condition, but I couldn’t shake out the image of Arielle covered in blood and unconscious on the cold streets of New York.

Was she scared? Did she feel alone? Did she call out for me in the last moments? How long did it take before help got to her? Question after question invaded my thoughts, worsening the current state of my mind.

So, this is fear? The reckless behaviors people often exhibited, ones I had always described as stupid and weak, suddenly made sense to me as I found myself cursing at drivers who took their time turning and pedestrians who didn’t run at the zebra crossing.

I was one curse away from dragging the wheels off Peter’s hands and taking matters into mine, but I sat still, knowing the extra time I’d spend with the police wouldn’t be worth it. I glanced at my watch, counting the hours till I’d be with her. Eight hours has never seemed so long.

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“Where is she?” I demanded as soon as Enzo stepped into the hospital reception to meet me. I could see Angelo pretending to be one with the hospital walls from the corner of my eyes, but he was a problem I’d deal with later.

“This way,” Enzo said, walking off in the direction he came. “The doctor ran a full body scan on her. Besides a concussion, he couldn’t find anything worthy of alarm, but more tests will be conducted as soon as she wakes up, which should be anytime now.”

My stomach twisted as he continued to list all the things the doctor said, which were practically things he had already mentioned when he called. I found myself wishing she had passed out on impact and didn’t have to deal with any pain.

“Generally, he said she’ll be fine after a few weeks of bed rest and medication. She was lucky she kept her seatbelt on,” Enzo concluded his report as we came to a stop in front of a white door. “You might want to fix yourself a bit and take a calm breath before walking in, you look like shit.”

“Thanks for the observation,” I pushed Enzo aside and opened the door, preparing myself for the worst.

The sight I walked into was one I was sure would be buried in my head for a while. There she was, lying unconscious on a hospital bed, a bandage wrapped around her head, tubes sticking out from almost every part of her. The glow that seemed perpetually attached to her was gone. Her face was pale and her lips were split in the middle. Tiny bruises were covering her arms and legs, and there was the annoying monitor and its incessant beeping.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt more powerless in my life than I did at this moment. There was nothing I could do to ease her pain. There was no way for me to help her. She wasn’t even awake for me to ask where it hurt. All I could do was stand and watch until she woke, and I was very terrible at waiting.

“How did this happen?” I asked, my eyes not leaving her. If I couldn’t do anything to ease her pain, I could at least make sure the person responsible was getting a taste of what she was going through.

“A drunken driver,” Enzo replied, and blood roared in my ears. A fucking drunken driver. When I’m done with him, he will never touch a bottle of liquor for the rest of his life. As if he could sense the thoughts going through my head, Enzo promptly added. “He’s dead. His body was found close to the scene, probably falling off his car on impact.”

And I was back to square one. No way to help and nowhere to channel my frustration.

“She’ll be fine, man. The doctors assured me.” Enzo clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly.

Despite Enzo’s reassurance and the words of the doctor, I couldn’t shake off the gnawing feeling that I was somehow responsible for the situation. It didn’t make sense, but I somehow blamed myself for the accident. Maybe if I hadn’t traveled to Paris and we had gone to work in the same car as we always did, things would’ve been different.

“It’s also not your fault, Mikhail. There’s nothing you could’ve done to change the situation of things,” Enzo added after a pause, but he was wrong. There’s a lot I could’ve done.

I would’ve shielded her with my body, making sure no harm came to her. I would’ve fallen first to keep her head from striking against the pavement. I would’ve bled out before I let a slice of glass cut her. But what use was I to her standing here?

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” Enzo finally said, walking out the door.

Finally, alone with her, I sat on the chair next to her, clasping her slender hands in mine and peppering soft kisses on them. “You have to wake up, princess. It’s killing me to see you like this,” I muttered, watching her face for the smallest movement. A flicker of her lashes or a twitch of muscle would equal a miracle to me right now.

When nothing happened, I settled for telling her about my day, my trip to Paris, and all the things I thought she’d love. I read somewhere that when people are unconscious or in a coma, they can sometimes hear what’s being discussed, and speaking to them encourages them to come back. I was not a superstitious man by any means, but I was willing to cling to anything that offered some form of hope at the moment.

“Mikhail?” Her voice came out croaked and barely audible. I would’ve missed it if not for the feeling of her hand squeezing mine.

My head snapped up, both my hands clutching hers. “Baby? You’re awake?” I asked, squinting my eyes to readjust to the bright lights of the hospital room. I must’ve fallen asleep somewhere in between my tales. She tried to speak but could only produce a croaking sound, followed by a coughing fit that sounded like iron grating against concrete.

“Enzo! Lorenzo!” I called out as I rushed towards the dispenser in the room. “Get the doctor. She’s awake,” I ordered as soon as he opened the door.

“Here, baby, take a sip.” I held the water to her as she struggled to sit up. There were tubes everywhere, and I didn’t know how to help her up.

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