Page 153 of Stricken

Ivan doesn't like the question but he doesn't lie either. "Still unconscious, but vitals are great. Doctors are certain he will wake up any day now. Business will go on as usual."

"Glad to hear it." Esteban's voice is sincere. "Take care of yourself, Ivan. These are dangerous times."

Ivan ends the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. Another threat neutralized.

* * *

That evening Ivan strides through the sterile hospital corridor, trying to ignore the sickening scent of antiseptic in the air. He reaches Vlad's room, his hand pausing on the door handle. It's been a week since the accident. A very busy week for Ivan.

Finally, with a deep breath, he turns the handle and pushes the door open. The lights in the room are dimmed. The steady beep of the heart monitor is an unchanged soundtrack. Vlad is motionless on the bed, his once-powerful form reduced to a shell of its former self. And there, sitting beside him, is Nico, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Who the fuck let you in here?" Ivan growls, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the tired sight of the young Morelli heir.

"I did." Seven steps out from the corner, his muscular frame casting a shadow across the room. "Is there a problem, Ivan?"

Ivan ignores Seven, his gaze locked on Nico. "You should go home, Nicola. Worry about your own family. I hear your aunt may be in need of some company, now that your cousins have gotten what they deserved."

Nico rises to his feet, his jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something a lot like anger. "Since when do you care about what happens in the Morelli household?"

Ivan steps closer, wondering if Nicola Morelli is guessing that Roberto and Salvatore are his, Ivan's, doing. But even if Nicola does, he says nothing.

"I don't," Ivan hisses out. "But I do care about what happens to Vlad. And right now, your presence is a distraction he doesn't need. He's like this because of you."

The air crackles with dark tension, but Ivan remembers that Seven is in the room. So he lets his words hang between him and the Italian.

Finally, Nico breaks the loaded silence, his tone measured, controlled. "I'm not going anywhere."

And Ivan knows that Nicola Morelli is not bluffing. And that's okay with Ivan if that makes Vlad happy when Vlad wakes up.

CHAPTER50

NICO

The steady rise and fall of Vlad's chest beneath the thin hospital gown is almost mechanical now, days later, marking the passage of time as I keep vigil at his bedside. Each rhythmic beep of the monitor sends a silent prayer of thanks to a God I'm somehow struggling to believe in. I'm grateful Vlad is alive. Stable, but still so fragile, like the gossamer threads of a spider's web shimmering in moonlight. One careless touch could unravel it all.

And I don't know if that touch is mine or someone else's.

Ivan stopped trying to kick me out. He knows better. I won't leave on my own and I will make a scene if he attempts to remove me forcefully.

So, I keep spending most of my time here, by Vlad's side. His vitals are normal. He could be waking up any second according to his doctor. Or not waking up at all. He could choose to just leave this world quietly, in his comatose sleep. And that's my biggest fear. Not being able to tell him—at least once—how I really feel.

Chaos around me, around the Morelli family is like an abstract painting of rash decisions and dread, the brushstrokes harsh and unforgiving. Roberto, that stupid bastard, got himself caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Rossi was supposed to handle it, grease the right palms, pull the right strings. But the puppet master's hands were apparently "bound by law." At least that's the bullshit he fed me when he called to tell me Roberto will go away for a long time. Of course, being in prison as a regular criminal and as a Morelli are two different things. My cousin will have his own room, a TV, access to the internet, and good food probably cooked by some chef. Chiara will visit him once a week. Maybe even bring some of her own cooking. Roberto will just have to make stupid decisions behind bars.

And then there's Salvatore. The one I'd gladly kill.

The spineless rat actually fled the country, tail tucked firmly between his legs. I almost laughed when I heard the news. Almost. The bitter taste of irony still lingers on my tongue. I made a promise to Chiara, swore on my father's grave that I wouldn't harm a single hair on her precious baby boy's head. But every fiber of my being yearns to wrap my hands around his scrawny neck and squeeze until his lying tongue swells and his betraying eyes bulge.

It would be so easy.

Too easy.

But with Salvatore conveniently removed from the chessboard, I can keep my word to Chiara without having to stain my hands with his blood. Poetic, in a twisted sort of way.

Nothing about this life is ever simple. Even when the Universe throws us a bone, it's usually just a distraction before the next mouthful of teeth.

That's why I've been wondering if there's a price I have to pay for having both my cousins ejected from my future.

My gaze drifts to Vlad, my only beacon in this shitstorm.

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