Page 47 of Her Filthy Italians

“It’s Sefi,” I mouth the words to Camila.

Sefi’s sister is nearly as beautiful as she is. When I say ‘nearly’ it’s because I prefer a more natural look to Camila’s, who is flawlessly made up and wearing a figure-hugging dress. Her face is framed by long, dark brown, styled ringlets. Her mascara laden hazel eyes widen and she reaches out to take the phone from me.

“Just a second,” I say, waiting for Sefi to tell me she’s okay.

“I’m fine.” Sefi’s voice trembles, then catches on a sob. “We’re on our way to the hospital in Treviso. Alessio has been shot.”

“Shot?” I babble like an idiot, as if my brain hasn’t comprehended the word. “What happened?”

Sefi explains.

“No!!!” My stomach cramps and my heart stutters painfully. “Alessio!!!” I wail. “Tell him I’m on my way, tesoro.”

I disconnect and call my copter pilot, at the same time filling Camila in on what occurred when Sefi was rescued. She expresses relief that Sefi is safe and regret for Alessio. I find it hard to focus on her I’m so fucking worried. I pull Camila’s suitcase and she totters next to me on high heels as we head back to the airport terminal building. “I’m sorry to be so quiet,” I apologize. “But I’m in shock.”

Which is an understatement. Inside, I feel like I’m dying. The thought of Alessio lying wounded is almost unbearable.

“Don’t worry. I understand. I’ve also lost people I loved.” She glances at me. “Not that you’ll lose Alessio,” she qualifies her statement. “He’ll pull through, I’m sure.”

“How can you know that?” I face her.

“Just a gut feeling.” Her smile is gentle. Like I’m a child she’s trying to console. She links her arm through mine, gives it a squeeze. “Try to stay calm. He needs you to send him positive vibes.”

I’m not a praying man, but I pray now. I pray so goddamn hard all the way to the check-in counter, then on the flight to Treviso. We fly through thick fog most of the way. I’m concerned we won’t be able to land in it. Fortunately, the mist clears as we approach the city and we manage to descend safely to the hospital heliport.

We run into the building and follow the signs to the trauma ward. A doctor dressed in light blue scrubs tells us that Alessio is undergoing surgery and directs us to a waiting room. “The signorina is in there,” he adds.

We push open the door and there she is, sitting alone, her face pale, and also wearing scrubs for some reason.

I’m torn. So fucking torn. Part of me wants to run up to Sefi, sweep her off her feet, and smother her with kisses I’m so relieved to see her again. But I can’t. I’m too worried about Alessio.

Instead, it’s Camila who wraps her arms around her sister, kissing her and asking for reassurances that she’s okay.

“I’m fine. Really I am.” Sefi catches my eye and I see reflected there everything that I, too, am feeling. Worry. Sadness. Fear.

I go up to her and open my arms. She comes into them, and I breathe her in, kiss her sweet lips. “Tesoro, are you sure you are alright?”

“It’s all my fault,” she sobs. “If I’d listened to you and Alessio and had gone home, he wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

I shake my head. “He was going to go after Framassi whatever happened. I was worried he’d get hurt even before we met you…”

We sit on the hard, plastic chairs and wait, listening to the clatter of hospital trolleys wheeled past the door, and the noise of nurses chatting to each other. Sefi tells us she’s wearing scrubs because she used her sweater to pack Alessio’s wound so he wouldn’t lose even more blood. She changed after she was checked over after arriving at the hospital. The door swings open, and we look up expectantly… but it’s only Deputy Superintendent Koffler. “Is the Commissario out of surgery?” he asks.

We shake our heads.

Sefi takes my hand, squeezes my fingers. “Shouldn’t you call Alessio’s parents?”

“I will when I know something definite,” I sigh.

We glance up as a white coated lady doctor comes into the room.

She pulls out a chair and sits facing us. I saw a movie once where doctors only act like that when they deliver bad news. My shoulders droop.

“The Commissario has come through the procedure.” The doctor’s eyebrows gather in. “The first bullet narrowly missed his heart. The second bullet nicked his liver. He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s in the intensive care unit, under sedation. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial.”

I take a deep breath. “Can we see him?”

“Only for a short time,” the doctor turns toward the door. “Come with me.”

Sefi gets up to accompany me. The doctor shoots her a perplexed look. “What is your relationship with the Commissario?”

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