Page 2 of Bellini Born
Bianca’s dark brown eyes were glassy, her lower lip wobbled, and my heart fucking broke. Because if she lost her mother . . .
No, I wouldn’t even entertain that notion. My wife was the daughter of Emilio Santoro, ruler of the New York underworld. She was a goddamn mafia princess and too damn tough to be taken out by whomever chose violence and decided to cross the Bellinis today.
A hand came down on my shoulder. “Go. I’ve got her.”
With a quick nod, I turned on my heel and raced out the door.
Bursting into the emergency room of the hospital, I slammed both hands down on the reception desk and huffed out, “Bellini. Allegra. Car accident.”
My chest heaved; my lungs burned with each attempted inhale as black spots danced across my vision.
I was distantly aware of the clacking of a keyboard with the blood roaring in my ears. My heart rate hadn’t settled since Gio dropped the bomb that the vehicle my wife was traveling in had been attacked.
This was taking too long, and my frayed nerves snapped.
“How hard is it to look up a patient’s name?”
The woman behind the desk let out a frightened squeak at my harsh tone. But I didn’t have time for sympathy, not when my wife’s life hung in the balance.
Keeping her eyes cast down, she replied, “Fourth floor.”
I didn’t stick around long enough to get a room number, running full steam toward the elevators.
When one didn’t open immediately upon hitting the call button, I pushed through the door to the stairwell and hoofed it up four flights of stairs. Despite being in peak physical shape, my thighs screamed as I pushed them to the limit in my desperation to get to my wife.
Reaching my destination, out of breath, I bent over with my hands on my knees.
“Mr. Bellini?”
At the sound of my name, I straightened to find a doctor wearing dark blue scrubs, holding a surgical cap in his hands.
“Yes,” I panted out.
The doctor hauled in a deep breath before introducing himself. “I’m Dr. Finch. When they brought in your wife, I was called down to assess her injuries as a general surgeon.”
Panic surged in my veins. “She’s pregnant.”
Dr. Finch’s lips thinned as he nodded. “We were forced to perform an emergency C-section. Your daughter is currently in the NICU.”
“D-daughter,” I choked out.
We hadn’t found out what we were having, intent on being surprised at the birth like we had with Bianca. Instead of this beautiful moment where my wife and I were overjoyed by the discovery that our baby was a girl, the news was relayed almost clinically by a doctor, because I hadn’t even fucking been there to witness it.
Then another thought struck.
“She was only twenty-seven weeks.”
The surgeon nodded, addressing my concern. “I know it sounds early, and it is, but the survival rate of a premature baby of your daughter’s gestational age is upwards of ninety percent. Though I will warn you, you’re looking at a lengthy stay in the NICU. Several months, in fact. I can take you to her now, if you’d like.”
My mind was swimming, and I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Has Allegra seen her?”
Dr. Finch gestured to the small seating area to our right. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Why couldn’t he give me a straight answer? How hard was it? Had my wife seen our daughter yet? Yes or no?
When he grabbed my elbow to guide me to a chair, I shook him off, my voice going deadly. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
The man had the good sense to drop his hold and take a step back.
