Page 5 of Of Vows and Betrayal

Nausea overwhelms me when I see my fingers coated in blood.

“It looks worse than it is,” a nurse consoles me with asoothing smile, probably noticing my panic. “Just breathe, you’ll be okay.”

“But—” I glance down the hall, looking for the man who saved me, a man whose name I don’t even know.

“Your friend will be here when we’re done,” the nurse reassures me.

I’m quickly wheeled into a room where a harsh overhead light blinds me. The procedure is swift, and within forty-five minutes, I’m stitched up and transferred to a private room where my father awaits, his expression dark and stormy.

“Dad,” I begin, but he raises his hand to silence me.

“I told you you needed to be careful.”

“Dad, it wasn’t our fault! Enrico and Tony?—”

“Are none of your concern. They’ve been dealt with.” His tone leaves no room for further discussion.

I grimace, my imagination running wild with thoughts of what “dealt with” could mean in my father’s world.

“What about that man?” I try to peer past him, half expecting the stranger to materialize behind my father.

“He’s not your concern. We’re tightening security—no more unsupervised outings,” he states, his tone final. I feel a familiar knot of frustration and helplessness tighten in my chest.

His dismissal is harsh, his commands irrational.

No, absolutely not,I silently rebel. Despite the dizziness from the sedative and the sting of the topical anesthetic, I force myself to sit up, my resolve hardening with each movement.

“If this is how it’s going to be, I’d rather walk out of this hospital and take my chances with whoever wants to killme,” I declare, standing up, though swaying slightly, ready to act on my threat.

My father is by my side in an instant. “Mio Dio, sei così testarda!” he growls, his hands guiding me firmly back onto the bed.

“I’m not being stubborn! I’m standing up for myself.”

He glares at me, a hard, unyielding stare, but I meet his eyes without flinching. After a tense minute, he sighs, his shoulders drooping. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow. For now, you rest. As for the man who helped you—he’s coming to the house tomorrow. You can thank him then.”

My heart races for several reasons. First, I pity this poor guy; he only wanted to help, and now he’s about to walk into the home of a Mafia leader. Second, I can’t deny the flutter in my stomach at the prospect of seeing him again. Was he really as mesmerizing as he seemed when he was my savior?

“Why is he coming to the house?” I ask, suspicion tingeing my voice. My father is notoriously paranoid—with good reason, as I discovered today. He’s not the type to welcome strangers into our home casually.

“He saved my only child. That deserves a proper thank you,” he states simply.

Just as I’m about to probe further, a doctor enters the room, cutting off any further questioning.

“Ms. Bergotti, hello. I see you are eager to leave,” the doctor remarks, noticing me perched on the edge of the bed.

“Quite. I’m not fond of hospitals,” I reply tersely.

My father’s stern glare softens, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. The last weeks of my mother’s life hauntedthese halls, and the sterile sting of antiseptic clung to me long after. Even at my father’s house, I’d shower until I felt clean, chasing away the hospital’s ghostly traces.

“Well, yes, of course,” the doctor murmurs, clearing his throat as he opens his chart. “We’ve cleaned the wound, but it was a bit deeper than I would have liked in one spot, so I added three stitches, along with surgical strips, just to be safe. The stitches are self-dissolving and should be gone in a couple of weeks. However, please take it easy. It was a traumatic injury, and despite the wound not being overly long, you still lost a significant amount of blood.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve hired a nurse to watch over her for the next few days,” my father interjects.

I turn to him, my mouth agape, and the doctor lets out a low chuckle.

“Sir, I don’t think that is necessary, I?—”

“I decide what is necessary for my daughter,” my father cuts in sharply.

---