Page 114 of I Would Beg For You

Their silence speaks legions, and I balk, curling in on myself as I wrap my arms around my midsection.

“Something’s happened,” I whisper. “He’s…”

I can’t bring myself to say it. He can’t be… Not my Val. This, whatever it is, happened when he came to get me, to rescue me yet again from the bastard who’s had his eye only on my maternal family’s money all this time.

“Tell me he’s alive,” I bite out.

Victor grunts something.

Renata clasps my IV-free hand. “He is, figlia.”

I gasp, trying to keep the trepidation at bay. “But?”

Franco and Victor exchange a glance.

“Oh, come on!” I snap. “Out with it. Now.”

I’m younger than these men, but I know how Italian families work. I’m their eldest brother’s wife, which makes me their eldest sister-in-law, never mind my actual age. That’s deference and respect owed to someone just below their mother and grandmothers.

Franco’s the one who speaks up.

“Val is in the hospital, Naomi.”

I hitch in a sharp breath. “And?”

“And he’s unconscious,” he continues. “Hasn’t woken up yet since his surgery.”

“Surgery for what?” I need all the details, then I can panic away. Or not.

“He was stabbed in the abdomen. Three times. By Jasir Berisha, the man who was holding you captive.”

The big guy in the track suit whose boy I killed.

“He’s dead, I hope?” I ask, not sure where the hardness in me is coming from.

Victor nods solemnly. I’m guessing he’s the one who took care of that. After that motherfucker got the drop on my husband.

“Wasn’t anyone protecting him?” I ask, tone clipped.

“He hid behind a panel in the wall, came out when we’d cleared the place,” Victor replies.

Tears are clogging my throat, but I know I can’t let them flow. I won’t be able to stop if I do, and such agony and despair wanting to be let out? It can’t—won’t—be good for the baby. I have to keep it together for her. And also, for Valentino.

“What’s the prognosis?” I whisper.

Franco inhales sharply. “There was quite some damage, and he lost a lot of blood.”

I press my lips together to stay the sobs.

“Take me to him,” I say.

“Naomi,” he sighs. “There isn’t anything you can do for him. And you also need to rest—”

“It wasn’t a request.”

I sound so cold and matter-of-fact, even I’m astounded by my tone. It brooks no argument.

It’s Victor who nods, accepting things for what they are. There’s no way they can stop me from seeing Valentino.

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