Page 222 of Salvatore

“Are you sure?” She scrutinizes me, and it has nothing to do with my opinion of her writing skills. She’s watched me like a hawk for days, always pestering, never leaving me alone. “Obviously, I need to put in more details. I’ll have to find out Lorenzo’s full name and add the specifics of his family before it goes to print.”

I keep nodding, not really invested as my gaze remains fixed on the only thing I currently care about. I’ve grown to handle the guilt of causing Lorenzo’s death. I can bear the responsibility of Gabriel and my brother’s actions, too. But when it comes to the sight of Salvatore still and lifeless in the hospital bed before me, nothing else matters.

Abri squeezes my shoulder. “Why don’t I get Remy and Olivia to take you back to their place so you can have a shower and get some rest?”

“No.” I keep circling my fingertips around Salvatore’s palm, desperate for a sign of consciousness. “I can’t leave him.”

It’s the least I can do given I’m to blame for his head trauma, collapsed lung, broken ribs, bullet wound, and dislocated shoulder.

“Don’t forget the doctor said you need to focus on healing, too. It’s important for?—”

“I know,” I whisper.

The problem is I can’t focus on anything but Salvatore as he straddles the precipice of life and death. The doctors aren’t sure if, or how, he’ll recover, and apparently holding out hope takes more mental space than normal function. It’s exhausting trying to remain positive.

I’ve lost a lot in life. I’ve endured more than most and thought I’d become all the stronger for it.

But if he slips away, any hope I had for my future will crumple. Because he’s the foundation. The anchor. The happiness. The love.

I need him. With everything in my heart and soul, IneedSalvatore Costa.

48

SALVATORE

I groan,my brain coming online before the rest of my body, my head throbbing, my thoughts groggy. I’m uncomfortable as fuck, my chest sore, my throat like sandpaper.

I open my eyes and find myself in a hospital room, the fluorescents too bright, the starched bedsheet obnoxiously scratchy.

“Look who’s finally awake,” someone mutters.

I blink my vision into focus, finding a tall, bearded asshole standing beside my bed.

Of all the people who could’ve been holding vigil at my bedside, Bishop is the last motherfucker I want to see, especially when he’s in the company of some random kid I’ve never seen before, the boy no older than six or seven.

I swallow, trying to clear the desert from my throat. “How long have I been out?”

Bishop winces. “It’s been a while, man.”

I groan again, racking my brain for information, trying to slot together pieces of memory. Lorenzo—dead. Ivy…

“Where is she?” I rasp.

“She’s fine. I’ll send her a message and let her know you’re awake.” He pulls his cell from his suit jacket and begins typing,all while that bright-eyed kid stares at me like I invented the PlayStation.

“And the baby?” I attempt to sit up, but there’s no strength in my arms.

The wince returns to Bishop’s features as he pockets his phone and reaches for the kid, leading him forward by the shoulders to stand closer to my bed. “As you can see, the kid is just fine. Aren’t you, buddy?” He ruffles the boy’s hair. “It’s been a long six years, but finally, you can say hello to your dad.”

I’m pretty sure my soul leaves my body as I stare at the child, the darkest shade of blue eyes staring back at me.

“Hello, Papa.” The boy cracks a wobbly smile.

Holy fuck.

I attempt to sit up higher than the slightly inclined bed will allow, but my body revolts in pain, the agony slicing through my abdomen. “Six years?”

I’ve been out six fucking years?

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