Page 54 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
God, there was so much blood.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but it feels like an eternity, and the doctors still haven’t come to update me.
Officer Asshole from the scene arrives, and I groan as I throw myself into a chair. “I hoped that you’d at least wait until my husband is out of surgery before showing up here to interrogate me further.”
“This is important,” he says with a condescending tone that pisses me off. “We can’t have someone out there gunning down random people on the street. Although, that’s not what happened tonight, is it? You two were targeted.”
“That’s some interesting police work,” I say dryly. “I doubt you have evidence to back it up though.”
“Listen here,” he snarls, pointing a finger in my face. “I’m not playing around?—”
“What exactlyareyou doing?” comes a deadly voice from behind the cop. He slowly turns around, revealing Lorenzo Andretti standing there, looking pissed off beyond belief. “Because it looks like you’re harassing an innocent woman who was shot at tonight. Is that police policy when dealing with victims now?”
“I...I...” All of the confidence the cop had when he stormed into the waiting room to question me evaporates as he meets Lorenzo’s cold stare. He gulps and looks back at me. “I’m sorry, Miss Dawes. I’ll follow up at a later time.”
“Not without her lawyer present,” Lorenzo snaps.
I’m suddenly glad that he’s here, which is immediately followed by a tidal wave of guilt. It’s one thing to develop feelings for Dario, but Lorenzo is a different story. He’s the man who ordered my dad’s death, if he didn’t pull the trigger himself.
The cop leaves and I’m alone in the waiting room with Lorenzo. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I realize I’m alone with a truly dangerous man. His expression is closed off, but his body is rigid with tension.
“Tell me what happened,” he says.
The story pours out of me immediately. I tell him about dinner, our walk to the car, and the drive-by shooting. I don’t leave out anything, including the panic I felt when Dario passed out and the gun that I tossed into the storm grate. Finally, I share what I told the police at the scene, and he gives a curt nod.
“You did well. Always deny everything with the police. They have their theories, but if they could prove any link between Dario and organized crime, he’d be behind bars already. Same goes for all of us. The gun could have been a problem, and your quick thinking made sure it isn’t. I appreciate that.” The corner of his mouth ticks up in what’s almost a half-smile. “Now, I’m sure our boy will be okay, but I’m going to wait with you to find out.”
He doesn’t sit next to me. In fact, he keeps a respectable distance. But I’m still comforted by his presence, if only because it means I’m not in danger from the Bratva. I don’t need to look over my shoulder right now.
I just have to play the waiting game as I sit here and hope with every cell in my body that Dario is going to live.
That hope feels dangerous, treacherous even. But sitting here, with his blood still drying under my fingernails, I can’t deny the truth anymore.
I care about him. More than I should. More than is safe.
And now I might lose him before I ever got the chance to tell him so.
24
DARIO
I hate drugs.I might help run a business that deals in the buying and selling of all kinds of recreational pharmaceuticals, but I never partake myself.
I don’t like the feeling of being out of control, not even in the mellow way that comes with smoking pot. It doesn’t feel right to me. I like having a clear head, sharp instincts. When your family’s in the mafia, staying alert isn’t just a preference—it’s survival.
The moment I open my eyes, I have that telltale fuzzy feeling crawling through my brain that tells me I’m on something. This is unusual enough to send a jolt of anxiety through me like an electric current, and it only gets worse when I see that I’m in a hospital room. There are monitors lined up next to my bed and an IV taped to the back of my hand. The room around me is the kind of sterile white that makes your eyes ache, and sunlight cuts through the gap in the curtains like a laser.
My mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and my throat aches like I swallowed broken glass. There’s a dull throbbing inmy arm that I suspect would feel like being branded with a hot iron if I wasn’t floating on whatever pain meds they’ve got me on.
I take all of this in within the first few seconds of opening my eyes. Then, I see my father and brother sitting by the bed, talking in low voices that sound like they’re coming through water.
I try to speak, to ask them what happened to me, but only a pathetic croak escapes. Luca’s head snaps in my direction, and relief floods his gaze as it meets mine. I try to speak again, and he seems to realize what I need as he goes to the nightstand and grabs a pitcher of water. Pouring a glass, he pops a straw in and hands it to me to hold with the arm that isn’t injured.
What happened to my arm?
I try to remember as I sip the water, the cool liquid doing wonders for my raw throat. It takes a moment for my slow-working brain to put the pieces together, but then it comes back all at once—the restaurant, walking to the car, the shooting. The searing pain in my arm. Paige’s terrified face.
“Paige?” I ask, looking at my father, fear suddenly gripping me like a vise.
