Vittorio
Vittorio woke with a start, wincing as he pried his eyes open to an unfamiliar, ornate ceiling. Hell, he hurt all over. Even his scalp ached with the slightest bit of movement.
Well, he couldn’t be dead then.
Groaning, he shifted on the soft mattress, pain shooting through his body. In all his days, he hadn’t been this beat up before, like a truck had ran over him numerous fucking times. What the fuck had happened?
Then it all came back in a rush. Rocco breaking into his penthouse, finding Sharon, beating Vittorio. Shit, what had happened?
“So, you are awake.”
Vittorio turned his head carefully and made out Marcello leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was wary but didn’t hide the exhaustion that radiated from him.
“You look like shit.”
Marcello let out a laugh.
“You should see yourself. You look like someone put you in a meat grinder, my friend.”
Vittorio was scared to even laugh, the pain in his side making it difficult to even breathe.
“How bad is it?”
“Three broken ribs, a broken nose and a concussion. Bullet hole in the left calf, wrist fractured. You sure is hell ain’t a handsome fella right now.”
“Sharon?” he forced out, scared to ask.
He didn’t remember much about that night, only bits and pieces fractured in his thoughts.
“She’s fine, worried about your ass. Fuck man, you scared all of us. You have been out for three days.”
Three days? Vittorio started to sit up, but the pain knocked him back on his ass once more.
“Where?”
“Doc Bradford’s house,” Marcello answered, walking toward the bed. “Here, take these.”
Vittorio took the pills from Marcello and swallowed them dry, glad to be somewhere other than a hospital. Doctor James Bradford was a personal friend of the family, one that had patched many a Contarini over the years without sending them to the hospital. Knowing Bradford, Vittorio was confident he was going to survive.
“Anafesto?”
“Dead,” Marcello said flatly. “I don’t know which one of us killed him, but the remaining family has already pledged their loyalty to the Contarinis. You are now the most powerful mob boss in New York. How does it feel?”
“It fucking hurts,” Vittorio said, earning a laugh from Marcello. “Tell me.”
Marcello blew out a breath.
“We got the alarm trigger, but we were clear across town when we got it. Fucking streets were blocked off due to some sort of fire, so we had to take a detour. When we got there, Rocco was about to… well, rape Sharon. Tough chick you got there. She nearly sliced off Rocco’s fingers with a razor blade.”
Vittorio smiled, even though it was painful to do so. That was his girl.
“We started firing and cleared the damn place in seconds. I called in a team and we got you here. Your penthouse is a fucking mess, but all the bodies have been taken care of and the cops didn’t even bat an eye at the blood on the floor. Might be a good time to have the place remodeled.”
Vittorio groaned.
“Fuck, that’s gonna be a shitload of money.”
Marcello grinned as he walked toward the door.
“My opinion? Let Sharon take the reins for a while. I’m gonna go get her. She needed some sleep. The woman hasn’t left your side much.”
Vittorio listened to his friend leave the room, his heart warming to the fact that she hadn’t left him, even when he didn’t even know she was here. He was a lucky bastard.
A moment later he heard, or rather smelled, her come in the room, her anxious face swimming before his. Her eyes were filled with tears and he wished he could make his fingers move so he could wipe them away.
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” she sobbed, touching his forehead gently. “Have you not seen yourself?”
“I don’t need to,” he said, attempting a smile. “I can feel it.”
She let out a strangled laugh, kissing his forehead carefully.
“You scared me, Vittorio. I thought you were dead.”
“It would take more than that,” he said as she ran her fingers over his cheek. “Three days?”
She nodded, wiping her eyes.
“Your physician friend is very nice. Must be nice to have one of them in your back pocket for when you are half dead.”
“I am fine,” he repeated, attempting to at least show he was gonna be okay. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
She looked at him, clearly not believing his words.
“I never want to see you like this again, Vittorio Contarini. I can’t deal with this again. I thought I lost you.”
Vittorio reached up with his good hand, brushing her hair from her face. “I’m fucking sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
Though Marcello had reached them in time, Sharon had still suffered at the hands of Rocco. Vittorio was glad the bastard was dead, or he would have killed him himself.
She gave a little laugh, touching his hand with her own.
“Do you remember throwing yourself on top of me? Even though you were hurting so badly, you still attempted to shield me from the gunfire. I… there are no words, Vittorio.”
He hadn’t remembered, but he was glad that his last-ditch effort that day was to protect her.
“Just doing my fucking job, ma’am!”