CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I FOLLOWED THE MEDICAL team from the medevac helicopter, which had been waiting for us after we sped away from the warehouse, my eyes trained on Dante’s pale face. He’d gone into respiratory arrest during the short flight to San Diego from wherever we’d been held. All I could do was look on in terror as the paramedics did everything to save him, praying he’d make it through.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” a tall blonde wearing blue scrubs said to me as we approached a freight elevator on the roof of the hospital. She grabbed my elbow, preventing me from following the medical team. I looked at her name tag. Emily. A trauma nurse.
With more sympathy than I thought possible for a complete stranger, she led me out of the way, then took one of my hands in hers as I watched the stretcher carrying Dante disappear beyond the elevator doors.
“They’re taking him to the OR. It’s a sterile area. No one other than medical personnel is allowed in there. I’ve been told to bring you to an exam room so you can be checked out, as well.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, freeing myself from her hold, heading toward the elevator and pressing the down button. “I need to be nearby in case…” I trailed off, swallowing hard. My face heated, feeling lightheaded at the thought of Dante going through everything he had and not surviving. I reached out, holding onto the stucco wall to steady myself, my legs weak.
“Ma’am?” Emily looked at me, seemingly assessing my appearance with her analytical eyes.
“I’m okay,” I struggled to say, the world spinning around me now that the adrenaline of everything I’d endured the past few hours and days started wearing off. I clung tighter to the wall, spots obscuring my vision. The last thing I remembered was the sound of Emily’s muddled voice calling for a wheelchair as my face hit the hard cement of the roof.
~~~~~~~~~~
MY EYES FOUGHT TO open, beeps and whirring machines slowly rousing me. I looked around what was obviously a hospital room. I squinted, trying to focus on a whiteboard on the wall across from me with the name of my nurse and other medical personnel scrawled on it. Below that was a date. November 10th. Saturday.
Scanning my body, I saw I was dressed in a hospital gown. A needle attached to a narrow tube was secured to my arm, delivering some sort of fluid through the IV drip. Everything still felt foggy, my eyelids heavy.
The door opened, a tall man with dark hair striding toward me. “Ah, awake at last.” A smile broke out onto his face as I propped myself up in the hospital bed. “My name is Dr. Hayes. I’m one of the trauma unit’s attending doctors.”
“Trauma unit?” I squeaked out, my throat feeling like sandpaper.
“Yes. We figured it was best to keep you here, just in case.” He sat in the chair beside me. “How do you feel?”
“Like I haven’t slept in weeks. Like I could sleep for a month and still be tired.”
“It’s going to take a few days for your system to right itself again. When we performed a tox screen, we found high levels of clonazepam in your system. The effects were only worsened by dehydration. We administered an IV drip, as you can see, to return nutrients to your body, as well as gave you a muscle strengthener to help counteract the effects of the drug.” He placed his hand on my arm. “But other than that, it doesn’t look like you’ve suffered any additional physical trauma.” He paused, narrowing his compassionate gaze on me. “Psychological is a different story. I’m going to insist you speak to one of the hospital psychologists before I sign your discharge papers.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to send a nurse in to do a quick check of your vitals. As long as everything looks good, we’ll discharge you tomorrow afternoon. I’ve instructed the FBI to refrain from questioning you until then.” He stood, heading toward the door.
“What about Dante?” I pressed. I’d barely heard a word he’d just said, preoccupied with one thing and one thing only…whether Dante was okay.
He slowly turned around, exhaling a long breath. My muscles tightened as I braced myself for the news that he didn’t make it, that the laceration to his abdomen was too deep and he’d lost too much blood.
“Mr. Luciano suffered through a great deal of trauma,” Dr. Hayes began.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I shot back, every inch of me shaking as I stared at him, trying to swallow through the pain in my throat. “I was there. I saw all of it. Every slash of the blade. Every stab of the knife.” I blinked back the tears as the horror I’d witnessed flashed before my eyes. “Every bit of blood that fell from his body. I…saw…it…all. So don’t tell me he suffered a great deal of trauma. I know exactly what he suffered. Please,” I managed to say through my tears. “I need to know. Did he make it?”
Dr. Hayes returned to the chair. His shoulders fell and he hung his head. When he peered up at me through sad eyes, bile rose in my throat, a chill washing over me.
“He was in surgery for nearly eight hours. By the time they wheeled him into the OR, his pulse was extremely weak. I knew his chances of survival were slim going in, but a guardian angel must have been watching over him because, miraculously, he pulled through.”
“He’s alive?” I blinked repeatedly, holding my breath.
“Yes, but his road to recovery isn’t going to be an easy one. His small and large intestines were punctured, and several of the other lacerations to his body, while not life threatening, were severe enough to require several hundred stitches. Not to mention three cracked ribs, a dislocated jaw, and a broken leg. We performed surgery on the punctures to his intestines. He did go into cardiac arrest, but we were able to revive him, stem the loss of blood, and get his organs functioning again.”
“So he’s okay? He’s breathing on his own?”
“Yes.”
I made a move to get out of bed, but Dr. Hayes placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. “You can’t see him yet. No one can. He’s currently in ICU. Standard protocol for the first twenty-four hours after major surgery. He’s heavily sedated for the moment, and probably will be for the next several days.”
“But once he can have visitors, you’ll tell me?” I asked frantically, hating I was in the same hospital as Dante but couldn’t see him, couldn’t watch his chest rise and fall, couldn’t hold his hand and listen to his heart beat.
“I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”
I briefly closed my eyes, allowing the fact that Dante had pulled through to comfort me, like a baby’s blanket. “Thank you.” I returned my eyes to Dr. Hayes.
“Of course.” He hesitated, studying me. “There’s something else I should tell you.”
My heart caught in my throat as I lifted my worried eyes to his.
“I was going to wait until you were a little less drugged up, but since we’re on the subject, I may as well tell you now.”
“What is it?” I swallowed hard, searching his expression for a hint as to what he was about to say.
He licked his lips. “Your father…”
I closed my eyes, blinking back my tears as the image of his body growing limp replayed in my mind, the callousness Marjorie demonstrated in shooting him with absolutely no remorse.
“Unfortunately, the bullet nicked his spinal cord, so he’ll require extensive physical therapy to be able to walk again.”
I shot my eyes to his, inhaling a sharp breath at his words, confused.
“He does have some lower body movement, which shows promise for a full recovery.”
“What do you mean?” I shook my head, not understanding. “He’s alive?”
Dr. Hayes smiled a small smile. “When the paramedics discovered him, they thought he was dead, but they found a weak pulse. He was rushed here just after Mr. Luciano. Luckily, the bullet missed any vital organs.”
I released a sob, covering my mouth with my hand. If I weren’t lying down, I was certain my knees would have buckled and given out under the weight of this turn of events.
“He’s in recovery in ICU, as well, but you should be able to see him tomorrow.”
A new wave of tears welled in my eyes. I wanted to jump out of this bed and fling my arms around Dr. Hayes’ neck to show him how grateful I was.
He squeezed my hand one last time, as if acknowledging my gratitude, then said, “I’ll send a nurse in, but you need to get some rest yourself. If you’re not strong enough when your father and Mr. Luciano are able to have visitors, you won’t be allowed to see them, so be sure to take care of yourself first.”
“I will,” I responded, his admonition the only motivation I needed to do everything I could to get discharged tomorrow.
“Good.” Beaming, he turned from me, heading out of the room.
My heart feeling like it was going to burst at the news that not only was Dante okay but my father had survived, as well, I refocused my attention on the window, my mind reeling. I stared at the San Diego skyline in the distance, the sun heading closer and closer to the horizon. Then something caught my eye. From my perch on what I guessed to be the second floor of the hospital, I noticed a large group of people gathered by the parking garage, many of them holding candles and posters with positive thoughts and prayers. Some were here for Dante, others for my father. My insides flooded with warmth at the thought of how loved they were, how complete strangers had taken time out of their schedules to come here and offer their support.
News of what happened must have been all over the networks. Part of me wanted to turn on the television in my room so I could see the media circus first-hand. But then I’d be forced to stare into Marjorie’s cold, demeaning, remorseless eyes. The media always paid more attention to the offender than the victims in these types of situations, particularly when the responsible party was well-known, like Marjorie was. If I never had to see her face again, it would be too soon.
The sound of a knock on the door followed by it opening tore my attention away from the gathered masses as a nurse hurried into the room. Smiling a comforting smile, she made small talk as she took my vitals. I answered questions about how I was feeling and my pain levels. Just when she was finishing up, saying to buzz if I needed anything, a flurry of strawberry blonde curls stormed into my room.
“Ellie.” Mila stopped in her tracks, out of breath, her eyes bloodshot and frantic. She stared at me, her chin trembling. Then she rushed over, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me tighter than she ever had. “I am so mad at you, but so fucking happy you’re okay.” She pulled back, holding me at arm’s length before crushing me against her again. “You have no idea how guilty I felt. When I heard about your accident and how you disappeared…” She squeezed me tighter. “All I could think about was our last conversation, how I didn’t stop you from leaving the bar when it was obvious something was wrong. I couldn’t help but feel I could have prevented all of it.”
I pried her arms off me, forcing her to look into my eyes. “You couldn’t have prevented any of it, Mila. It was written in the cards.”
She laughed slightly, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. “You sound like me.”
“No. I sound like me. The me I was always meant to be.”