Shattered Throne: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 3), Lana Sky [summer reading list txt] 📗

Fabio, I suspect, would have trouble despite his charm.

“I see,” he says softly. “Well, these things do take time to adjust to, even in the best of times. And I can admit that this isn’t the most tactful of times to mention it, but I would really like that box of my sister’s. In exchange, I will personally ensure that Donatello allows you regular visits. Deal?”

When I look at him again, a wide smile obscures anything he might be thinking beneath the mask. He’s an expert at shrouding his emotions. Is he truly concerned for Donatello?

Or does his wariness of what that box contains go beyond that?

“We’ll worry about that later. Come with me,” he says, extending his arm. A warm smile heralds the abrupt change in subject, but I doubt he’ll let the topic rest for long. “We’ll head back, though we need to make one last detour, if you don’t mind.”

Minutes later, we arrive before a familiar hallway on the fourth floor. It’s changed since the last time we were here, but I recognize it instantly. Vincenzo’s wing. Now a hive of activity, medical professionals dressed in white congregate across from the lone occupied room.

“You can wait here if you’d like. I only need a few minutes,” Fabio says before approaching them.

Someone I assume to be a doctor stands to greet him, but I’m too far back to hear their conversation. What few words I do catch make my stomach constrict. Coma. Brain waves. Uncertainty.

I’ve had enough of death and suffering, but for whatever reason, an invisible hook seems to catch my spine, compelling me into Vin’s room, regardless. Crossing the threshold, I feel like an intruder, unwelcome in this neat, quiet place.

Not that the sole occupant can voice a complaint. Vincenzo. His bed is in the same place, but the machinery around it has drastically changed, and an unexpected pang of relief makes me sway. Gone are most of the tubes and heavy equipment. He seems to be breathing on his own, though even more bandages cover his head than I remember.

That’s right, Fabio mentioned a surgery.

Frozen in place, I press a hand to my chest in response to how fast my heart is beating, every pulse resonating like a blow. I have no right to ache for him. It’s my fault he’s here…

He doesn’t react as I approach, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is the only sign of life. When I press my hand to his cheek, however, it’s warm.

It’s surreal seeing his boyish features matured, enhancing his resemblance to his uncle. Some things never change, though, and I brush my thumb against his mouth, remembering his impish grin. No matter how serious the moment, one joke from Vincenzo could erupt the world in laughter.

I’m sorry. I wish I could say those words out loud, but I trace them against his lips instead. I’m sorry for everything. For the past. For never getting the chance to say goodbye…

What did Donatello even tell him? The truth? That he left me. Sold me. Betrayed me?

My finger freezes as another possibility comes to mind. What if Vin knew all along? Could I stomach knowing that?

I haven’t come up with an answer when a flicker of movement draws my attention to his face, and every other thought leaves my mind. I know what I’m seeing must be a trick of the light—or a hallucination—but when I blink, nothing changes. I swipe my hand over my eyes, expecting reality to shift.

It doesn’t.

Vin’s eyes are open, partially hidden behind thick lashes. Dark and rich, they fixate on me, so much like Donatello’s, it’s chilling.

But instead of hate, another emotion takes shape, ten times more painful to witness. It glimmers faintly, giving life to his otherwise gaunt, sunken features. An answering flutter flickers in my chest, impossible to mistake for anything else. Hope.

His lips part, his voice nearly drowned out by the squeals of nearby machinery. “Saf…”

I strain my ears to listen, leaning closer. It’s as if he’s fighting with everything in him to stay lucid. Even if he can’t trust what he’s seeing…

By his sides, his hands twitch over the sheets, too heavy for him to lift. Finally, his eyes drift shut. “Am I dead?”

His gravelly sigh sounds resigned. He’s dead. He has to be.

Because he thinks I am too.

No! I grip his hand tighter, willing him to understand what I can’t put into words. I’m here. I’m alive.

His lashes flutter as his eyes re-open, but this time, they’re distorted by a sheen of moisture. Tears. “Safy—”

A piercing alarm blares from one of the monitors connected to him, triggering a symphony of chaos. Almost instantly, a flood of people come rushing into the room, all of them speaking at once, jostling for proximity to the bed.

I find myself shoved aside, forced to observe, unable to help. A woman in white pushes past me, racing to adjust the various tubes and lines snaking from Vin’s body.

“Vincenzo!” That shout rings out, louder than the rest. Confused, I whirl toward the door, expecting Fabio. Another man stands there instead, his dark eyes ablaze. “What the hell is happening? Is he okay? Vincenzo!” He starts forward, but a burly doctor rushes to block his path.

“Can everyone clear the room, please?” someone else insists.

The next thing I know, I’m in the hallway as the door to Vin’s room is shut, muffling the noise beyond it.

I turn in the direction I last saw Fabio, but someone snags my forearm in a vice grip, locking me in place. Considering the fact that Fabio is racing toward me now, he isn’t the culprit.

“He spoke to you,” my captor breathes against my ear. Donatello. Am I surprised he ignored Fabio’s plea? No. Nothing is sacred to him, certainly not a promise. “What… What did he say?”

I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. The raw hope in his voice shouldn’t affect