Keeping My Bride by Angela Snyder
Chapter 62
Verona
“KEEP PRESSURE ON the wounds!” Benito yells at the men attending to Luca in the back of the SUV.
Luca’s team has been working together like they’ve done this a thousand times before, and I’m thankful for it. They managed to get us on a boat and back to the mainland in no time. I didn’t even freak out about going across the water. I was too busy being worried about Luca. He’s been passed out for several minutes now, but Benito assured me it was okay.
I’m in the passenger seat, and Benito is driving. I can’t tear my eyes away from Luca, though. I’m turned the whole way around in my seat. It took everything in me to let go of him, but I knew that I wasn’t going to help, only get in the way.
His face looks pale, and the tears in my eyes blur his image. I quickly wipe away the tears, needing to see him. I need him to be okay.
“It’s all my fault, Benny,” I blurt out.
Benito glances at me and shakes his head. “Don’t say that, Verona.”
“It’s true! Luca never liked Dante. He had suspicions about him, and I never listened.” I sob in my hands. “He killed our mothers. I let a killer into Luca’s home!”
Benito reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not your fault. No one knew what was going through that fucker’s head.”
“I can’t lose him, Benny,” I cry.
“You won’t,” he assures me, and I find the strength I need from the confidence in his voice. “Our doctor is good. He’ll fix him up. You’ll see.”
“How much longer?” I ask, staring at Luca’s brutally handsome face as he starts losing even more color.
“Not long. We’re almost there.”
* * *
We pullup to a large house in the outskirts of the city. It looks like a normal house, and I’m instantly confused. I thought we would be going to a hospital, not someone’s home!
I start to say something to Benito, but he begins barking out orders to the men in the back.
Suddenly, everyone is clearing out of the van, four men carrying Luca’s unconscious body towards the back of the house.
My legs move quickly, walking fast to keep up.
The doctor turns out to be an older gentleman, probably retirement age, with a weathered face and friendly, blue eyes. He ushers everyone inside the basement, clearly having expected us.
I anticipate a normal basement with furniture, a TV and such, but I’m blown away by the fact that it looks like we just stepped into a hospital. There is medical equipment everywhere, a few hospital beds and IV stands, medicine cabinets and pretty much everything you would expect to find in a functioning hospital.
The doctor instructs the men to carefully place Luca on one of the beds, and they quickly do. Luca looks pale. So pale.
“He’s lost so much blood,” I say, and I can hear the panic building up in my voice. “He’s so pale. He needs blood.”
Suddenly, Benito steps in front of me. “You need to calm down, Verona. This isn’t good for the baby.”
I stare up at him, and it takes several moments for his words to sink in. The baby. Yes, the baby. I nod emphatically. “Okay, okay, okay,” I whisper.
Benito directs me to a chair in the corner of the room and gently coaxes me to sit down. “He will make it through this,” he says assertively, and his confidence alone fills my heart with hope.
I lean around Benito’s large frame to get a glimpse of Luca in the hospital bed. He’s already hooked up to an IV with a blood bag hanging from a metal stand. The doctor is shouting out instructions to the men as he washes his hands and forearms in a big industrial sink before drying them and slipping on a pair of latex gloves.
“Time to operate,” the doctor announces.
My feet are stuck to the floor like glue as I watch the doctor grab some surgical instruments from a tray. The moment he cuts into Luca’s flesh, I nearly black out from all the blood gushing from the wound.
My stomach turns, and I barely make it to the trashcan before throwing up. Tears cloud my vision as I dry-heave repeatedly. Benito comes over and gently places a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go get some air,” he suggests.
Shaking my head, I stand up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m not leaving,” I decisively tell him.
He nods. “Okay. Then we’ll stay. But, uh, maybe I should put your chair next to the garbage can.”
When I hear the clink of the first bullet hitting the metal tray, my stomach twists again, and I tell him, “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”
