“I’m with you, baby,” he said softly. “The OR is set up and our surgeon is standing by. He’s the best and his team are miracle workers. You’re going to be fine.”
She tried to form words, but he leaned in close, staying out of the EMTs’ way in the tight quarters. “Don’t talk, Grace. Save your strength. I’ve got this. All you have to do is stay alive for me. I’ll take care of everything else. Will you do that for me? Just stay alive.”
Her nod was nearly imperceptible, but it was there. He was a complete stranger to her, but he knew that connection between them had started there in the parking lot, their shadows touching, coiling together, their eyes meeting. His hands buried in the blood and massive damage to her shoulder. His voice connected them. His compelling promises. He meant every word he said, and she had to feel that. It was all he could give her before she went alone into that cold operating room.
Her foster brother had betrayed her. No matter that she’d known he was a gambler and a drug addict, he still had meant something to her. That had been clear. She’d taken out loans to pay his debt. Took on extra work. He’d heard that very clearly. This was a woman who knew what it was to be loyal, and yet someone close to her would have sold her into prostitution. He wanted to rip the man in half.
The ambulance tore into the parking lot and halted at the double doors. A team waited for her, and then he was running with them toward the operating room where one of the best orthopedic surgeons the family had access to waited with his team to put her shoulder back together. Vittorio had no idea whether or not the artery had been nicked but it was possible. He’d applied pressure as best he could until the EMTs had taken over.
“You stay alive, Grace.” He poured command into his voice, his gaze clinging to hers.
For a heartbeat she just stared at him, and then she nodded. Or he thought she did. The doors swung shut and he was left standing there, her blood on his hands and shirt. His heart beating too fast. He had always known he had no chance at finding a woman of his own, one who might be able to love him, to live with him, and in the blink of an eye that had turned around. Just that fast, she was being taken from him.
“Mr. Ferraro?” A nurse indicated he follow her.
“It’s her blood, not mine,” Vittorio explained. He wanted to be alone to look at his phone. He was going to find Haydon Phillips, the name the Ferraros’ investigator, Rosina, had sent to him, and he was going to kill him. He brought justice to all kinds of criminals. The rule had been drilled into him over and over: Never let it be personal. This was as personal as it was going to get.
The nurse indicated a small private bathroom off a waiting room that wasn’t open to the public. The Ferraro family had contributed several million dollars toward the hospital, a wing and equipment. They were kept out of the public eye when they were there. Most of the time they managed to fly under the radar of the paparazzi unless a nurse or orderly sold them out. One photo was often worth thousands of dollars.
When he came out of the private restroom, his sister, Emmanuelle, was waiting for him. She rushed to him, waited until he tore off the bloody shirt and replaced it with the one she’d brought him, and then hugged him tightly. “Vittorio. You could have been shot. Why would that horrible toad want to shoot you when you saved his life?”
He tightened his arms around her, taking comfort in her presence. “I’m okay, honey. Grace ran between us just as I was turning around. She took the bullet, not me. Phillips wanted her to pay his gambling debts and I interfered. That’s the short version.”
“But you can’t deal with men like Sarto or Gori. Everyone knows that.”
“Phillips believed Sarto wouldn’t shoot him, that it was all for effect, so she’d go with Saldi’s men.”
“I can’t believe they would do such a thing. Stefano told me what they were there for. It’s disgusting.”
He was grateful she didn’t protest. She had crushed on Valentine Saldi, Giuseppi’s