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Stefan hates our Dad -hated- but it seems to me they are more alike than either would like to admit. The only difference is Dad has always been content to wield his power as Sandy’s right-hand man. Stefan wanted the top job and he has now shown he would do pretty much anything to get it.

A few circuits around the hospital car park later, we are running into the emergency department. I pull my wet hair into a messy bun on top of my head as I go.

“Alessandro Marino?” Giovanna’s deep voice asks as soon as we reach the busy reception desk.

We follow the directions of the flustered woman trying to manage the inflow of patients, many of them drunk and difficult to deal with. We round the corner of the ward we’re looking for and see a cluster of expensively dressed Italians.

Matteo and Elio are already here and they stand with several men I know are Sandy’s capos, all in suits, talking quietly. Next to them, Fat Tony has an arm around Peta and Bluey is a few metres away uncharacteristically aggressively barking into his phone.

Peta shrugs as we near and Fat Tony says, “No news yet.”

Giovanna places a hand softly on my lower back as we stand aimlessly, waiting. She catches my eye as I look up at her and I see emotion and vulnerability that I’m not used to being there. Without thinking, I take her hand and tow her out of the waiting area and around the corner.

There’s no one around in the empty service corridor and as I turn to her she wraps her arms tight around my lower back. My arms go up over her shoulders and she buries her face in my neck for just a moment before she regains her composure.

“I’m so sorry, Gio,” I whisper, gently rubbing her back. “Are you okay?”

She nods against me. “I missed you,” she says so quietly I only just make out the words, but they make my heart soar.

“I missed you too,” I murmur back and she squeezes me just a little bit tighter. Not seeing her, even just from afar, and not talking to her has been hard.

“Fuck I was so scared when we got your messages and then to see you with another weapon to your head…” She lifts her head from the crook of my neck to look me in the eye. Her gaze drifts down to my lips and I can’t help but wet mine.

Is she going to kiss me?I want nothing more right now than to feel her press her lips to mine. To kiss away all the shit we are dealing with.

We may have only just slept together, but our late-night chats with peppermint tea or a bottle of wine have become my favourite part of my week. She is the only one who can calm me when I’m spiralling into a panic attack. The only one that makes me feel safe.

“We better get back,” she murmurs and presses a kiss to my temple.

Reluctantly, I extract myself from her and we walk back to the waiting room as if we didn’t just bleed our souls into each other just a little bit more.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Giovanna

He can’t die. Not just because I’ll miss the grumpy bastard and want him to be around for the next generation of Marinos, but because things are so fucking precarious in theFamigliaat the moment.

We need Dad to reassure the capos and hold together the old allegiances, especially once the news of Stefan’s death becomes public knowledge.

The reality is that they don’t respect Elio. Most of them like him, but they don’t trust that he has the discipline to put theFamigliaabove all else. “He is a slave to every vice known to man! No discipline,” Champ told me just the other day.

I should feel guilty about thinking about politics while Dad is fighting for his life a few rooms away. But, I’m doing exactly what Dad would expect me to do. Exactly what he would be doing. Assessing the situation for threats and planning a strategy. Ensuring the future of the MarinoFamigliahas always been his number one priority.

Down the corridor, Francesca carefully makes her way towards us with a tray of coffees in each hand. She is a goddamn angel and it kills me that she felt she had to run away from us. She ran to that psychopath thinking she would be better off with him.

I watch her shamelessly as she grows nearer, assessing her for any signs of pain or injury. Her big eyes - those fucking eyes - are framed by thick black lashes, voluminous even without a jot of makeup. Her face is earnest and worried; she is the goodness I need in my life. Without makeup, she looks younger, more innocent somehow.

My mind drifts, recalling her looking up at me, her body beneath mine. Dishevelled, smiling shyly, eyes drunk from multiple orgasms. Perfection.

Staying away from her has been torture. I hated every day. Going to bed alone was never something that bothered me and yet after one night with her, it feels wrong.

Every phone call she rejected stung like a slap across my face. It took every bit of my self-control not to storm over to her parents’ house and drag her back to my bed. I drove over there a couple of times and sat outside until I got my emotions under control enough to drive home.

I should have gotten out of the damn car. I should have listened to her.

When she pulled me around the corner when we first arrived at the hospital, every sensible thought and bit of self-control I had went out the bloody window. All I cared about was her body pressed against mine and the smell of her shampoo and moisturiser on her skin. I inhaled her and calm descended over me like a soft cloak.

The sun is rising now and she is handing out coffees to everyone, bestowing each of them with a kind smile. She would make a perfect mafia queen, I just wish she was mine.