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Elio stands and holds out his hand to Sammy. “Come on. Let me help you and you can go back to hissing like a house cat when we’re done. Promise you don’t have to dock any arsehole points off my tally.”

She rolls her eyes but lets him pull her up. He leads her over to a unisex toilet a few metres away and holds the door open for her. She stops in her tracks and eyes him like he is a predator.

“I’ll leave the door open,” Elio sighs. I’m impressed with how patient he is, but he knows as well as I do that anything Francesca has told her friend about us is probably fair enough. We are guilty as charged.

Apart from one exclamation of “Well, you do it then!” all is quiet until they emerge ten minutes later. Sammy is wearing Elio’s hoodie and it nearly reaches her knees. Good deed done for the day, Elio slouches down in the chair to my right, as far away from the angry little Kiwi as possible.

A couple of hours later Paul and Vanessa Rossi arrive demanding answers. Fuck knows what they have been doing that it has taken them this bloody long to get here.

I can’t even bring myself to acknowledge them and leave my brothers to fill them in. They aren’t worthy of calling themselves her parents after how they’ve treated her. But, then I’m not worthy of anything from her either.

“Your father is insisting on coming down so Peta is bringing him in,” Paul announces looking up from his phone.

I grunt and then add, “Make sure you tell that fuckin’ sexpest brother of yours to stay the fuck away.”

My brothers look quizzically at me. “He was at the house last night. I walked in on him with her head slammed into the dining table.”

“What the fuck?” Massimo shouts.

“I pistol whipped him, but if I find out he had anything to do with this I’ll kill him.”

Paul and Vanessa share concerned glances but don’t say anything. Most useless fuckin’ parents ever. Sammy’s expression, on the other hand, has shifted to one of begrudging respect.

Hours later, a dishevelled woman in blood-splattered scrubs walks down the corridor toward us. She looks dejected, but that could just be exhaustion. I stand, my heart racing.

If Francesca is dead…I don’t know how I will survive that. I’ve spent the last few hours self-flagellating, beating myself up, and asking myself why I didn’t just take her and run. We could be living in a beach hut somewhere tropical right now. No mafia. No arranged marriage.

Watching the doctor walk towards us is like walking on a tightrope. We are on a precipice. Whatever comes out of her mouth will change the course of our lives irreparably. It feels like I’m waiting to find out if I’ve been given the death sentence or not.

“Francesca Rossi’s family?” the doctor asks, stopping in front of us.

“Yes,” I croak. I’m the only one standing.

“She’s in recovery now,” she says with a small tired smile and I feel like I can breathe for the first time in hours. Like I’ve broken the surface after drowning. “She’s very lucky to be alive.”

Oxygen thunders into my blood and I suddenly feel like I can see and hear properly for the first time since I learned of the shooting. I suck in huge breaths and drag my focus back to the fucking heroine in front of me.

“Thank you, doc,” I whisper, tears beginning to roll down my face.

Dad is watching me with interest, no doubt putting two and two together.

“Two of you can go in now, but just know she is still out of it,” and with that, the doctor continues down the corridor, for her sake I hope it is towards a shower and a bed.

Paul and Vanessa move to go see their daughter and I see fucking red. Do they seriously think she wants to see them? A snarky voice in my head reminds me she probably doesn’t want to see me either, but I push the thought aside. She’s unconscious so I can love her quietly for a bit before facing whatever she has in store for me.

Luckily, Elio speaks up so I don't have to throw hands. More violence is not what we need.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. You two can wait. Massimo and Giovanna, you go first,” he says, shaking his head at the audacity of the Rossis.

Paul opens his mouth to complain, but Dad pipes up from his wheelchair, “Don’t be a dickhead Paul.”

I follow Massimo into the recovery room, suddenly nervous to see Francesca. She’ll be asleep, but what if she wakes up and tells me to fuck right off. She’d be within her rights.

My heart feels like it’ll give out when I see her. She looks so tiny and pale, wires and tubes poking out of her at all angles. So fragile. My angel.

Massimo kisses her forehead and tells her he loves her and then he squeezes my shoulder and tells me he’ll be just outside.

Taking a deep breath, I go to her. I drop my forehead to hers gently and tell her how sorry I am. Over and over again. The tears return and I brush them off as they land on her face.