Page 68 of A Treasure To Keep

“I asked for you because if I asked for Enzo, Luci could find out. Alessandro is already on edge, not telling her what happened to El. If I let Enzo be involved in this, he’s a liability to Luci. After we have more information, we can fill Luci in on what happened. Giovanni here is responsible for a vehicle hitting El’s car as she drove home only a couple of hours ago. Now, we don’t know what the fate is for El or her son.” Domenico’s eyes widen as he clenches his jaw. He snatches the knife from my hand, slashing another cut deeper than the one I did, barely below his neck. Giovanni's screams echo through the room, reverberating off the walls.

I stand close enough to him that I can easily smell his generic cologne. Copycat asshole. “Your death can come easily and quickly if you admit what you did and why.”

Domenico takes the knife, digging the tip into one of the cuts, twisting until Giovanni screams again. Nice touch.

“Fuck! Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you. Stop with the slashing! She got her cousin to message any girl I tried hitting on, telling themwhat I did to her and El. I didn’t mean to hit her. If she wasn’t speeding, the car would have scared her by cutting her off. Do you understand how expensive that car was to modify? All of that money is now wasted.” Fucking pathetic.

I laugh, dumbfounded by the shallow words that have exited his mouth. “Domenico, did you hear that? If El wasn’t speeding, he wouldn’t have hit her with his car. What a pathetic fucking answer. Should you or I?”

“It’s your baby.” He presents me with the knife's handle, holding the blade cautiously to prevent cutting himself.

“Wait, it’s—” Giovanni doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before I take the knife out of Domenico’s hands. I stab the blade through his neck, nailing him to the table as he gargles on his blood. Less than a minute later, he stops twitching, and I leave Domenico to clean him up as I speed to the hospital.

Chapter 74

El

Iattempt to roll over with my eyes still closed, puzzled by the weirdest dream I’ve ever had. Andrea has been listening to my insane pregnancy dreams, but this one tops the cake. Only there are several things I notice as I try to roll over. One is that my center of gravity is back. And two, the stabbing pain in my stomach, and how my body aches everywhere. My eyes subtly open, and I’m alone in a white hospital room, the sound of machines beeping around me, and an IV in my arm. It hits me. It wasn’t a dream. My son kicking, the accident, the sirens. They were all real.

When I reach over the blanket to touch my son, I immediately notice my stomach isn’t as hard as it was. No. With shaky and hesitant hands, I lift the blanket with one and open the black birthing gown I purchased for myself with the other, noticing the staples in my lower abdomen.

I don’t realize I’m screaming until a nurse comes barreling into the hospital room. Andrea shoves his way past her to hold my face in his hands, making me focus on him.

“El. El! Mon trésor! My love! He’s alive. Our son is alive. He’s tiny and has to stay here for a while, but he’s strong and perfect. You’d be so proud of him. The nurse will get a wheelchair for you. Let’s go see our son.” My screams transform into sobs as I process his words and grieve what I hoped for in the last few months of my pregnancy. I was robbed of the birth I had dreamed of by someone else’s actions. Now my son was born, under distress, ten weeks early. Does that stay with your psyche? When does emotional trauma develop? Am I already traumatizing my son? It’s official, I’m spiraling.

The nurse reappears with a wheelchair, locking the wheels when she steps over to help me out of bed and into the chair. Fuck, my body hurts. Andrea walks next to me the whole way to the NICU, taking the time to kiss my hand when we are in the elevator. I gasp when I notice my ring is gone. Did I lose it? What happened?

“I have your ring. They needed to take all your jewelry off during surgery. I’m keeping it safe for you until you’re home.” Surgery. I had major surgery to remove my baby from this warm and safe home I created for him, and didn’t even know it. All to keep him safe.

When the elevator dings and the door opens, the hallway leading to the NICU looms in front of us. Holy shit, this is daunting. I press my nails into my thighs, the slight pinch of pain confirming this is reality instead of a horror movie. That’s my worst fear.

I notice the babies through the windows as I’m wheeled down the hallway. Some are larger than others, some who need more care, and some that are with families. That will be me in a second. Wheeled next to a clear box that holds my son. Practically an animal at a zoo, caged for others to see, and only a select few to take care of.

I’m rolled up to the infamous clear box, holding a tiny baby with a small amount of dark hair. He can’t be more than sixteen inches long and three pounds. And that could be generous.

I let go of Andrea’s hand, placing mine on the box that holds my son. I’m convinced that the smallest movement could break him. I’m his mother. I need to hold him.

“I want to hold him.” The nurse who wheeled me down here has left, and a different nurse comes over to me. She lifts my son and shows me how to hold his tiny body on my chest. At first, he wiggles around but settles once he finds my heartbeat.

“Most preemies are most comfortable lying on top of their mother. They expected to hear that specific heartbeat for several more weeks or months. Even though Dad has taken time to hold him and do skin-on-skin, he’s calmest with you, Mama. I need to check on some other babies, but I’ll be back soon, darlin’. I’ll show you specifics for caring for him.” Her heavy Southern accent surprisingly calms me. I’m guessing that’s one reason she’s good at her job.

She walks over to the next clear box, checking on the baby inside as I stare at my son. I can’t believe he’s here. Andrea leans down, kissing me on the temple as I continue to focus on the small bundle in my arms.

“When was he born? What the fuck has happened since my baby shower?”

Andrea squats down before me, ensuring we’re face-to-face before speaking, even though I’m still staring at my son. “He was born yesterday afternoon. The police came to tell me around the time the shop closed. I arrived about an hour after he was born. The doctors wanted to let you rest as long as you could. A car accident where you rolled several times, plus a C-section, is rough on a person. To say the least. Your doctors are amazed that, other than our son being born early, you walked away with bruises, several stitches near your hairline, and a broken finger.Most people wouldn’t go home without extensive injuries. Some wouldn’t go home at all. It’s now about nine in the morning. I spent most of last night floating back and forth between here and your room. When he was awake or eating, I was down here. After he fell asleep, I would check on you. When you woke up, I was attempting to clarify insurance questions, which is difficult since we’re not married. I was convinced my heart was going to jump out of my body when I heard you scream.” His voice breaks as he chokes out the last sentence.

“Were you the first person to hold him?” Please say yes.

“Other than medical staff, yes.”

“Good. You deserve it.”

I tilt my head up and stare into Andrea’s milk chocolate eyes. I know he’s trying to hold back his emotions, but I see the slight sparkle of tears in his eyes. Oh my god! I forgot the most important thing!

Andrea shoots up, his eyes wide with worry, when I gasp. “What? What happened? What’s wrong?”

“We never decided on a name!”