Chapter 53 WORRIED ABOUT HIM
ARYA’S POV
The moment I stepped through the villa's entrance, I knew something was terribly wrong.
About three guards rushed past me without acknowledgment, their faces tense. The sharp metallic scent of blood hung in the air, mixing with antiseptic and my heart jumped into my throat.
I followed the commotion toward the living room, my feet moving before my brain had fully processed what was happening. The scene that greeted me made me freeze in the doorway.
Giovanni was sprawled on the leather couch, his white shirt soaked through with blood on the left side. A man I didn't recognize was bent over him, working frantically at his shoulder while Giovanni lay unconscious.
Around them, some guards were barking orders into phones, others checking weapons, and one pressing gauze to what looked like a bullet wound.
A bullet wound!? Did that mean that Giovanni was shot?
Part of me wanted to go upstairs, close my door, and let him deal with the consequences of whatever violence he had involved himself in.
After all, he had called me a bargaining chip and humiliated me in front of my family.
Why should I care if he was bleeding out on his own couch?
But my feet wouldn't move. My eyes stayed locked on the way his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths and the blood that kept seeping through the makeshift bandage the doctor was trying to secure.
"What's going on?" I heard myself whisper.
No one responded. They were too focused on their tasks.
"What's going on?" I said again, louder this time.
Still nothing and something inside me snapped.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" I shouted, my voice echoing through the room with enough force to make several guards jump.
Everyone turned toward me in unison, their eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, no one spoke.
Then a man I had noticed giving orders earlier stepped forward. He was in his forties with dark hair graying at the temples and a dark shadow on his chin.
"Mrs. De Santis?" he stammered, like he couldn't quite believe I was real.
I hated that title. But right now, it was the only authority I had in this room full of armed men who didn't know me.
"Yes," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "And you are?"
"Luca. I'm… I work with Mr. De Santis. I handle the Italian operations." He responded with a bow.
"How did this happen?" I gestured at Giovanni's prone form. "How did he get shot?"
Luca's eyes flickered to the other guards, then back to me. "We were... conducting business. There was an ambush with multiple shooters. We got him out, but he took a bullet to the shoulder."
The vagueness of his answer irritated me, but I didn't have time to press for details. Giovanni's breathing was getting shallower.
I paused, taking in the scene and something clicked in my mind.
"You," I pointed at the doctor. "Do you have proper surgical supplies? Antibiotics? Pain medication?"
The wiry man bobbed his head. "I have a basic kit in my car, but-"
"Get it now." I turned to Luca. "You. I need clean towels, boiled water, and I need two of your strongest men to help move him."
No one moved. They just stared at me like I had started speaking another language.
"Now!" I snapped, putting every ounce of authority I could muster into my voice.
The guards scattered in different directions, Luca barked orders in Italian, and within seconds the whole room was moving.
"Where are we taking him?" one of the guards asked.
"His bedroom. We need a clean space with good lighting." I turned to Luca. "Show me."
As we moved through the villa, I caught sight of Matteo standing near the stairs. He was smiling, like this whole disaster was somehow amusing.
"Something funny?" I demanded, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
"No, ma'am." But the smile didn't fade. "Just... you're very good at this."
"At what?"
"Taking charge and giving orders." He tilted his head slightly. "You were made for this life."
I wanted to snap at him, to tell him he didn't know anything about me or what I was made for. But Giovanni groaned and I didn't have time for debates about my place in the mafia world.
"Just help me get him upstairs," I said instead, pushing past Matteo.
Giovanni's bedroom was at the end of the hall and when we pushed it open, I found myself taking it all in with surprise.
It was... sparse.
A large bed with plain gray linens. A desk by the window and a closet with what I assumed were perfectly arranged suits.
But no photos or any evidence that anyone actually lived here. It made something in my chest tighten.
"Put him on the bed," I instructed. "Carefully. Don't put pressure on the shoulder."
They obeyed, laying Giovanni down on top of the covers. His face was even paler now, and his breathing was more labored.
The doctor arrived moments later with his supplies, and I found myself falling into a rhythm I hadn't used in years.
I directed the doctor, handed him instruments, even monitoring Giovanni's vitals.
The guards watched with a mixture of respect and confusion, like they couldn't quite understand the woman Giovanni had carried out of a restaurant last night with the one currently barking medical orders.
I couldn't make sense of it either.
An hour later, the bullet had been removed, the wound cleaned and stitched, antibiotics administered. Giovanni was stable. Unconscious still, but stable.
"He'll need monitoring through the night," the doctor said, packing up his supplies. "The wound is clean, but infection is always a risk. Someone should check on him every few hours."
"I'll do it," I said automatically.
The doctor nodded, gave me instructions for care and medication, and let Matteo escort him out.
One by one, the guards filed out too, until it was just Luca and me left in the room.
"Thank you," Luca said quietly. "For helping him.”
I wordlessly nodded without saying a word and Luca studied me for a moment, then he cleared his throat and left, closing the door softly behind him.
Finally, I was alone with Giovanni.
I pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, my whole body suddenly heavy with exhaustion.
Giovanni lay there, pale and vulnerable in a way I had never seen him before. His dark hair was mussed, falling across his forehead and his jaw was slack, making him look younger somehow.
The bloody bandage on his shoulder stood out stark white against his skin.
I felt hate bubbling in my chest but underneath the hate was also concern.
I was worried about him.
"What have you gotten yourself into, Giovanni?" I whispered to his unconscious form.
Was this bravery or recklessness? I want to know your thoughts.🙃