Chapter 79 — Scars From The Past

LORENZIO.

Hospital. Confined. Fifth day. I still had more than a week left, and until then, I was stuck here in this cold, small, boring private room.

I coughed and rubbed my eyes using the base of my palms. "Nine more days." I repeated the phrase in my head, blinking the grogginess away. When the stabs of pain in my forehead and chest subsided, I got back on my feet. I stretched my arms, back, and legs.

My muscles still felt weak. Heavy. Practically my entire body ached. I had limited mobility the past couple of days. Only a few hours after taking pain pills would I feel just a wee bit strained, and only then was I able to do some work on my phone and computer.

I hoped Mykaela wasn't too busy for a quick call. She most likely was. The statistics I'd seen on the local news were nothing short of alarming. I should check up on her. I felt like I hadn't seen and heard her voice in weeks.

Bollocks. I couldn't wait to go home and hug her tight. Stay beside her all night. Keep her trapped in my arms all day.

But it wasn't an option right now. It would have to wait. I couldn't even be in the same room with her unless she wore full PPE. Like I had the worst 21st century plague inside of me—not that I had the right to complain.

Mykaela had to protect herself. She needed to practice caution at all times, as much as she needed proper rest. If she stayed healthy, the virus might not affect her this much, despite the terrifying risks she was exposing herself to every single day she was in public places.

The fact that she was currently assigned in the ER of one of the busiest training hospitals in New York just gave me nightmares. With a hopeless sigh, I grabbed my phone and rang her number.

***

Rain tapped steadily on the windowpane as the constant hum of medical equipment filled the silence. I had tried calling Mykaela, but a short text promising to call me back later was the only response I got from her.

Fine. She was tied up at work. I lifted my torso off the covers, smothering another coughing fit with my pillow, the wires and tubes around me still impeding my movements. I just wanted to hear her voice. The things we talked about over the phone just wouldn't leave my head.

Mykaela had suggested that I talk to my brother about his ex-girlfriend, then convince him that I was doing my best to find Alodia to make sure she and the baby were okay.

After all the horrible things Leandro did to those trafficking victims, the vile things he did to Mykaela, all the beatings and threats I got, and what his thugs did to Rafa and my old house... I swore to myself I'd never again attempt to rebuild our relationship.

I hated my brother for so long, and I had more than enough valid reasons to feel that way. But now that my health had taken a nosedive, strangely I couldn't feel any more hatred for him. Right now I mostly felt frustrated. And pity. For his situation. For where he ended up. For how he wasted his life.

My resolve began to wane as I mulled over the daunting task my daft, obstinate brother expected me to fulfill. I grabbed my phone on the bedside table and rang his number, bracing myself as I glared at his name on the screen.

Surprisingly he picked up after my second attempt. “What?”

“You home?”

He scoffed. “Where else would I be?” Leandro muttered, his voice somber and glum.

I scowled, not because of his response, but because of the lack of hostility in his tone.

Unlike our previous conversations that usually devolved into insults, baseless accusations and even death threats, this time he sounded lucid. Unusually calm. Must be the isolation and loneliness. “Did you find her?”

“Not yet,” I replied.

He let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m trying. Gimme another week.” I coughed onto my forearm, wincing at the pain in my chest and ribs.

“The jet's fucking yours. Just find her and bring her here. I don't have another month.”

Month? “What? What're you talking about?” Was he ill? None of his lawyers contacted me the past two weeks.

Or did he mean someone wanted him dead? Perhaps. Some greedy mobster must've threatened his life for that lost contraband. Greedy scumbags.

Leandro swore. “Just find her.”

“I think she’s in Rome.”

“What?”

“I'm paying someone to find her. Just wait.”

“She’s with Raffaele? In his house?” His voice wavered. “Or with the Valtieris?”

“Neither. But somewhere close, I bet.” I sighed.

“Where?”

“Dunno yet.” I stared at my laptop beside my thigh, unsure of what else to say. “I'm waiting for a call.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

I still didn't know what was waiting for Alodia. But I was quite sure of one thing: she would never agree to live with my brother again, even though at one point she must've thought no other man could financially provide for her and their baby's needs.

Nor did Alodia think Rafa would be a great substitute baby daddy. Sure, I would take a bullet for the guy, but most of the time he still behaved like the immature and impulsive little brother I never had.

"What would you do? If you see her again. If I manage to convince her to come see you. Big if, by the way," I said in a slightly louder voice, straining to speak without coughing.

Another long, awkward pause filled the line.

I pulled a face and tossed my phone beside me. I just found it hard to believe that my cold-hearted brother had turned into such a romantic. "You know what you did. She thinks you just used her. Manipulated her. Cheated on her." I palmed my warm forehead, speaking matter-of-factly. "You humiliated her, Leo."

"I did not cheat on her," he stressed, his tone almost menacing. "Spare me the lecture. Yeah? I don't fucking need it."

I clenched my teeth, the guilt and anger making me wish I had the strength to shout. "You're looking at 25 years. It's got to stop, Leo. It's got to stop now."

"What?"

"You can't keep living like this. You hear me? Doing whatever the fuck you want. Whenever you feel like it." I smothered a coughing fit with my arm, my chest still heavy and congested. "You're just giving them more reasons to give you a longer, harsher sentence."

"Don't you think I know that? Fuckin' 'ell. I know why I'm here! I know why they all want me dead. Alright?" Leandro's voice sounded faint now, much softer. Like he was on the verge of tears.

It tugged at my heartstrings. I wanted to believe him, to believe that he genuinely cared for Alodia and the baby's well-being. But doubts still lingered. "Look. If you really want her to forgive you, to come back to you, you've got to stop thinking for yourself, mate. It's not just the two of you anymore. You get what I'm sayin'?"

Leandro sighed on the other end. "I just want... I just want to be sure Aya and the baby will turn out fine. That's all."

"Good. 'Cause you're gonna be a dad soon." I itched my beard. I shouldn't have to tell him to stop committing crimes that would only land him in maximum security prison.

However, at the moment, the reminder seemed completely necessary based on his most recent decisions that stemmed from his desperation to find his ex.

"You gotta stop doing shit that's just gonna worsen your situation. Think about Aya. Think about your baby."

He let out a deep breath.

I could almost hear the tears in his voice, and it was quite unsettling. Odd. Almost sincere.

"Yeah. I know," Leo muttered after a moment of silence. "I know." He sniveled. "Shit. I've been goin' about this all wrong."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "I'll be back there soon. We'll figure things out."

"Yeah?"

"I'm stuck here." I coughed loudly, the pain in my chest making me wince. "But they said they could discharge me next week if my breathing and oxygen levels improve."

"You're in hospital? In New York?"

"They brought me here five days ago." I blinked at my phone, scowling at his name. But his question was a pleasant surprise. The genuine concern in his tone just caught me off-guard. "Caught the bloody bug." I coughed.

"I didn't know." Leandro cleared his throat.

"Gonna be stuck here for two bloody weeks."

"No one told me."

"Yeah. We're tryin' to keep this under wraps." I let my finger hover on the End Call button, a mix of emotions swirling within me. I'd long wished for our family to find a way to heal the wounds of the past. And part of me badly wanted to believe that he had come to his senses. That he wanted to turn over a new leaf. That he genuinely cared about Alodia and their unborn child.

But I couldn't deny the nagging doubt that it could be another façade. Just another role he was playing to get what he wanted. Only time would tell if his words held any weight.

"I didn't hurt her, mate," he murmured, his faltering voice breaking off the silence. "I never hurt Aya. I'd never hurt her like that." Leandro heaved a long sigh. "I just want her back."

***

MYKAELA.

My heart raced as I stood next to the bloodstained hospital bed, watching the blue doors swing open as two EMTs and a nurse wheeled in another patient.

I was on night shift again, stuck here in the ER assisting Dr. Ashford, Dr. Cohen, and Dr. Antonov, three of our attending physicians. But mostly Dr. Ashford, which I was thankful for.

Among the physicians on duty this week, he was the nicest to us medical students. Even funny sometimes. "Nielsen, I told you to grab dinner an hour ago. At this rate I won't be surprised if your boyfriend barges in and starts accusing me of forced labor."

"I'm good, Doc," I replied, forcing a chuckle as I checked the contents of the e-cart. The fluorescent lights overhead were starting to hurt my eyes, and the strong antiseptic smell in the hospital corridors had become normal to my senses.

"At least take a ten. We're good here." Wearing blue scrubs and almost-full PPE, Dr. Ashford flung me a side-eye while I tried to look busy with the e-cart. "Show off."

I tried to laugh as I kept glancing at the new patient that just came in, pretending the exhaustion didn't weigh me down. The pressure was tough most days, but we undergrads couldn't show it. Not now. Not here. Not in the midst of this viral outbreak.

I barely had time to think about myself—let alone a dinner break. As I hurried to the new patient, the need to visit Enzo again interrupted my thoughts. Eastside Regional was roughly an hour away, and I was very much looking forward to escaping from the unrelenting stress and visiting him tonight.

But I had to push the thought aside. I should be fully present for my patients here and trust the medical staff that were treating him in that hospital. The new patient seemed out of place, though.

According to one of the EMTs, they hauled him out of a vehicular accident. A bald man who looked to be in his fifties spoke to Dr. Antonov with a strong East Russian accent. The man's body was covered in dark tattoos.

They spoke in Russian, and I couldn't understand either of them. Something else gripped my attention. The intricate snake tattoos on his arms, hands, and neck resembled those I had seen two years ago, in photos Ricchar and Miles had shown me after I helped treat Lorenzio and Cloe's near-fatal injuries.

That day was forever etched into my memory, and the man's tattoos were just one of the many reminders. Where did he get them? Did he know Ilya? Or any of his associates?

As two nurses gathered around the other hospital bed to stop the bleeding from the Russian man's wounds, he stared at me with unblinking eyes. As if he instantly recognized me.

My stomach flipped. I'd never met him before. Why was he staring?

As I stood close to them, Dr. Antonov began a thorough consultation with the injured man, whose apparently broken arm, deep cuts, multiple contusions and abrasions revealed the extent of the car accident.

After Dr. Antonov took the man's medical history, the trauma surgeon took over, allowing me a brief moment to step out of the emergency room. Five minutes. I just needed a few minutes of silence. A moment to take a deep breath. Recollect myself. Find a semblance of calm despite the chaos around me.

The cold night air hit me as I exited the hospital. I unhooked my mask, took deep breaths, and strolled into the parking lot. But just as my thoughts began to calm down, I was startled by someone I almost forgot about.

Lele stood in the dimly lit parking lot. Right next to Enzo's car. Like always, Lele was alone, still wearing his leather jacket, gray hoodie, and black denims.

I scowled at his right hand. It was wrapped in a bandage. I put my mask on and rushed to his side, my stomach growing tight. "What happened to your hand?"

"Nothing," Lele replied. His steady gaze, usually friendly and self-assured, held a rather guarded look.

I made a face. "Doesn't look like nothing."

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, dodging my question with a feigned grin. "How's the guy?"

"What guy?"

"The Russian."

I took a step backward, scowling at the curiosity in his serious tone. "How did you..."

"Still alive?"

"How do you know he's Russian?" I eyed him.

A slightly mischievous grin crept across Gabriele's pale face.

"Lele..."

"Just doing my job."

"What?" My heart pounded in my chest, my anxiety escalating, the pieces of the unsettling puzzle falling into place. And I didn't like the image they were forming.

Doing his job? So... Was he involved somehow? Did he know the man with the tattoos? Did he think...the Russian man was a threat to my safety?

Lele folded his arms and looked away, his jaw moving as if he were chewing gum. "Don't tell anyone I asked about him."

"W-Why?" My breath caught. I squinted at him when he only kept staring at me. "Gabriele," I said louder. "How'd you know he's Russian? You know the guy?"

"Not personally."

"How d'you know him?"

Lele glanced down at my shoes. "He's old school. Ex-military."

Old school? My gut clenched. "What? How do you know him?"

"Let's just say, maybe it wasn't a typical motorcycle accident."

Huh? "Wait." Oh no. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The guy was following you around."

"Wha— How'd you know?"

"He's been following us all day yesterday. He's one of the Božićs' hitmen."

"You..." I gulped. I glanced around. My hands felt like they just iced over. "You did that to him?"

"No comment." Lele grinned. "Piece of shit tried to run me over. That's all you need to know."

Oh shit. "How did you..." I pressed my sleeve on my mouth and chin, my heartbeat speeding up. My stomach dropped as Lele took a few steps backward to lean against the driver's side. "How'd you know he's... Who told you he's a whitman for the Božićs?"

"I just talked to Berto," Lele said nonchalantly. "He was in Umbria. The Russian." Lele glanced away, sighed out loud, and itched his pale earlobe. "Two years ago when you were there with the Falcos."

"What?"

Lele stared at the hospital building behind me, as if he wanted to check the patient in the ER himself. "As far as I know his name's Vlad. He was in Mariangela when the ambush happened. He's one of the assholes who tried to kill Boss and Berto, and your ex-boyfriend's cousin."

I gawked at him. My whole body grew stiff and ice-cold, and my brain wouldn't stop imagining the Russian man playing his part in that ambush, sadistically torturing Enzo, Cloe, and the rest of their convoy.

"That guy's a soulless killer. Stay away from him."