CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
ELENA

"Did Marco faint?" I asked once more, my heart racing. Alexander had paled, his face drained of all color like water leaking from a broken glass.

We rushed to the elevator and Alexander kept pushing the button for it to open like it would speed it up. He paced back and forth and seemed worried, which was not like him. The doors did open after a cheery sounding ding which seemed incredibly out of place for what we were going through.

"What is going on?" I queried as we descended, and the elevator seemed to be taking forever.

“Security told me he'd just slumped.” Alexander clenched his jaw and stared at the floor numbers, flipping one by one. "He'd stepped out of the building and then collapsed to the floor. He said he had to speak to me before they took him."

I took his hand and could feel his fingers clenched. "He'll be okay."

"You don't know that," he exclaimed loudly and roughly.

"Instead of complaining, we should just keep calm," I tried to stay positive, but fear kept coming up behind me like a cold hand on my back.

The elevator doors opened to display a messy sight. A figure lay on the lobby floor and paramedics stood around him in their bright blue outfits, sheltering him.

Marco was lying on the ground, more damaged and hurt than he ever had been.
His face looked worn and there were dark circles under his eyes, almost like bruises. The confident man who had just visited Alexander's penthouse not long before him now seemed weak and diminutive, like an old photograph of himself.

"Marco," Alexander knelt down beside him, his voice constricted. "What's wrong?"

Marco slowly opened his eyes. He could not open them up fully, not at first. "I'm just extremely tired. I haven't slept for days," he breathed. "I need to speak to you before I'm taken away."

A paramedic looked up. Her face wasn't smiling, and she appeared very serious. "We need to get him to a hospital, sir. His blood pressure is very low and he is extremely dehydrated."

"Five minutes," Alexander instructed firmly, not making it a request but an order.

"Just a minute," replied the paramedic loudly, not caring about how he sounded.

Alexander brought his face nearer to his brother's, nearly colliding their heads together. "What is it?"

I leaned in too.

Marco grasped Alexander's sleeve firmly, although he appeared extremely weak. "Vincent's men are after us. I've been hiding from them for weeks." He coughed and it wracked him, sounding dry and painful. "That is why I left Italy. They tracked me down there."

"Why did you not tell me?" Alexander demanded, his voice both furious and concerned.

“Would you have believed me?" He closed his eyes for an instant, for speaking was exhausting him.

The paramedics rushed in and carefully put Marco onto a stretcher, though he protested weakly. They moved together seamlessly, attaching their monitor and checking that he was stable.

He stared in shock as his brother was taken away. "What hospital?"

"Northwestern Memorial," replied the paramedic, assisting Marco into the waiting ambulance.

Alexander stared back at me, a look of clear puzzlement. "Elena—"

"Don't even think about suggesting that I fall back," I cut him off, recognizing what he implied. "We go together."

There was relief on his face, which made the concerns appear less grave.

We followed behind the ambulance in Alexander's vehicle. He gripped his steering wheel hard when he navigated through downtown Chicago around past midnight.
I had my hand resting on his knee and could feel how tense his muscles were.

I spoke quietly, “He'll be okay”.

"You saw him?" Alexander growled, his voice coarse. "He appeared very pale."

“But he is alive, and he will be taken good care of.”

The Northwestern Memorial waiting room was just like every waiting room I had seen before. The chairs were so hard that you couldn’t settle into them, a smell filled my nose that really wasn’t appealing and it felt like nothing was moving, as if time had stopped.

Alexander remained on his feet, not giving himself the chance to sit at all. He walked back and forth, much like a trapped animal. His clean, soft shoes made little sounds as he walked.

"You'll be digging a hole into the floor," I told him after he circled it for the fifteenth time. "Or making me dizzy."

He paused and tossed his hair backwards, which messed up his neat haircut. "I cannot just sit here."

"Yes, you can." I gestured to the seat beside me. "Sit down, please."

He slowly sat down beside me, tense. His leg bounced up and down hurriedly, full of restlessness that had nowhere to go.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked after pausing briefly.

"About what?"

“Why are you so concerned about a brother you wished you could get away from an hour before?”

Alexander's expression altered slightly as he began to settle down. "I don't hate him, Elena. I never did. He is my brother.”

I took his hand and intertwined our fingers.
"That is why it hurts us so much when we fight with family. No matter how upset we are, we love them."

A doctor entered, clipboard in hand, with a solemn expression. "Mr. Moretti?"

Alexander stood up hastily. "How is he?"

"He's stable, but he'll stay through the night. He's dehydrated, he's exhausted, and his body is displaying very clear stress reactions. Has your brother had any unusual stress lately?"

"I suppose that is true," said Alexander gravely.

The doctor said, “He is asking for you. Room 507. Just five minutes, he needs to rest.'"

Alexander stared at me skeptically. "Will you go with me?"

"Are you sure?"

“I need you.”

Those three little words pleased me more than I expected. They indicated how much our relationship had developed.

Marco’s appearance improved a little bit in the hospital bed. They inserted IV fluids into his arm, and he had pink cheeks again. He smiled faintly when he saw us.

“Look at you both," he spoke quietly. "The ideal couple."

"Shh, tell me what happened," Alexander said, though he did not appear to be upset, merely concerned.

"You're always charming, brother." Marco shifted uncomfortably and looked uneasy. "Vincent's henchmen have been trailing me since Italy. They know that I have evidence against them."

"Evidence of what?"

"And about everything." Marco searched Alexander's eyes. "Including what could have happened to Margaret."

Alexander hastened to occupy the visitor's chair. "What are you saying?"

"I'm telling you," said Marco, whispering, "Vincent Carter could know where Margaret is or what has happened to her."

Alexander leaned forward intently and asked, "How do you know all of this?"

Marco looked at me, and then he stared at his brother. "Because," he stated softly, "I discovered who had last seen her."