Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Elio comes to stand next to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “All the arrangements have been made. The funeral is the day after tomorrow.”
Keeping my eyes on the city lights, I can only nod.
“Someone has to break the news to your mother,” he murmurs solemnly.
My voice is hoarse when I whisper, “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
When the elevator doors open again, and I glance over my shoulder, I’m not surprised to see Franco. His eyes land on me, and within seconds, he closes the distance and yanks me into a tight embrace.
Unlike when Dario hugged me, I can’t keep the tears from sneaking from my eyes, and I grip my best friend in a crushing hold.
I’ve been friends with Franco since school, and besides Giulio, he’s the person I’m closest to.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, and that’s all it fucking takes for the pain to explode from me.
My grief is so fucking intense it shudders through my body.
“Come,” Franco says.
Keeping an arm wrapped around my shoulders, he steers me up the stairs and into one of the guest bedrooms.
As capos, we can’t break down in front of our men. No matter what, we always have to remain strong.
But the second I’m alone with Franco, my legs give way, and my knees slam into the floor. Bracing my hands on my thighs, I can’t even breathe through the intense pain.
I feel Franco’s arm wrap around my shoulders again. He’s a solid force beside me while I break into a million pieces.
My voice is hoarse and filled with sorrow and rage as I whisper, “They fucking gutted him open like a fish.”
My stomach burns with bile.
“His heart was in a fucking box.”
“Christ, Renzo,” Franco murmurs. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Turning my head, I lock eyes with my friend. “They fucking gutted my little brother.”
Franco's face is strained, and I can see he feels my pain. “We’ll kill every last fucker.”
Nodding, I suck in a desperate breath of air.
I’ll leave Skylar Davies for last.
Only when I bury Giulio’s kidney with his body will I find some semblance of peace.
Chapter 6
Skylar
Waking up the day after the surgery, I feel groggy as hell.
An image of an attractive man standing next to my bed flits through my mind, and a frown forms on my forehead.
Was it real or a dream?
I can remember him vividly. He had black hair cut in a sharp faux style, the sides trimmed short. His eyes were a unique color, light brown irises with a dark green ring around them. Almost cat-like.
He even growled like a tiger.
“The kidney belongs to me.”
My eyes widen as the thought that I might have seen a freaking ghost hits me.
“Don’t be absurd,” I mutter to myself as I gingerly try to sit up.
My midsection and abdomen are tender from the surgery, but the pain is a lot less than I expected.
Leaning back against the pillows, I let out a sigh.
Just then, Dad comes into the room, and when he sees I’m awake, a smile spreads over his face.
“How do you feel?”
The corner of my mouth lifts into a grin as I answer, “Stronger.”
Leaning over me, Dad presses a kiss to my forehead before taking a seat on the armchair next to the bed.
Taking my hand, he asks, “No pain?”
I shake my head. “There’s just a little discomfort.”
“Let me know if you’re in pain. Okay?”
I nod, then stare at Dad, who looks younger with all the worry gone.
“You need a vacation after all the torture I’ve put you through. I’m sorry for all the worry.”
He lets out a relieved breath. “There’s nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. You have a healthy kidney, and hopefully, I can take you home next week.”
Scrunching my nose, I chuckle. “Yeah, I’m tired of the hospital.”
Suddenly, I’m hit with an intense wave of emotion, and the realization that I’m not going to die overwhelms me.
Dad moves forward, and wrapping his arms around me, he says, “It’s over, sweetheart. Thank you for fighting to stay with me.”
The memory of the visitor from the night before flits through my mind, and I pull back so I can ask, “Do you know who the donor is?”
Dad shakes his head. “It was an anonymous donation.”
Shoot.
My eyebrows draw together then I ask, “Do you think I can write a thank you letter? Would they give it to the person?”
Again, Dad shakes his head. “There’s no way to contact the person.”
Before I can continue the conversation, Dad brushes some strands away from my forehead and says, “Focus on getting better so your body accepts the kidney.”
Taking a deep breath, I relax back against the pillows.
There’s no way the man I saw last night donated a kidney. He’d still be out of it from the surgery like I was.
Yeah, it was probably just a dream.
Hey, at least my mind conjured up a hot man.