Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“He’s alive,” I whisper to Romeo.
“Thank fuck,” Romeo says in a hoarse whisper.
After a lengthy wait, while my heart beats fast and my palms grow sweaty, I utter silent prayers.
Just let him be okay.
I will let him go.
I won’t ask for anything else, if you just let him live.
I will walk away and never look back. I will live the rest of my life alone, if only Santo will live, if only he can get another chance at life. He deserves this. If anyone deserves another chance, it’s Santo.
“Mr. Rossi.” The doctor walks to Romeo, shaking his head, and finally gestures for us to come closer.
We walk tentatively, as if we walk too fast we’ll harm Santo. Santo’s eyes are closed and his breathing’s shallow, but he lives.
“He rallied, sir. I’ve never seen anything like it,” the doctor begins, but I’m not there, I’m not listening. I made a promise that if he lived, I’d walk away.
I’d give him back.
He was never mine to begin with. He should be free.
Free from the demons that plague him, free from stifling expectations and ungodly demands, free from the tortured conflict of hiding his feelings for me from the others.
I love Santo, and true love means letting him go.
So there in the hospital room, while words I barely comprehend float in the space between death and life, words like coma, near-death, and very low expectations of recovery, I give Santo back. I love him enough to detach myself from any selfish motive.
I sit by his bed and hold his hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rosa
Santo lies in a coma for three days.
But he breathes.
They are the hardest, most painful days of my entire life. Every second that passes seems like it lasts an eternity. My mind's a chasm of silence, and I can barely put two thoughts together.
It hurts to breathe. It hurts to blink. I can't eat or sleep.
For three days, I steel myself against whatever will happen next. If I’m married off or he is, if he survives and wants me for his own… I’ll tell him no. I have to.
I’ve made a promise and I’ll keep that promise.
I keep my vigil like a sister would, holding his hand and talking to him through it all. Natalia visits and thanks him for saving her. She tells Santo she’s sad Uncle Romeo got rid of the dogs, but she understands why.
I watch his chest rise and fall. I watch the beeping monitors and see the quiet nurses walk in and out between armed guards in the hallway. Police prowl the hall, but at a word from Romeo, they quietly disappear. Sometimes I forget how much power my brother wields. He holds the lives of so many in his hands.
The entire time Santo’s under, unaware of who’s with him or what’s going on around him, I detach myself from his heart. I tell myself it’s in his best interest, that I can’t and won’t allow myself to be selfish. Selfish me wants Santo to myself. But I know the devastation that would bring to our family. Selfish me wants to confront Romeo and tell him the truth, but I know it’s the last thing The Family needs right now.
The last thing I need.
I almost lost him. I won’t do it again, and definitely not by my hand.
Mama visits and talks to him through the stillness. Nonna visits and prays over him. Father Richard visits, as does every man of the brotherhood. Marialena wrings her hands and whispers prayers and tells me he’ll be okay.
It’s hard not to break down. It’s hard not to cry and hold him, to grieve what could’ve been and reveal how I truly feel. I have to stay strong. For him. For the family. For all of us.
On the fourth day, he opens his eyes. At first, he doesn’t see me, staring ahead in the darkened room. I reach for his hand and give him a gentle squeeze, but the lump in my throat makes it difficult to talk.
“Hey,” I finally say.
And when he swings his gaze to mine, he finally looks… alive. Thankful we’re alone, I bury my face beside him and weep.
For the loss of everything that could’ve been.
For the near loss of the only man I’ve ever loved.
For the way I’ve been detached and misleading, for anything I’ve ever done that’s hurt this good, loyal, fearless man.
For the road of recovery he has ahead of him and the knowledge that I’ll only be with him as a sister.
I weep for who we were and who we’ll have to be next.
He rests his hand on the nape of my neck reassuringly. “Baby,” he says softly, his voice hoarse and almost painful to hear. “Rosa. Shh, baby. It’s all gonna be alright.”
I only cry harder because I wish I could believe it to be true.