Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“He… Your father is…” She shifts in her bed. The heart monitor accelerates.
“Easy.” I put her hand down, patting it lightly. “You’ll tell me later.”
“No…” She opens her eyes, grimacing. “Must tell you…”
The alarms on the machines start blaring.
“Oh my God, Mom!” My pulse races as fear courses through me.
Her eyes close.
The room floods with nurses.
“Sir, you’re going to have to leave,” one of them says to me.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Just as I ask this, a doctor rushes in, his face grim.
“No, I need to stay. She was trying to tell me something about my dad!” I yell over the tumultuous drone of the machines.
The doctor pushes past the nurses, immediately attending to my mom. He moves quickly. “Code blue!”
“Sir, you have to leave!” The same nurse’s voice cuts through the cacophony again, hands guiding me towards the door.
“No! You don’t understand—”
But before I can finish my plea, I find myself in the hallway outside the room. The door slams shut behind me, cutting off any protest.
I collapse against the cold hospital wall, staring at the closed door. My mind swims with questions left unanswered as the reality sinks in.
What was my mother trying to tell me?
And what is happening to her now?
I stand in the doorway of her room.
“She may have thrown a clot,” someone says. “Get a heparin drip started. We’ve got to get her pulse ox up or we’re going to lose her.”
My heart drops as I hear the words. A cold shiver slinks down my spine. I feel like I’m spinning, crashing into a world of fear and uncertainty. An invisible weight presses down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
My mother, my strength, my anchor throughout my life might be taken from me tonight. And that secret she was about to share remains a secret. The urgency in her voice still rings in my ears as I pound my fists against the wall.
Through the small window on the door, I see them working ceaselessly on Mom. But their quick movements look like they’re fading, becoming slower. The doctor’s face is a harrowing mask of grim determination and worry.
Then the dreadful words.
“We’re losing her.”
The painful beep of the flatline haunts the air around me.
“No!” I find myself screaming, “Fight, Mom! Fight!” I rush through the door before a strong hand grabs me by my shoulder, pulling me back. It’s another doctor, someone I haven’t seen before.
“Son,” he says in a deep, sorrowful voice, “we’re doing everything we can.”
I try to shake him off in an attempt to rush into the room, but his grip is iron. He’s used to family members trying to get inside. I sink to the floor, my legs unable to support me anymore.
“I need… She was…” I gulp. “She was saying something about my dad.”
I am helpless. Powerless. Just an observer as the doctors and nurses scramble around desperately trying to revive my mother.
The seconds turn into minutes, each ticking away with excruciating slowness.
And then...
“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.”
37
RAVEN
A week later…
I wish I could stand next to Vinnie at the funeral. I wish he wanted me there.
I wish everything were different.
I remember eating dinner with Caroline Gallo and her son. How lovely she was. Beautiful. Vinnie looks so much like her. Same hair, same olive skin.
Next to Vinnie stands his father, Vincent Gallo Senior. He was able to get furlough to attend his wife’s funeral.
Falcon stands next to Savannah, of course, as her fiancé.
The minister drones on and on about Caroline. Mario Bianchi of course stands there too. His only child, now dead.
I try to listen.
Truly, I do.
Jared sits beside me in the last pew of the grand, old-world Catholic cathedral of Austin. Muted colors from the stained-glass windows scatter across the sanctuary, and the air is thick with the scent of incense. Dark fabrics drape over the pews and altar, and black candles flicker throughout the church. Large, ornate floral arrangements in white and red roses—which, combined with the green of their stems, make up the colors of the Italian flag—are strewn about the space.
I can’t help admiring the polished mahogany coffin in the center of the church, which is flanked by towering candle stands with a simple white rose bouquet resting on top.
“They certainly spared no expense,” I whisper to Jared.
His face is grave. “They probably do a lot of funerals in their line of work.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that. So I don’t.
Jared’s presence has become tolerable. More than tolerable, to be honest. I’ve grown to consider him a friend. I have someone to talk to when I need it, and he’s been helping me with my foundation, which is great.
All the paperwork has been filed, and the gala is planned for about a month from now.
One of the best hotels in Austin.
Celebrities, politicians, all the elites have been invited.