Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
We arrive fifteen agonizing minutes later, and I’m out of the car before the driver puts on the brakes. Marlena comes running down the front porch steps, her arms wide open. I scoop her up, soothing my heartache with her soft curves.
She’s alive and well, frazzled but whole.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I soothe her, smoothing the strands of sweat-soaked hair from her eyes. “No. I’m just glad you’re alright.”
I kiss her forehead, unable to understand the great rush of words that are tumbling from her mouth. I put an arm around her shoulders and guide her inside. Frankie is sitting in the living room, drinking scotch. He looks like he’s been through a war, and I can’t blame him. I’m sure I look the same.
Momentarily leaving Marlena by herself, I step up to my boy. He rises to greet me and opens his mouth to give an excuse. I simply hug him, not caring about anything other than the fact that he’s alive.
When we pull apart, he starts in on the apologizing too. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he says.
“No,” I remind him. “All that matters is that you’re safe.”
I return to Marlena’s side because she looks like she needs an anchor. I put my arm around her again, intending to take her upstairs and get her into the shower. We all need to relax, and the best way I know to accomplish that is by cleaning up. Frankie holds up his cup, indicating that he needs a few more drinks before doing anything else. I give him a knowing smile. He may not be a soldier, but he’s shown me today that he’s got the courage of a lion.
“Wait, wait,” Marlena says, extracting herself from my embrace.
I look at her studiously, wondering if there is some minor injury I’ve missed.
“What about my brother?” she asks.
“Where is he?” I respond. I forgot all about her brother in all the chaos, the cause of this whole debacle.
“He’s upstairs,” she says. “They put him in a guest room.”
I look at Frankie, who shrugs. I can see that he’s done for the moment. I pull out my phone, taking charge as I always do. I put in a call to my private doctor, a man who knows how to be discreet.
“How soon can you get here?” I ask.
“I’m on my way,” he says. He knows better than to ask anything else over the phone.
CHAPTER 43
MARLENA
“The doctor is on his way,” Francisco says.
I hang my head in shame. I’m so embarrassed that I got caught up in all this and that I forced my husband to rescue me. I’m grateful for what he did, obviously, but that doesn’t stop the negative soundtrack that’s running through my head.
At least Brandon is safe. Although I have serious concerns about his health. In the warehouse, it seemed like he was able to get up. I try to remember, but the whole thing is shrouded in shock and fear. Did he really get up? Or was I imagining that? Or maybe he was trying to get up, but he was packed full of adrenaline.
Brandon slept the whole way home in the car and didn’t stir as Francisco’s men carried him inside. I tucked him in upstairs in a guest suite opposite mine. And that’s when I heard Francisco’s car pull up.
“I’m going to go and check on my brother,” I say.
“I’ll come with you,” Francisco offers.
I don’t have the strength to argue, so I let him escort me up the stairs. Glancing over at my own door, I wonder when I’m going to get the chance to move into my husband’s suite. And do I even want to?
I was trying to escape this life, not get sucked back into the thick of it. Yes, I knew Francisco was the Don, and yes, I was well aware of all that meant. But for some reason, the truth hadn’t smacked me in the face until today.
I’m chewing on my bottom lip, nervous about a lot of things. My stomach feels raw, as if I’ve just thrown up, although that isn’t the case. I’m glad Francisco is here with me, but at the same time, I wish he weren’t. If I’m being honest with myself, part of me wishes we had never met. Then Brandon wouldn’t be here, laid out in bed possibly unconscious. But at the same time, none of this started with Francisco, so I can’t lay all the blame at his feet when my father is the real culprit.
I knock on Brandon’s door just in case he’s awake. There’s no answer, so I go inside. I left the bedside lamp on so that he wouldn’t become disoriented if he awoke with no one beside him. But he’s still sleeping.
Francisco puts his arm around me, and I let him. I want to explain why I did what I thought I had to do. I glance over at him, ready to bare my soul, but I can see that he already knows.