Page 88 of Crimson Fate
“I put a little something in her water when we got here to help her sleep.”
“You didn’t.”
“She was starting to get a little hysterical. I didn’t know what else to do,” he admits.
“No, you probably did the right thing. We have enough to worry about until Nico gets out of surgery. I don’t really want to send Gia over the edge by telling her that her dad didn’t make it.”
“What?” He gasps. “I wanted to ask you about him, but I didn’t want to do it in front of everyone else.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I cleaned up the scene, so Gia won’t have anything to worry about.”
“How did you have time before his guys came back?” Marco asks.
“Because the boat is charred ruins at the bottom of the harbor,” I explain.
Marco processes this information, then squares his shoulders, his jaw firm. He locks eyes with me, and I see something more than just the usual resolve there—there’s a fierceness, a protective drive that wasn’t as pronounced before.
“This is going to fucking wreck Gia,” Marco says. I consider telling him that Gia wasn’t the one who killed Anthony, but then I suddenly realize that things may be better this way. If Gia believes it was her shot that killed her father, perhaps that’s one less person I need to be watching for over my shoulder who’s bent on revenge.
“What she did for us won’t be forgotten,” I announce.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t know what you have planned for Anthony’s piece of the business, but I want to take responsibility for Gia and help her run the operations. I mean, if that’s what she wants. She shouldn’t go through this alone,” Marco says, his voice thick with loyalty and determination. It’s clear he’s not asking for permission; he’s stating his intention, ready to step into whatever role necessary to keep her safe.
“Marco,” I start. “You know what this means, right? If Gia decides to create trouble at any point, you will be the one it blows back on. If you want to take responsibility for her, you take all of it.”
“I can handle Gia.”
I study him for a moment, searching for any hint of doubt, any crack in his armor. But there’s none. Marco stands before me, resolute—a sentinel unwavering in his duty.
“Alright,” I concede.
I take a deep breath, my mind racing with the potential chaos ahead. The truth can claw to the surface, no matter how deeply it’s buried. And when it does, Gia might not be so forgiving of the role I played in her father’s death.
“Let’s head back,” I say, and Marco nods. We stride back into the waiting room, our presence immediately drawing the group’s attention.
“Any news?” Amelia whispers, her voice laced with hope.
“Nothing yet,” I reply smoothly.
As we settle into the hard, plastic chairs, each lost in our thoughts, I feel the weight of leadership.
Time seems to stretch endlessly as we await news about Nico’s condition. Not a single person leaves, and by the time we see a doctor approaching us, every capo has arrived and sits around the room.
“Is Mr. Russo’s family here?” he asks, a chart in his hand.
Marco and I both stand and nod. “Yes, we’re here for Nico Russo. How is he?”
He eyes us. “Are you family?”
In unison, we both answer, “His brothers.”
The doctor looks at us, then back at the chart, and then at us again. “I won’t sugarcoat it. Mr. Russo’s injuries were severe, but the good news is the surgery was successful. He’s stable now, but he’ll need time to heal.”
A collective sigh of relief fills the room as the tension slowly dissipates.
Gia, who had been sitting in silence since waking up about an hour ago, springs to her feet. “Can I see him?” she asks with a trembling voice.
The doctor looks at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Miss, but only immediate family is allowed in the ICU now. You can see him later when he’s transferred to a regular room.”