Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
“Thanks for coming.” He gives me a hug, and I feel his pain as his grip tightens on me. He releases me and says, “Still, right now there’s nothing we can do until he wakes. The doctors put him in an induced coma after all the surgeries.”
“I suppose I’ll go now.” I don’t want to leave, but what can I say? I’m crazy about your brother and I want to beg him to wake up?
I’ve never seen Fabio with a sad look before, and it’s terrifyingly upsetting. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know you did.” He hugs me tightly before letting go, eyes red-rimmed.
“Sure. I do hope he recovers soon.” I can’t hide the tears forming in my eyes. He nods and then pushes the door open, and that’s when I get the slightest glimpse of the powerful Franco Fiore, lying in a bed, completely still. I gasp as Fabio closes the door.
Turning on my heels, I rush out of the hospital to cry my tears in private. At first, I stop just outside the entrance and let out a good sob, choking on my words as someone whispers that it will get better. I wonder if it will lessen, or will this ache in my chest keep expanding? As I leave I see his cousin that he’d been with that night heading into the building with a devastated Mrs. Fiore. My heart sinks and I drop my head, hiding my face as I hurry through the snow and back to my car.
Chapter Three
Franco
“He’s lucky to be alive,” a voice says, but I can’t see anything at the moment to tell where it’s coming from or who it is. My head throbs painfully as I try to gain some clarity.
“My baby,” my mother sobs in that voice I know well and have heard all my life, and my heart aches knowing I’ve caused her grief. She’s always been the rock, my beautiful, kind but strong mother.
“Mama,” I shout or at least I think I do, but I can’t hear myself.
“Did he say something?” Fabio asks.
“Franco, say something. Please, son, say something.” My dad’s here as well. Wherever that is. From the sound of the constant beeping and the harsh light shooting through my shut eyelids, it’s a hospital. My eyes flicker open, but the movement doesn’t help clear my vision.
“Dad,” I grunt, hoping they hear me this time.
“He’s awake,” Fabio cheers. “Come on, you lazy bastard. It’s time for you to get out of bed already. You’ve been lying there for three weeks.” I blink a few more times as I try to focus.
“One moment, Mr. Fiore.” I feel a warm, wet cloth over my eyes. “You’ve had your eyes closed for a long time.” Once the man pulls it away and wipes my face, I try to open them again and adjust to the light. I squint, unable to handle the harshness of the light.
“Open the door, and turn off that light,” my father says.
“Good idea.” I send up a silent thank you for that as the pain in my head eases slightly.
“Mr. Fiore, I’m your doctor. Welcome back.”
“Where am I?” I grunt, throat extremely thick with dryness and raspy as hell.
“You’re at Rochester Regional Medical Center. You’ve been here for three weeks since the accident. I need to do an evaluation, and I have to ask you questions. Are you up for it?”
“Thirsty,” I mutter, hoping to swallow.
“Good. We’ll get you some water for now.” I don’t understand what’s wrong with me, but I can feel the pain all over and I’m not sure I can move. Slowly, I wiggle my fingers and toes at the doctor’s request. We go through some small and brief examinations and he attempts to explain them, but I can’t concentrate on anything he’s saying with the banging on my brain.
“Did anyone else make it?” I ask, wondering about their families.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Fiore.” My heart sinks, but that’s what I expected after hearing the explosion and seeing the flames. I’m more than lucky to be alive.
“Will I be able to walk again?”
“In due time, but we must take everything slow and steady.” There’s a sense of relief flooding my bones.
“How bad is it?” I ask, hoping they give it to me straight because I can’t see for myself.
“You will have a lot of scarring. We can’t tell if it will be permanent, but you’re lucky to be alive.” Yes. He has a point, but self-pity that I’ve never experienced in my entire twenty-nine years sets in.
“I’m tired,” I groan with all honesty.
“We’ll let you rest. It’s good to see you improve.” I close my eyes, and my thoughts go to Isabelle. Goodbye, my love.
****
It’s been a month since I woke up, a month of slow but steady recovery. Every day I’m improving physically, even if it feels like a snail’s pace. I’m at my estate in Rochester where I receive my daily physical therapy sessions and attempt to work on my upcoming schedule. Thankfully Mia has done a lot of work for me, keeping everything running smoothly throughout the nearly two months since that fateful day.