The Fall(90)

Maybe she had escaped. Had gone before the police had come and left all of it—and him—behind. And while he hoped he would see her again, he would be glad to know she was safe. It would make him happy to know she got away. Away from her father and away from his.

“He is asking for her, the woman he was with?” The younger female moved closer to the bed, unsure as her hand hovered above his wanting to touch him.

She didn’t though; instead retracting her hand and pinning a lock of her long blonde hair behind her ear. She wondered if she would get to know him, and if he would want to know her. His existence so new to her that it had only been days since they’d first met. Well, not really met, but she hoped that would come later.

“Yes, he wakes occasionally.” The nurse carefully emptied a syringe of clear liquid into his cannula, the medicine seeming to settle him. “He always asks for her but no one has told him yet.”

Michael stilled and not because of the sedative that was making its way into his veins. Instead he hoped the quiet would keep his brain alert just long enough to hear what they were saying. Because they sounded like they knew.

“Does he know about his father?”

The young blonde lowered herself down onto the seat that sat beside his bed. She had been there yesterday too but this time was the first time he had spoken.

“No, he knows nothing.”

The nurse checked the IV machine beside him, rolling her fingers across the dial and adjusted the dosage. “Your father is getting stronger but may never regain the ability to walk. He was luckier than Michael, and while the bullet severed his spinal cord it missed most of his internal organs. But they both have a long way to go.”

The nurse smiled at the girl, watching her shift awkwardly in her seat. Seeing two of her family members almost die would be hard enough for anyone but especially difficult for someone so young. She was so brave, a warrior like her brother.

And it was strange the nurse thought, that Mona Santini spent more of her time with him—her brother—than she did with her father. The man who was only a few doors away and completely conscious.

Of course the nurse had heard the whispers. That Franco had been the one to shoot the son he had never known he had, but she didn’t believe any father was capable of that. People could say such horrible things, and vicious rumors weren’t things she’d ever entertain. No, she was there to heal people, which is what she intended to do.

“Stay as long as you like.” She stopped beside Mona and looked at the siblings side by side. Her skin was a little lighter than his and her hair of course was blonde, but it was striking how much they resembled each other. “You can talk to him too, they can hear us and it helps them to know we’re here.”

Michael hadn’t moved, his body on his back with his limbs loose on either side but he hadn’t been asleep like they had assumed.

Inside his head he was screaming, the noise so loud that it would surely drive him mad.

Franco had somehow survived.

Michael had only one wish when he’d pulled that trigger. And that was to make sure that the monster who happened to be his father had taken his last breath. Even if it meant dying with him. And he didn’t know why or how the bullet that had been intended for his heart had missed it entirely, but it no longer mattered.

And even as the noise echoed inside his skull, not even a whisper passed his lips. He was still no closer to knowing what had happened to Sofia.

“Michael?” Mona asked, her hands knotting in her lap as she felt stupid talking to someone she didn’t really know. “I’m Mona. We’re . . . well, Dad says we’re family. I’m going to stay here for awhile and just hang out, if that’s okay. Maybe just talk, but I don’t mind if you fall asleep.” She twisted her hands nervously as he watched the faintest movement of his lashes bounce off his cheeks.

It had been isolating being Franco Santini’s only child, she’d been so lonely and sheltered, and her heart had ached for a sibling. It seemed that by some miracle, God had answered her prayer and now she would no longer be alone.

“I know you are asking about Sofia and they won’t tell you.” She took a deep breath, hesitating before she continued.

He felt his skin prickle, wishing there was some way he could urge her to continue, but there was nothing he could do. He was imprisoned in a body that had once served him well and he would have done anything to get out.

“She’s gone, and you’re safe from her. She can’t hurt you anymore. Dad—” Her dark almond-shaped eyes darted quickly left and then right knowing she shouldn’t be talking about it. “Dad made it so she is never coming back.” She leaned closely and whispered. “He killed her; this time he made sure of it.”

Mona wasn’t to know that with those words she had stirred up another storm. Because she had only received one side of the story, the one carefully curated by her father. And while he’d been careful about what he said, he hadn’t been with what he’d done.

It was true that his gun had been pointed at Michael when he’d been in the Amaro garage. But not even Jesus Christ demanding it would have made him shoot the son—the heir—he’d longed for. He smiled as his hand twisted, changing the trajectory of the bullet. And it was that quick change in movement that was enough to save his own life.

Little Jimmy would never have killed Sofia, and it had been him who ultimately shot Michael.