“Ferrucci,” a voice calls out from the other side of my bars.
Picking my face up from the palms of my hands, I turn my head to look over at the man who called out to me. It’s my friendly dirty guard.
Standing, I walk over to him, wondering what he’s going to say to me. He’s only come to my cell a handful of times over the years, so this is definitely big.
“She’s stable. Got a call a few minutes ago, wanted to let you know. Couldn’t have you worried all night, didn’t seem right,” he murmurs.
“Any idea who did it? Maybe our resident guard asshole?”
He shakes his head, his lips twitching as something cold slides through his gaze. “He has been taken care of, permanently. After that little stalking stunt, he’s no longer an issue at all whatsoever.”
“Personally?” I ask.
He dips his chin, his eyes finding mine. “Personally,” he confirms.
I knew that the asshole was dead, I wasn’t sure if one of our guys did it or if it really was him. I’m glad that it was this man, a move like that shows his allegiance to the famiglia. Nodding my head slowly, I shift my eyes to the side before I bring them back to him.
“Have you heard any rumblings about me in here?” I ask.
Another scenario could be that I pissed someone off in here. Men have been known to go after family members living on the outside. The guard shakes his head slowly, tilting his face up to the ceiling before his eyes find mine again.
“Maybe it’s not something new, Ferrucci. Maybe it’s your past catching up with you? I haven’t heard anything. Your men on the outside haven’t either, I asked. The guard here is gone. Think about who you could have wronged before you came in here, the answer is probably there.”
Without another word he turns and walks away from me. I watch him for a moment before I turn and walk over to my bed, sinking down on the mattress. I think about all of the people that I have angered in this life.
There are a lot.
My father, a man who still lives, but thankfully chooses not to grace me with his presence, and when Gavino took over for the famiglia he retired from the life. I’m sure it wasn’t completely by choice, but more so to save his own fucking neck after Vino got rid of Antonio Rossi, the man who was the Boss before him.
I don’t think my dad would do to me what happened to him, to the only woman that he actually gave a fuck about. But then again, wouldn’t that be some kind of fucked up poetic justice if he did?
I make a mental list of every man who is not only capable of shooting my innocent wife in cold blood on the sidewalk. The list is long. Too long. There is no way I’ll be able to narrow it down or figure it out from here. There is no way that I can wait for months to get out either.
I’m goddamn helpless.
I’m not fit to even have a wife. I can’t protect her, as much as I’ve tried. Ultimately, my hands are tied in here.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
PIPPA
Lucky.
I’ve heard that word more times in the past fifteen days than I can count.
Lucky.
Fuck, lucky.
They say that I’m lucky to be alive. I’m lucky that there will be no permanent damage, aside from scarring, and if I want to have that fixed with plastic surgery, it’s most definitely an option.
Staring at the ceiling from my hospital bed, I wonder exactly how this happened to me. Is this my punishment for essentially selling myself to my husband, to the highest bidder? Is this what happens when you are actually glad that your aunt is murdered?
Karma is a fucking bitch, and she’s found me. She didn’t hold back, not in the slightest. Now I’m laid up with three bullet holes in my body. Thigh, shoulder, and gut.
The one in the side of my abdomen hurts the worst. This is the one that I will no doubt feel for the rest of my life. Tears fill my eyes as I think about what this means for my future, for the fact that my body will never feel the same again.
It’s selfish and it’s vain, but I’m not going to be pretty anymore. How can a woman be pretty with the scars that these bullets will leave behind?
“Pippa?” a voice calls out. I know who it is, she’s visited every day since I was brought in here.
Turning my head, I look over at her. I don’t smile or show her any real expression. I feel lifeless and broken. Talking about anything at all just doesn’t interest me.
“Massimo is another month closer to getting out. You know Arlo talked to him today. He was trying to call you and worried when you didn’t answer. He’s been really worried.”
“I’m sure he has,” I deadpan.
She shakes her head, scooting toward the end of the sofa cushion. I watch as she lifts her hand and places it on the side of her round belly. Jealousy flows through me like a living, breathing thing.
Lenora doesn’t deserve my anger or jealousy. She has been nothing but kind and loving the past five years. But her life is everything I dreamt of having for myself. All of the wives have the life that I wanted, that I hoped to have when I accepted Arlo’s offer to marry a Made Man.
Instead of living with my husband, having his children, and eventually falling into a comfortable routine, maybe even falling in love with one another, I’m lying in a hospital bed after being shot.
“Pippa,” she says softly.
“His mother was shot in broad daylight, in
