The next two hours are filled with frustrated nurses attempting to keep me awake, asking question after question that I’m unable to answer. My thinking and reasoning skills are at an all-time low, fractals of what they usually are. I’m given a cup of juice and a sleeve of crackers to eat, and as I chew on the crackers carefully, a social worker steps quietly into the room.
She’s a black woman in her mid-forties, smart glasses and a fitted blazer offering her a sense of trustworthiness despite my compromised state. She pulls a chair up to my bed, pulling out a notebook in the process.
“Hi, my name is Anita, and your name is…” she begins, glancing expectantly at me.
“Gabriella,” I say, relieved at my recollection of my own name.
Anita smiles at me and writes down my name. “Gabriella, I have a few questions about your living situation that I need you to answer so I can get you proper help, okay?” she says.
Suddenly, I’m filled with an unnamed dread, a dread that boils deep within me. This realization must show on my face because an expression of concern overcomes Anita, who continues writing in her notebook.
Shit, I haven’t even said anything, and she’s already making notes, I think to myself, panic growing inside me.
“Why does that question distress you so much, Gabriella?” Anita asks me, lowering her voice and looking me deep in the eyes.
Memories come flooding back, and I remember being beaten by Michael, watching my sister commit murder-suicide, and then passing out in an abandoned textile factory. I remember my husband-through-arranged-marriage, becoming fully aware of the fact that he may be dead or dying as I lie here in a hospital bed, incapable of explaining where my wounds have come from.
Anita’s concern becomes more evident. “Do you need us to find a safe place for you?”
In my head, I can hear my brain screaming the word yes! Please find me a safe place! I am so tired! I need to rest!
“I need to find my husband. I need to leave,” I say with determination, unaware of the implication of my words.
“Adrian? Do you mean Adrian?” Anita asks, feeling as though she’s finally getting somewhere with her questions.
“Yes! Adrian! Adrian Fallaci!” I burst out, immediately self-conscious about my loud, uncalculated shouting.
“Good! Very good, that’s a great start!” Anita exclaims, almost matching my own excitement.
My face takes on a grave expression. “Adrian is missing,” I mumble under my breath, more to myself than to Anita. I can’t let Anita send anyone to find Adrian. Even in my compromised state, I understand the gravity of my family being found out by the cops. Adrian or no Adrian, it would be the end of me.
“Okay, you’ve done great, Gabriella,” Anita assures me. “I’m going to see what we can do about Adrian’s disappearance, but for now, you need to rest. Your doctor should be back in relatively soon to talk to you about your injuries, okay?” she continues, her warm brown eyes meeting mine. As she leaves the room, I curl up into my blankets, fussing with my IVs.
Two hours go by, and the gravity of my situation creeps up on me slowly as I emerge from my concussion. I finally realize that my parents will likely show up, or at least they’ll know where I am. If Adrian is found, it will likely be under dire circumstances that will open an investigation of my family’s mafia empire.
For the second time in my life, I pray quietly to the universe to swallow me whole or bless me with a massive brain bleed. I wish more for the latter, as it seems more likely given the extent of my injuries. I could blow a bubble into my IV just as easily.
As I stare into the theoretical abyss of my mortality, the grey-haired doctor from before enters my room. “So, miss Gabriella Fallaci! I’m glad I can finally address you properly. Your blood work looks fine, though we will need to get a CT scan to make sure there’s no acute bleeding in your brain. Also, I just have to mention, I believe that Adrian and my son played lacrosse together in high school. Has he ever brought up Andrew Carter? They were really good friends back in the day,” the doctor says, smiling.
I also smile at the thought. The world is such a big place, and I’ve managed to find a tiny piece of my husband here.
Chapter 12
As I wait to be wheeled to the CT scanner, I consider unhooking myself and escaping the hospital. What kinds of things can they do with indisposed, battered young women? I could hardly form proper sentences an hour ago, and there could potentially be a bleed in my brain from an unknown source.
I know that the odds are stacked against me as far as protecting my true identity. And goddammit, I need to find Adrian!
Conflict pulls at my guts as I weigh the potential for disaster on either side. If I stay, my injuries will be taken care of, and I can likely enlist the help of my new social worker to find a new life, a normal life, somewhere safer.
However, if I stay and my family finds me, I’m as good as dead anyway. Both of my sisters are most likely dead on my behalf, and I’ve weakened the mafia’s fortress against law enforcement by showing up here. I’m sure that if the doctor’s looked up my surname, they’d discover a slew of arrest records and investigations related to Adrian’s side of the family. My involvement would not go unnoticed.
If I were able to find Adrian, we could leave again like my sister said. We could leave the country this time. But, of course, if I leave the hospital prematurely, there’s a high chance that I’ll be fucked up forever, from my fractured ribs to my newly-limited mental bandwidth.
Before I’m able to spiral into a complete tailspin, a small woman dressed in blue scrubs knocks lightly on the glass sliding doors of my room. I gesture for her to enter, and I read her ID badge, which has her labeled as a transporter.
Good, at least now I won’t be in the same place if my father comes looking for me. The transporter gives me a spiel of dos and don’ts for the harrowing journey to the CT scanning room, most of which I tune out. As she pulls my bed out of the room, I glance down the hallways frantically searching for any sign of my parents, or even of Adrian.
The transporter chatters with other transporters as she wheels me down a myriad of hallways, each as beige and lacking character as the last. The transporter tells me that she needs to stop by the nurse’s station, and she parks me by a wall near an exit leading to a courtyard.
As I see her scuttle over to the help desk, tapping away on her phone, the urge to leap from my bed consumes me. I’m still wearing my original clothes, and now that I’m unbound from the cervical collar, I can move freely. The transporter is clearly preoccupied as she shows a video of a chihuahua to an unamused nurse. Would she even know if I disappeared?
I carefully release the IVs from my hand, immediately placing pressure on the pinprick left behind. The fluids from the bag begin to drip onto the floor, and I panic. The transporter is still holding the nurse hostage with dog videos and photos of her nephew.
Relieved, I click the IV tube closed and hide the tip of the tubing under the pillow. The guard rails on the bed are up, so I fumble with the switch on the left side until the rail releases, carefully placing it quietly to avoid attracting the attention of my distracted keeper.
When I’m sure that nobody will see me, I slip off the thin mattress and walk casually down the hallway, out of the transporter’s sight. I’m wearing only socks on my feet, and the idea of picking up some kind of hospital-borne illness makes me nauseated.
I pull my sleeve over the hospital band on my wrist, and I’m able to pass as an almost-normal looking human being instead of a patient. The door to one of the parking structures is straight ahead, and my chest fills with an effervescent sense of hope.
I contain my excitement, pacing myself as I walk naturally towards the exit.
“Gabriella!”
Fuck.
“There she is, that’s our daughter. Who the fuck is supposed to be keeping her?” I hear my father shouting at one of the hospital attendants.
How did he find me so quickly?
I sprint for the door, a sudden white-hot pain shooting up my leg from my ankle. I stumble and trip forward, and before I’m able to assess the mysterious pain, I’m grabbed by two security guards who lift me from my arms.
“Goddamn it, be gentle with her! She has a concussion, you fuckwits!” I hear the grey-haired doctor bellow at the security guards.
My heart falls into my stomach as I see my parents approaching me alongside the doctor, a knowing glance exchanged between my mother and father.
“Gabbi, we’ve been so worried about you,” my father lies. He grasps my upper arm tightly, ensuring that I understand the gravity of my fate.
“When can we take her home? We have business to attend to at Grace Memorial, one of our daughters is in the ICU there,” my mother laments, a glimmer of true remorse in her eyes.
“She’s got a serious concussion with the potential for a subdural hematoma, not to mention all of the mystery bruises and fractures. She’s far from ready to be released,” the doctor insists.
My father’s grip tightens. “If she’s so mentally unfortified from her injuries, then she needs someone to make her decisions for her, correct?” he asks the doctor, hopeful to retain full power over me.
“No!” I shout directly in my father’s face. “I’m staying here until the doctor is certain that it’s safe for me to leave, and I’ll be making my own decisions from now on! Now leave!” I order.
Unamused, my father simply raises his eyebrows at me.
“Honey, please don’t be difficult,” my mother pleads sheepishly as she considers the position I’ve put myself in. She knows that I could easily have the law on my side at any moment’s notice with total amnesty if I give them up.
“I’m not being difficult, mother, I’m exercising my rights as an adult,” I insist.
My father glares at me as I pull my arm from his grasp, flinching as the dull ache of my bruises rise to the surface.
A nurse brings my bed over to me, and I’m helped into it by the security guards who were scolded moments before. I tremble with adrenaline, pain, and frustration as the nurse wheels me to the CT scanner, flanked by the two security guards.
“Geez, your parents are pretty protective for someone as old as you are,” the nurse says, attempting levity where it doesn’t belong.
“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it I suppose,” I deflect.
I know that at this very moment, my father could be planning my burial site for defying him, as if he hadn’t already had one chosen for me. I need to come up with a plan, and I can’t do it if my family knows where I am.
Chapter 13
It’s midnight, and I’ve been up all night plotting my next move. I’m starving, and the incessant beeping of my leads has induced a trance of sorts, one where I’m so deeply focused on the task at hand that I’m unable to think of anything at all. Moonlight pours through the windows of my private room, amplifying my inability to sleep nor think clearly.
My CT scan came back mostly clear, nothing worth keeping me overnight again for, but I’m running out of time.
Are my sisters alive?
I’m doubtful.
I’m positive that if either of them is still clinging to life at Grace Memorial, my mother is draped over her bed, weeping. That leaves me no choice but to put them from my mind entirely, or I’ll be pulled in their direction, trapped, and eaten alive.
After four hours of fruitless scheming, I’m lulled to sleep by exhaustion.
At 8 AM, I’m awoken by a young blonde nurse, eyes large and blue like a newborn baby’s. She changes out my medication drips, then jostles me out of my sleepy haze. “You have a visitor,” she chirps gleefully.
I freeze. “Who is it? If it’s my parents, I need you to ban them from visiting,” I stammer, sitting up straight in my bed.
The nurse glances at me, confused. “No, miss, it’s a man,” she says.
“Is his name Adrian?” I ask, my blood pumping hard throughout my tired vessels.
“Um, his name is Rahim, I think,” she replies, smiling slightly. “He’s standing outside the door, can I let him in?” she asks hopefully.
“Uhh, yes, you can send him in,” I hesitate.
Why is the paramedic visiting me? Of course, I’m flattered, but I fear that I’ll have a hard time recalling details of our encounter since I was so dazed.
Rahim enters the room cautiously, glancing around to assess whether or not I’m surrounded by my family. “Hi, Gabriella. You might not remember me, but I’m the EMT that was on the scene when we rescued you. I wanted to stop by and see how you were doing,” he says, slowly approaching my bed while maintaining a reasonable distance.
“I do remember you, actually,” I say, blushing. “Thanks so much for coming to see me, that was really thoughtful of you,” I add.
Rahim looks behind him at the door. “Um, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he says gravely, his voice lowered. “Something about you stuck in my mind after we brought you back here, and your situation seemed peculiar, so I… I looked you up,” he continues, clearly embarrassed. “I thought maybe I’d known you from somewhere, but the only thing I could find was an article about organized crime with your husband’s last name listed as a primary threat. Gabriella, are you in trouble?”
My heart skips a beat, a deep, black crater forming in its place. “I’m sorry,” I manage to spit out. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lie unconvincingly, silently praying that he will call me out.
“I don’t think I believe you,” he insists as he looks me straight in the eyes.
I want to hide from his knowing gaze. “Please, I don’t have a lot of time,” I choke, my wide eyes welling up.
Rahim walks over to the door and closes it shut. “I want to help you, Gabriella. Please let me help you,” he says, a fierce glimmer of determination flashing through his eyes. “I’ve known women in your position, and I won’t make any assumptions about why you were up in that factory, but you would have died there if nobody had called in those gunshots,” he continues.
It’s time to make a decision, and I’ve hardly had time to catch my breath. If I decide to willingly give away my position as a mafia wife, I leave myself no choice but to commit to betraying my family entirely with no chance of repentance. If I allow Rahim to leave me here by myself, the odds of my family killing Adrian and me are doubled.
I breathe in deeply as a scream builds in my chest.
“If you allow the mob to throw you around like this again, they’ll kill you. Please let me help you. I can’t force your hand, but my conscience wouldn’t let me leave you here without extending myself,” he says, coming closer and sitting on the bed next to me.
He pulls a pen and a scrap of paper out of his pocket and scrawls a phone number down. “If you decide you want the help, text me at this number. Just send the word ‘yes’, okay?”
With my hands trembling, I take the paper without a word. I fold it up and place it into my bra. “I think my sisters are dead, Rahim, both of them,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
Rahim’s eyes fall from mine, confirming my suspicion. “It was a mess when we found you three. We had no idea what had happened. It was complete chaos. We did as much as we could for your sisters, but I’ve never seen anybody survive injuries like theirs, Gabriella. I’m so, so sorry.”
I lie back, a sickness growing in my belly. I place my head in my hands and run my fingers through my hair, pulling the roots as I hold back tears.
My life force has been completely drained.
The will to continue fighting has been burnt out.
My stomach twists as I sob quietly, and Rahim gently takes my arms, pulling my hands out of my hair. “Hey, don’t hurt yourself, okay?” he says sweetly, taking my tiny hands into his own, encompassing them completely. “Do you want me to stay?”
I nod, burying myself in his shoulder, stifling sobs as they come in waves.
Chapter 14
“Is there som
ebody you’d like us to call?”
A portly nurse haphazardly shoves my discharge paperwork into my hands. I’m awoken from my fugue state as she snaps her fingers impatiently. “Mrs. Fallaci, I’m going to need a signature from a neurologist in order to keep you another night, you can’t pretend to be catatonic for a free meal and a warm bed,” she chides, tapping the signature line on the top form with a bright pink acrylic fingernail.
A young female doctor hurriedly approaches us, a strained smile plastered across her face. “Thank you, Gina, I’ll take it from here,” the doctor says, a note of irritation coloring her words.
Gina huffs and rolls her eyes as she stomps away in her hospital clogs.
“Don’t mind her. She got to be the charge nurse for one week while the other one was out with the flu. Now she’s mad with power,” the doctor says as she chuckles. “Is everything okay? Your CT was clean, but you’ve been acting very out of it since this morning. I’m a bit concerned,” she continues.
“My sisters are dead,” I declare flatly. “My parents hate me, my husband is missing, and my sisters are dead,” I add as I sign the document.
The doctor’s face changes from casual diplomacy to deep concern. “Gabriella…” she trails off, uncertain of how to approach my situation. “I don’t know what to say.”
I gaze out a faraway window and sigh. “You can’t do or say anything. Nobody can,” I say flatly.
The doctor gives me a pallid smile and leaves.
I complete the paperwork, leaving it on the desk of the portly bitch who apprehended me earlier. As I gather my things to leave, the realization hits me that right now, I am truly alone. Both of my sisters are likely dead, my parents are hunting me, and my husband is missing.
I pull out the piece of paper that Rahim had given me with his phone number. “Ugh, don’t be stupid, Gabbi,” I mutter to myself under my breath. Rahim seems nice enough, but I can’t allow myself to become his problem.
Broken King: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance Page 7
