Bound by my blood

Chapter twenty-nine

1 month later:

Exhaustion and pain slowly consumed me, creeping up from my limbs and wrapping itself around my heart. It had been a month since Vincenzo was shot, and the weight of his injury crushed me with each passing day. Everyone blamed me. I didn't blame them—because deep down, I blamed myself too. His blood was on my hands, even though I couldn't have stopped it.

Salvatore had pulled a gun on me more than once this month. Each time, I braced myself for the inevitable. I would probably be dead by now if it wasn't for Angelo. He stepped in before Salvatore's wrath could claim me completely.

But today, the talk was different. They were discussing taking him off life support. They said he had to do the rest on his own, but I was terrified. Terrified of losing him. Terrified of letting go when all I wanted was to hold on.

I can't lose him. I just can't.

I never realized before how much I depended on him. He was the anchor that kept me from floating away into madness, and now I was slipping. Without him, the pieces of me were falling apart.

Salvatore had kicked me out of our home, leaving me with nowhere to go. So, I was staying with Elisa. She had said she was happy to have me there, but I could tell it was more out of pity than anything else. It didn't matter. I had no other choice.

'Tiffany' (or whatever that bitch's name was) thought it was hilarious that I had been thrown out. She often rubbed it in my face whenever I saw her at the hospital, the smug smile never leaving her lips.

I was surprised she hadn't convinced Salvatore to ban me from the hospital by now. Maybe she had tried, but I wouldn't put it past her. After all, she'd been staying in my room at our house, making herself right at home.

It wouldn't surprise me. She was always touching my husband during her visits. Always.

Elisa had offered to take me out after catching me crying about it, but I had shot down that idea quickly. I couldn't risk it. Salvatore favoured her, and if he found out I'd said yes, he'd know it was me. Maybe that's why he never arranged a marriage between the two of them.

I rest my head on the side of Vincenzo's bed, staring at his still form. I snuck into the room a few hours ago, hoping for some time alone with him. The sound of the hospital was muted outside the room, the bustling nurses and doctors just a faint hum. No one had noticed yet.

This was the only time I could sit with him undisturbed, without the constant whispers and looks from everyone around me.

"I'm so sorry for everything I've done. Please wake up. I miss my love. I need you... I need you more than I've ever needed anyone or anything," I whisper, my voice breaking as the tears fall freely down my cheeks. I don't bother to wipe them away. It's useless.

For a brief, fleeting moment, I think I see one of his fingers twitch. My eyes blur with tears, and I wonder if I'm imagining things. It's just my mind, desperate for some sign of life.

But then, not even five minutes later, he moves again. My heart skips a beat. I jump to my feet, panic and hope crashing together. I sit on the edge of the bed, double-checking his position, ensuring everything is where it's supposed to be.

And then, his eyes flicker open.

My breath catches in my throat. I'm overwhelmed with sobs, and before I can stop myself, I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms carefully around his neck. He lets me hold him for a moment, but then he pushes me away, gently but firmly.

His throat is dry, strained from the lack of use. He tries to speak, but the words don't come out right. His voice is ragged, hoarse.

I rush to the bathroom, fill a plastic bottle with water, and hurry back to him, my hands trembling. I offer it to him with shaking fingers.

He goes to gulp it down quickly, but I stop him.

"Don't drink it too fast, Vince, your body won't handle it well," I warn him, my voice soft but firm.

He nods, his eyes tired and distant, but he drinks slowly as I instructed. When he finishes, he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm, looking at me.

"Who the fuck are you? And why am I in the hospital? Get the fuck out of my room, you whore," he sneers at me, his eyes cold and hostile. My heart sinks.

I blink, stunned. This isn't happening. He's joking, right?

"Stop playing around," I whisper, my voice trembling with disbelief, "I'm Alexa. I'm your wife. You were shot protecting me, remember?"

The words spill out, as if repeating them will make him remember, but his gaze only hardens further. I blink, stunned. This isn't happening. He's joking, right?

"Stop playing around," I whisper, my voice trembling with disbelief. "I'm Alexa. I'm your wife. You were shot protecting me, remember?"

The words spill out, as if repeating them will make him remember, but his gaze only hardens further.

"I am not a man that 'plays around.' I am not married, especially to a slut like you," he spits out. "You must be in the wrong room, because I don't know you. Now leave before I make you."

The words cut deeper than I thought possible. The man I love—the man I married—doesn't remember me.

My hands fly to my hair, clutching it in desperation as sobs wrack my body. My knees give way, and I collapse to the floor. This is worse than I ever imagined. This pain is deeper than I thought I could handle.

My hands fly to my hair, clutching it in desperation as sobs wrack my body. My knees give way, and I collapse to the floor. This is worse than I ever imagined. This pain is deeper than I thought I could handle.

The doctor. His doctor. They'll know what's happening. I'm not a professional; I don't know what I'm supposed to do in this situation.

I scramble across the floor, frantically pressing the red button beside the bed, signalling the nurse's attention. Vince watches me with a strange intensity, his hand patting around the bed. He's looking for his gun.

"I'm so sorry, love," I sob as I collect my bag, pressing my lips against his—much to his surprise—just as the doctors rush in.

I hurriedly walk out, my heart pounding in my chest. Every fiber in my body screams at me to turn back, to run to him, but I keep walking, the weight of the decision settling heavily on my shoulders.

I should be happy. This is my chance to escape the arranged marriage, to free myself from the suffocating life that's been decided for me. But I'm not happy.

Over the last few months, I had fallen for the cold, brazen man, the one who showed no vulnerability, no softness. But he doesn't remember me. The man I love is gone, and the man before me wants nothing to do with me.

As soon as I break into the bitter, freezing air of Sicily, I run through the narrow streets, my feet pounding against the cobblestone. The cold bites at my skin, but I don't stop. I don't turn back.

I need to get out of here... without Vince's protection, there is nothing stopping Salvatore and the others.