Page 105 of The Don's Secret Heir

The doctor eventually leaves and hours go by. I just watch her face, her long eyelashes fanning over her cheekbones, that upturned nose of hers.

I pray I get to see the color of those gray eyes again.

“Dario?” Giovanni’s voice floats to me from the doorway. “Little guy really wanted to see his mom.”

Sonny comes barreling in the room and he goes to Liana’s other side, climbing up on the bed and taking her hand.

“Mama, it’s time to wake up,” he says, shaking her gently.

My breath catches in my throat. “She needs her rest, buddy. It might be a while before she wakes up.”

“But not too long, right? My birthday party is next week.”

I smile. He has no idea how dire things are right now, but maybe that’s for the best. Maybe she’d want me to keep it from him.

All we can do now is wait.

31

LIANA

I keep screaming Sonny’s name, wanting to see my boy, but no words will come out. Just harsh breaths. I can’t move my limbs. I can’t open my eyes.

I’m in hell. That’s what this is. Beth killed me and now I’m stuck here in hell forever, unable to move, knowing Sonny’s right there.

“You can’t go. It’s always been you, Li?—”

I hear Dario’s voice, disjointed, in my dreams. I don’t know what he’s talking about, why his voice sounds so cracked and strained.

Where am I? All I can feel is cold, slipping down my limbs. Am I dying?

I finally manage to crack my eyes open.

“Li?” Dario’s face slowly comes into focus. God, he looks... terrible. Exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in days, stubble on his chin, bags under his eyes. “Li, baby, are you waking up?”

I open and close my mouth.

“Water?” he asks. When I nod weakly he hurries to the sink to pour me a cup, bringing it back with a bendy straw.

I drink and it’s like nectar of the gods, cold and slick going down my throat.

I open my mouth again.

“Sonny?”

“He’s alright. Down in the cafeteria with Giovanni.”

“How... how long have I been out?” The words come out small and weak.

“Little over a week,” he says, looking at his watch. “Eight days.”

“Eightdays!” I nearly screech but my vocal chords won’t let me. “I have to see Sonny, Dario, I?—”

“I’ll text Giovanni to bring him up,” he says gently, slumping down in the chair. “I should call the doctors in. They’ll want to do tests.”

“Not yet,” I plead.

He looks at me, right into my eyes, and there’s something on his features I can’t quite name.