With every passing day, I become weaker, and Dad grows more frantic.
When Dr. Bentall told us I was out of time, I struggled to process the fact that I’d die soon. A million things went through my mind.
How unfair life is.
I’m too young.
I’ve barely had a chance to live.
What happens when you die?
Is there a heaven, or is it like before you were born, where everything is just black?
I’ll never get to run my own kitchen.
I’ll never make food for Dad again.
I’ll never get married, and Dad won’t walk me down the aisle.
I won’t have children.
It’s unfair.
But the thoughts slowly faded, and in their place, a weird acceptance that ‘it is what it is’ settled in me.
There’s no fighting the inevitable.
Whenever I think something is too hard or impossible to handle, I somehow manage to overcome it. It’s the same with dying. In the end, I’ve made peace with what’s coming, so I don’t lose my mind.
Dad comes into the hospital room, and a tired but happy smile tugs at my mouth. After I accepted my fate, I decided to enjoy every second I have left with my father.
When I’m gone, I want him to remember my smiles and not my tears.
“Hey, Daddy,” I murmur, my tone filled with all the love I have for him.
“Hi, sweetheart.” He sits down on the armchair next to my bed and takes my hand in both of his. Like always, he presses a kiss to the back of my fingers before his eyes drift over every inch of my face.
My smile grows wider, then I say, “Remember when you were dating Mom? Whenever you came over, I would hide in the same stupid spot.” A chuckle escapes me.
The corner of Dad’s mouth lifts. “Behind the curtains in the living room. Your feet would stick out.”
Again, I chuckle. “You’d make a big show of looking everywhere for me.” My fingers tighten around Dad’s. “I have so many special memories thanks to you.”
Dad’s chin quivers, and he clears his throat before he says, “And we’ll make many more.”
His cell phone starts to ring, and letting go of my hand, he digs the device out of his pocket, and walking out of the room, I hear him say, “Please give me good news… I don’t care how much it costs…Yes…Yes…”
I can’t hear more as his voice fades away, but minutes later, he returns with intense relief on his face. Leaning over me, he frames my face, and his eyes lock with mine.
“You’re getting a kidney tomorrow, sweetheart.”
Shock hits me hard, and I can only whisper, “What?”
“I’ve found someone who can help us. The surgery will be tomorrow.” Dad leans closer and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You’re going to be okay.”
The desperate hope I’ve been suppressing explodes in my chest, and instantly, a sob bursts over my lips. For a moment, it feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience, my skin tingling and my heart racing a mile a minute.
Tears sneak from Dad’s eyes, and his voice is hoarse as he says, “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart.”
I can only sob as I nod.
Where my life was over a second ago and I was waiting to die, I’m now filled with dizzying relief and hope.
I’m getting a kidney.
I won’t die.
Renzo
Checking the time, I frown when I see it’s six am.
Giulio went to a club last night and didn’t return. I figured he hooked up with some girl, but he’s always home by six, so he can shower and grab breakfast before we have to head out.
Picking up my phone from the kitchen counter, I dial his number while I take a sip of my coffee.
Instead of ringing, the call goes straight to voicemail, and I wait for the beep before I say, “You better be here in the next five minutes.”
I end the call and tuck the device into the breast pocket of my jacket. Dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit tailor-made for me, I’m ready to get to work. There’s a shitload that needs to be done.
I hate waiting, and Giulio knows this.
He never ignores my calls.
This isn’t like him.
My phone begins to vibrate, and thinking it’s Giulio, I feel relieved as I pull the device out. Instead of seeing Giulio’s name, it’s Elio’s.
Answering, I mutter, “Yes?”
“You have to come right now. I’m in an alley near the NewYork-Presbyterian hospital. I’ll send you the coordinates.”
A frown forms on my forehead as I ask, “Why? What happened?”
“Just come, Renzo!”
The worry I felt a second ago returns with the force of a nuclear weapon detonating in my chest. “Is it Giulio?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on my way!”
Dropping the cup of coffee in the sink, I run out of the kitchen and head for the elevator of my penthouse. During the ride down to the garage, I worry about every single possible thing that could’ve happened to Giulio.
Was he in a fight?
When the elevator doors slide open, I rush out, and Vincenzo and Fabrizio instantly stand on guard.
“What’s wrong?” Vincenzo asks.
“We need to get to Giulio,” I answer as I climb into the back of the Bentley.
Fabrizio slides in behind the steering wheel and asks, “Where is he?”
I forward the coordinates to Fabrizio’s phone. “It’s near the NewYork-Presbyterian hospital. Elio’s already there. Hurry.”
During the drive, I dial Elio’s number, and the moment he answers, I ask, “What happened? Is he okay?”
“I’ll tell you everything when you get here,” Elio says, and from the tension in his voice, I know it’s bad.
Giulio.
“Tell me now,” I order, my tone not leaving space for any argument.
“Antonio got a call from his cousin, who’s a nurse at the hospital. She recognized Giulio when she was roped into doing a shady job.”
When Elio pauses, I snap, “Is he alive?”
“Renzo,” he groans.
No.
An icy sensation rushes through me, and it’s followed by a ruthless pain tearing through my heart.
Elio clears his throat, then says, “You have to get here now.”
“We’re a couple of minutes out,” I say, my tone coated with the ice filling my chest.
He’s not dead.
He’s only twenty.
I’ve done everything to protect him.
Giulio’s not dead.
There’s no way.
My mind keeps reeling, and when we pull up to the entrance of the alley, I shove the Bentley’s door open, and the moment my feet touch the ground, I break out into a run.
“Where are you?” I growl into the phone.
“I see you,” he answers as he comes into view.
When I reach him, we rush past dumpsters lining the side of the alley until it opens up to an empty lot. An unmarked truck is surrounded by my men.
“It’s fucked up, Renzo,” Elio says. “Brace yourself.”
My eyes flick to my right-hand man. “For what?”
He shakes his head, his complexion gray, and it looks like he’s about to puke.
As we approach the open door at the side of the truck, he says, “Organ trafficking.”
Living in a world of crime, I know exactly what that means.
Destructive rage fills every inch of my being until it feels like my body is vibrating.
There’s no bracing myself, and when I climb the four steps and enter the truck, the air is knocked from my lungs.
The inside of the truck has been rigged into a mobile surgical unit.
Antonio, one of my men, is standing next to a woman who I assume is his cousin.
Two bodies of unknown men lie on the floor. Cooler boxes are set out on a table, and then my eyes lock on Guilio’s body.
Christ.
I’ve seen a lot of shit, but the sight makes my stomach churn, and I struggle not to puke.
There’s a cut running from the top of his chest all the way down to his abdomen.
“I tried to stitch him up,” the nurse says with a trembling voice.
My eyes snap to her, and she recoils, trying to hide behind her cousin.
“Tell me what happened,” I order, my tone low and deadly.
“I was approached by one of the doctors who asked if I wanted to make extra money. When he told me what the job would entail, I agreed because I knew the Cosa Nostra is against organ trafficking and would need all the information I could get. I also thought I’d be able to help the patient. I called Antonio, and he rushed over, but by the time I arrived, they already had Giulio on a bypass machine.” The words leave her in a rush, each one filled with fear. “They already removed his organs and were getting ready to transport them.” She covers her mouth with a trembling hand. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Torrisi. There was nothing I could do.”
“Everyone get out,” I growl as my eyes lock on Guilio again. “Now!”
Only when the door shuts behind the last person to leave do I move to the side of the operating table and look down at Giulio’s bruised face. His nose is broken, and his left eye’s swollen. There’s dried blood on the side of his head and purple marks around his neck.
I continue to inspect him, noticing the broken skin over his knuckles. There are no gunshots or stab wounds.
My eyes flick back to his face, and seeing the deathly paleness of his skin, the heartbreak slams so fucking hard into me, it forces me to take a step back.
Lifting a hand, I grip the back of my neck as I start to shake my head.
“No.” The single word is nothing more than a groan.
I move closer to the operating table he’s lying on, and leaning over my little brother, I frame his beaten-up face with trembling hands.
Feeling how cold he is, a breath explodes over my lips before a broken cry is ripped from my very soul.
Pressing my forehead to his, the unbearable pain of losing my brother makes it feel like my soul is hemorrhaging.
In my line of work, I’ve experienced loss before, but nothing like this.
The grim sorrow mixes with uncontrollable rage, driving me to the brink of insanity.
Straightening up, I’m barely able to control my breathing as I glance around the room again. Seeing the cooler boxes, I dart around the operating table to get to them and open one after the other, only to find organs.
They’re marked, indicating which organ is which and where they’re heading.
Seeing his heart, a hard tremor wracks through my body. It’s so fucking intense it feels like the fucking ground quakes beneath my feet.
I can’t think rationally, and picking up the container with Guilio’s heart, I sink to my ass and grip it to my chest.
Closing my eyes, I hear my breaths saw over my lips.
And then I hear Giulio’s laughter.
I see his infectious smile.
Every memory I have of him bombards me. I have no idea how much time passes before I come to my senses.
My sorrow blends with rage until it becomes a murderous need for revenge.
I’ll hunt every single person involved until rivers of blood fill the streets of New York.
