Page 90 of The Mad Don
We drive.
I hold Giovanni’s hand the whole way, both of mine around it, his fingers slack and cold.
Why didn’t you tell me? I press his knuckles to my mouth. Why did you let me believe it? Why did you let me put two bullets in you, thinking you’d killed my brother? Why didn’t you tell me?
I ran the whole way. From the airport gate through the terminal back to Kirill, and I grabbed his sleeve and begged him to help me save Giovanni. Kirill said he wasn’t doing it for free, but he barked orders. We armed up, Christov and I, who I’d dragged into this and felt sick about, and we raced out behind Kirill’s men.
And we’d arrived too late to stop the button.
“Wake up,” I tell Giovanni in the car. My voice is breaking. “Wake up and tell me you love me properly to my face! Wake up and tell me every twisted game you played, all of it, the whole thing, so I can hate you for it as you deserve. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to die and leave me only the letter. Wake up.”
They take him through the doors into the emergency room, and I’m stopped at the line, and the doors swing shut in my face.
I pace. Kirill stands against the wall, arms crossed. Christov leans beside him, his eyes on me.
The doctor comes out after a long time. He pulls his mask down.
“He was in a bad way,” he says. “The wounds were already infected before today. On top of that, the blast, and there are old fractures — he’d been badly beaten over the last several days, both hands, ribs.” He hesitates. “We’re doing everything, but I have to be honest with you. If he survives this, he may not be the same man you knew.”
My heart drops all the way through the floor.
I failed. I failed Lucia, who handed me her brother and asked me to keep him alive. I failed myself. I failed him.
Christov hugs me, and I press my face into his shoulder. Kirill watches me, and he doesn’t say anything.
* * *
Days pass.
Giovanni is in the hospital bed, wired to machines that breathe and beep for him. I sit beside him and talk to him through my tears, saying the things I’d never say if his eyes were open.
The door opens. Max comes in with flowers.
I get up and go to him and put my arms around him before I’ve decided to.
“Kirill sent me to cheer you up,” he says, holding me. “He said you’ve been here for days.” He looks past me at the bed. “You want to tell me what all this is?”
“It’s such a long story.”
“Make it short.”
I look at Giovanni on the bed.
“I loved him,” I say. “And I hurt him.”
Max breathes out slowly. “That happens to the best of us.”
“No. I did this. I shot him. If he’d been strong enough, he would’ve —” I can’t finish it.
“Nobody’s perfect at love.” Max’s voice is gentle. “What makes it worth anything is the hoping. You let yourself see a future, even when it’s only a fantasy, even when it’s just some happily-ever-after that might never come. That’s the beautiful part. We see it anyway.” He looks at me. “So, what’s the future, Yana?”
I close my eyes.
And I see it. Him and me on a bed, the light low, his mouth on mine — no guns, no games, no enemies. Just that.
“I want a future,” I say. “With him.”
“Then dare to hope.”
