Then he’d heard her voice, sounding like the end of everything. Richard, I need you. Rico needs you.
He listened to the rest and the world did come to an end around him.
Rico. His son. Their son. In mortal danger.
Without preliminaries, she ended the call. The worst possible scenario lodged into his brain like an ax.
No. No. He’s fine. He will be fine. She’ll save him. He’ll save him. Antonio. He must get Antonio.
Barely coherent as he tore through traffic on his way to her, to his son...to his family, he called Antonio. He was Black Castle’s resident omnicapable medical genius, who’d saved each member of the brotherhood, except him, as he’d never been part of it, from certain death at least once. After Isabella herself, he’d trust no one else with his son’s life.
As per their pact, Antonio answered at once. In his mounting panic, everything gushed out of him. Antonio calmly estimated he’d be in New York with his fully equipped mobile hospital in an hour. But if the condition was critical, they must start without him.
Richard called Isabella back, including her in a conference call so she could give Antonio her diagnosis directly, as the expert, and the one who’d been at the accident scene.
But that had been no accident. He’d done this. Every time he came near her—them, he almost destroyed them.
In a fugue of murderous self-loathing he heard Isabella give Antonio a concise, comprehensive report of Rico’s injuries and her measures to save him, her voice a tenuous thread of control.
Isabella... This miracle fate had given him when he’d never deserved her, who’d given him another miracle, only for him to throw her—throw them away, time and again.
His mind fragmenting under the enormous weight of guilt and dread, he’d almost succumbed to despair when Antonio’s authoritative tone dragged him back to focus with the first ray of hope. His verdict.
“From his signs, your diagnosis of a subdural hematoma with a coup-counter-coup cerebral contusion is correct. From his vitals, your measures have stabilized him and stopped the brain swelling, which will resolve over time. But he will need surgery to drain the hematoma and cauterize the bleeders. It’s not as urgent as I feared, so I can be the one to perform it. Bring him to the tarmac. I’ll have the OR ready.”
The terrible tension in Isabella’s voice rose. “We’re already at the practice, and I wouldn’t move him again. Our OR is fully equipped. I’ll prep him and wait for you there.”
Antonio didn’t argue. “Fine. I’ll bring my special equipment. Continue to stabilize him until I arrive. Richard—send a helicopter to the jet.”
Emerging from the well of helplessness, latching on to something useful to do, Richard pledged, “I’ll get you to the OR ten minutes after you land.”
* * *
Once at the practice, Rose intercepted him, restraining him from stampeding in search of Rico and Isabella.
They were in the OR, and the most she could do was take him to the lounge where surgical trainees observed surgeries, if he promised not to distract Isabella or to agitate her, when she was miraculously holding it together.
Ready to peel his skin off to bolster Isabella, he gave Rose his word. Once they arrived, nothing could prepare him for what he saw through the soundproof glass. It would scar his psyche forever.
Rico, looking tinier than the strappy, big-for-his-age boy he adored, lying inert and ashen on the operating table. Isabella in full surgical garb, orchestrating the team swarming around him: Jeffrey, Marta, other nurses, an anesthesiologist.
Then Isabella raised her head. The one part of her visible, her eyes, collided with his. What he saw there before she turned back to their son almost brought him to his knees.
“He’ll be fine.” Rose caressed his rock-tense back, tugging him to sit on the viewing seats.
His eyes burned. “Will he?”
Assurance trembled on Rose’s lips. “She already saved him from the worst at the accident scene. The surgery is necessary, but I believe the life-threatening danger is over.”
A rough groan tore from him, and he dropped his head into his hands, unable to bear the agony of hope and dread.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
Rose’s deep affection made him raise his head and look down at Isabella once more. He wondered again how fate had found it fit to bless him with finding her. His only explanation was so he’d lose her, the worst punishment it could have dealt him. But that was what he deserved. Why had fate chosen to punish her by putting him in her path time and again?
“Look at her—functioning at top efficiency even though it’s her son on that table. I don’t think I would have held together in her place. But Isabella’s survived and conquered so much, she channeled that strength to take on the unimaginable responsibility of Rico’s life.”