When I woke again, it was deep into the night. The confinement room that held me was freezing.
My wrist hung at an unnatural angle, limp and useless. The pain was unbearable.
No one came to treat me.
I remembered years ago when Vito took a bad hit during a shootout. I stayed at his bedside for three days and nights without sleep, changing his bandages myself and helping him drink water.
Back then, he held my hand and said weakly, "Gia, I'm lucky to have you."
Now, he'd discarded me for another woman.
The agony from my broken wrist and the throbbing in my temple felt like they were eating me alive. For two full days and nights, I lay curled on the cold floor, sweat soaking through my clothes over and over.
Fever clouded my mind, but the searing pain kept dragging me back to consciousness. I couldn't even close my eyes.
On the third day, the heavy door finally opened. It wasn't him, just a doctor with a medical bag. This was Vito's version of mercy.
The man checked my wrist with an expressionless face, then set the bone with brutal efficiency. A sickening crack accompanied the wave of pain that nearly knocked me unconscious.
I bit down hard on my lip to keep from screaming. The taste of blood filled my mouth.
The doctor studied me coldly. "You waited too long. The bone already started healing incorrectly. Even with it set properly now, the nerve damage is permanent."
The diagnosis hit me hard. My voice came out hoarse. "What does that mean?"
"It means this hand is basically useless now." He wrapped the cast around my wrist with practiced movements.
"You won't be able to lift anything heavy or do delicate work. When the weather changes, the pain will keep you up at night."
Each word landed like a blow. My hand was ruined?
I stared down at my wrist encased in plaster, my vision spinning. I'd used this hand to save Vito's life. I'd used it to cool his fever through endless nights, wiping down his body when he burned up.
Now, it was destroyed because of his cruelty and indifference.
The doctor packed up his supplies. Before leaving, he delivered one final message. "Madre, the Don wanted me to tell you this is what happens when you don't listen."
The door closed. I was alone again. I stared at the gray sky outside the window and realized I couldn't feel any pain anymore.
Vito came back the next evening, reeking of alcohol as he looked down at me from his full height. "Ready to admit you were wrong?"
I didn't answer. My silence enraged him. In his eyes, my lifeless state was just me pushing my luck with whatever affection he had left.
"Gia, enough." His voice turned to ice, patience clearly gone.
I finally lifted my head and raised my bandaged hand slightly, my voice raw. "Enough?"
He let out a cold laugh. "You've taken bullets before and dug them out yourself without flinching. Now you're being dramatic over a broken wrist?
"Don't forget that everything you have, I gave you. When I get tired of you, I can take it all back."
I looked at his furious face and suddenly laughed. He'd forgotten. Without me, he would've been just another corpse floating in the harbor.
"Vito, have you forgotten who pulled you out of hell in the first place?"
His body went rigid.
I said each word deliberately. "It was me. I gave you a second chance. I put you where you are today.
"Everything you have, I gave you."
