Turning Point||Book 2

35: Romano.

"Give me a second to change my shirt," I told Renata, racing to my room just as the paramedics arrived. Despite being soaking wet and freezing from dread, with my knees threatening to buckle under me, I managed to swiftly pick out a different outfit.

Groomed to never step out of my room looking like a thorn bush ready to prick through the rough patches of the day, I really had always taken that into account while sprucing up for decades. I had never come out looking like, not a thorn brush now, but rather like a tumbleweed rolling through a desert of chaos; however, in this moment, it was a different story.

My dress shirt lacked a tie or cufflinks, and it wasn't until I settled into the passenger's seat of my car, being driven out of the compound, that I managed to secure the buttons and my belt.

The paramedic truck tore through the city streets, its sirens blazing, with us trailing behind toward the hospital.

Max had checked Google Maps earlier. "Ten minutes, without traffic," he had reassured me alone.

Inching closer to our destination, each passing minute felt like a lifetime, my fingers tightly crossed in silent prayer.

Fourteen agonizing minutes later, the hospital loomed into view. We pulled up to the emergency entrance, with a collective sigh of relief, and the paramedics swiftly unloading Xenia's limp form from the back of the truck.

God, seeing her like that, so lifeless, brought my world to a halt. I froze, unable to move, as I looked at the mask connected to her mouth and to an oxygen tank. Her fiery hair was the only bright thing about her otherwise vacant demeanor, and for a fleeting moment, it reminded me of Joanna. Her empty eyes and lack of response felt like a torment I couldn't bear. There was no greater hell than living in a world where Xenia couldn't respond to me.

The question of why she had been drinking at an excessive degree chimed in my mind without end as I paced, sat, and paced again in the uncomfortably small corridor. Too small for my rioting emotions.

Max sat at the opposite end, facing me. He appeared visibly disturbed, not because Xenia was in the emergency department and might not make it, but because my restless pacing seemed to be getting on everyone's nerves, my footsteps echoing from end to end of the corridor.

After a long and anxious wait, two doctors finally emerged from the door of the emergency department. One of them approached me while the other disappeared from sight, taking the long hallway down.

Though the demeanor of the doctor in front of me seemed detached, his words depicted the seriousness of the matter. With a saddened spirit, I listened as he explained Xenia's critical condition—alcohol poisoning, submersion injuries, respiratory complications, infection risk.

"Cazzo!" I was unable to hold myself from cussing at the endless list. I inched closer to the imbecile and couldn't control the next words that spilled. "Cut the medical gibberish, Doc. Is the girl going to pull through or what?"

In a moment of brutal honesty, his reply, which was more like an advice, cut through my last sangfroid like a needle through silk. "At this point, it's too early to say for sure. But trust me, our team knows what they're doing. I advise you to return home and maintain hope through prayer."

I felt utterly helpless, so much so that I had the urge to grab him by the shirt, despite us being nearly the same height. But Max intervened, stepping in before I could act.

"Is there any chance of survival?" He asked on my behalf, still standing between us to shield the doctor.

The doctor's gaze met mine as he responded to Max. "I understand your concerns. While I can't make any guarantees, we're doing everything we can to optimize the chances of survival."