Sold to the Capo-Chapter 134: MY WIFE IS HERE

VINCENZO’S POV

For a split second, I felt numb like I couldn’t feel my body but I could see the blurry silhouettes of people around me.

Who were they?

The feeling of a thumping pain in my head made me wince but I couldn’t bring myself to verbally express that but I felt the warm hands of someone on me, feeling me about.

Why was someone touching me that way? I wanted to scream at him to stop, to leave me alone, to get me water but I couldn’t say a word, I was just there and fuck, I hated it.

Slowly, my senses came back to me and the first thing that hit me was the nauseating smell of antiseptic and blood followed by the sound of a beeping machine and a few muffled words ㅡin other words, the scents and sounds of a typical hospital.

My vision began to get clearer and I could make out a doctor hovering over me, his eyes fixed on me in worry.

"Don Enzo?" He leaned in closer, anticipation and anxiousness in his gaze like he was trying to confirm something.

I blinked lazily and took a deep shaky breath. How long was I out?

"Are you fine? Do you feel any pain in any part of your body right now? Do you know where you are? Who I am? Anything?" The man shot question after question and I just stared blankly at him, not registering any of his words.

I could hear him but I couldn’t comprehend the meaning of what he was saying.

When I didn’t answer him, he sighed and looked at someone behind him and when I looked, I noticed a short petite woman clothed in white, holding a tray of stuff. "He’s in shock" the man told her shaking his head. "Can’t tell his current state for now. Tell the master not to come in yet. Can’t afford a shock or a relapse" He ordered and the nurse nodded, leaving the room.

One less human.

My brain was foggy and I couldn’t remember clearly, I only knew I was in a hospital but I wasn’t even sure which one it was.

He didn’t speak to me anymore, just worked efficiently, checking wires, adjusting IV drips, scribbling on a chart.

The IV.

I turned my head sluggishly, my gaze following the tube connected to my arm. The slow drip of fluid ran through the line, disappearing into the vein beneath my skin.

Saline. Hydration. Likely pain medication.

A distant part of my mind recognized the setup—standard for post-trauma recovery.

What the hell happened to me?

I forced my fingers to move, flexing them slightly. The effort drained me, but at least I wasn’t completely paralyzed.

The doctor noticed. "Good," he murmured. "Motor response is returning."

I ignored him, testing the strength in my arms. Weak. But not useless.

Carefully, I shifted, pushing myself upright against the pillows. The movement sent a sharp jolt of pain through my ribs, and I hissed under my breath.

The doctor’s head snapped toward me. "Don Vincenzo, you need to be careful. Your body is still recovering from—"

"From what?" I rasped. My voice was hoarse, barely audible.

Ah shit. What happened?

"You don’t remember?" The man pulled away to look at me.

I leaned up, groaning in pain and I looked at him, my eyes narrowed at him. "No, I don’t remember"

He sharply exhaled and muttered a curse under his breath and I wondered why. "Do you know your father’s name?"

I raised a brow at that. What type of question was that?

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, my tone hoarse.

Fuck, I needed water. "I need water" I managed to mutter, my eyes bleary.

He nodded and almost instantly grabbed the glass of water on the bedside table before he handed it to me, still hovering beside me and for a moment, I considered telling him to fuck off and give me space but I was more interested in gulping down the contents of the glass.

"Do you remember who your father is?" He asked again, leaning closer and I gulped down the water before I handed it back to him, my arm shaking slightly as I stared at the door, my gaze fixed on the small glass window.

I don’t know what I was looking at but I just knew I was fixed on the door. The doctor was saying something but I drowned out his words to focus on the door.

The doctor must have gotten fed up because he exhaled sharply and finally caught my gaze.

"Do you want to see your father?" he asked, his voice filled with cautious hope.

I didn’t answer.

He watched me closely, his expression shifting between curiosity and impatience. "Vincenzo, do you remember your father’s name?" He asked again.

Silence.

My eyes remained fixed on the door.

The doctor took my silence as an answer. "Bring Master LaRosa in," he instructed a nurse.

A minute later, I heard footsteps approaching. A figure appeared in my periphery, standing at the foot of the bed. Even without looking at him properly, I could feel the weight of his stare.

"Vincenzo," Master LaRosa said, his tone gruff, trying to conceal any emotion. "Welcome back."

I lifted my gaze to him slowly, taking in the sight of the man who had raised me, shaped me. His face was unreadable, but his eyes searched mine, looking for something—recognition, maybe.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

I stared at him for a long moment before parting my lips. My throat burned, but I forced the words out.

"Where’s my wife?"

Silence.

The air in the room shifted instantly, a thick tension settling between us. The doctor looked at me, confused. Master LaRosa’s expression tightened.

"What?" the doctor asked cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure he heard me correctly.

I clenched my jaw, feeling the strain in my body as I repeated, "Where is my wife?"

Master LaRosa straightened, his fingers pressing together. "So you do remember everything. She’s busy. You’ll see her soon, but first, we need to make sure you’re alright."

Lies.

I could see it in his face, in the way he avoided my eyes for a fraction of a second. They were keeping something from me.

The doctor jumped in, checking the machines and scribbling notes. "You’ve been in a coma for almost a week," he said. "We need to assess your cognitive functions before we—"

"Do it fast" I cut him off.

I barely felt the doctor’s fingers press against my wrist, but I could hear the steady beep of the heart monitor tracking my pulse. My body felt sluggish, weak, like it wasn’t mine.

The doctor glanced at the monitor before shifting his attention back to me. "Okay, Don Vincenzo, I need to run a neurological exam to check your brain function." He pulled a penlight from his pocket and leaned in closer. "Follow the light with your eyes."

I blinked sluggishly as he shined the light into my left pupil, then my right. The brightness stung, but I did as he asked, my gaze trailing the small beam as he moved it from left to right, up and down.

"Pupillary response is normal," he murmured to the nurse, scribbling something on a chart.

He took a step back. "Now, can you squeeze my fingers?" He extended both hands toward me, his index and middle fingers pressing against my palms.

I tried.

It felt like lifting cement. My fingers twitched slightly, but that was it.

"Not much strength in his grip," the doctor noted, nodding to the nurse. "But there’s response."

He moved on, taking a small reflex hammer from his coat pocket. "I’m going to check your reflexes." He tapped the hammer lightly against my right knee. My leg jerked slightly. Then my left. The response was slower but present.

"Reflexes intact, but slightly delayed," he muttered.

He reached for my arm next, running a firm touch from my wrist to my elbow. "Can you feel this?"

I nodded slightly, my throat too dry to answer.

He pressed harder, then softer. "Does it feel the same on both sides?"

"Yeah," I croaked.

The doctor nodded in approval and moved to my feet, pressing against the soles. "Push against my hand."

I gritted my teeth, forcing whatever strength I had into the movement. My foot twitched, barely exerting any pressure.

"Motor function is compromised but not absent," he murmured, then looked back at me. "That’s good news, Don Vincenzo. With rest and physical therapy, you should regain full mobility."

I barely processed his words.

I was alive. My brain was functioning. My body was weak but responsive.

None of it mattered.

"Okay, now before you see your wife, do you fㅡ"

"I don’t care," I cut him off, my voice hoarse but firm.

Master LaRosa sighed. "Vincenzo—"

"Did she leave?" I asked. My fingers curled weakly around the thin hospital blanket, my chest tightening.

The doctor hesitated before responding. "Your wife knows you’re awake. She’ll be here soon."

I wanted to believe him. I needed to. But doubt was already clawing its way into my mind.

They ran more checks—light tests, reflex tests, monitoring my vitals. I barely answered their questions, barely responded to their orders. The only thing I wanted was to see Adriana. Nothing else mattered.

The doctor injected something into my IV. "This will help with the pain," he murmured, adjusting the dosage.

I leaned back against the pillows, exhaustion pulling at me. My body was too weak to fight the drowsiness settling in, but my mind refused to rest.

A dull ache throbbed behind my eyes. My fingers twitched. My breathing slowed.

The door creaked open.

My body tensed instantly.

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the effects of the medication, and my heart nearly stopped.

Adriana stood at the door.

Hesitant. Frozen.

Her eyes locked onto mine, uncertainty flickering in them.

Then, she spoke.

"...Hi."

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink.

My wife was here.