Betrothed To The Mafia Lord novel Chapter 45

Sofia’s POV

I puffed out a quiet breath of air as I slowly and carefully massaged my injured arm with an ointment given to me at the hospital. The pain wasn’t as intense as it was on the first and second day after I had sustained the injury, but nevertheless, it still sent me a little jolt of pain through the veins around the spot where my bone had shifted. I dug my index finger into the ointment and smeared the wetness which had a mild smell that reminded me of a certain Vaseline which I had made use of a lot while growing up.

I massaged the injury some more until the whole part of my arm was glistening and shining due to the almost slippery substance of the ointment. I lifted my arm up and stared at the spot below my elbow, it didn’t look swollen the way it did on the first, second and even third day, which I was extremely grateful for. I tried stretching the arm out and went a couple of milie before a sharp jolt of pain flew into the socket connecting my arm to the sockets of my shoulders.

I winced and mouthed a quiet cry as I carefully cradled my arm to myself once again and slightly massaged the part of my arm that had been stressed when I had stretched my arm out, moments ago. Maybe I wasn’t already completely healed like I had been starting to convince myself, since the start of today when I had waken up with only a little pain throbbing in the spot above my elbow.

I shifted on my spot on the bed and reached forward for my sling which I had discarded, when I had started the daily ritual on my arm. Wrapping the sling around my arm and bucking it together as firmly as they’d have done in the hospital – be I knew damn well that it was for my own good– before making sure it was sling firmly around my neck.

I had never had my arm broken or sprained throughout my whole life, so I had no idea how a sling feels on Someone’s arm, until after I had managed to stupidly fall off the bed and sprain my arm. I could remember when my younger and only brother, Angelo had managed to break his arm while practicing high jump in the garden, with me watching him at the very moment.

It had all happened in slow motion, like a really slow dream. One moment I was laughing along with him and cheering him on as his jumps got more perfect – the most perfect he had ever gotten to land, since the moment he started practicing the whole thing— and the next, he was jumping and fall down the complete wrong way, his arm and neck bending in a really awkward position. I had been really, really scared then because he went into unconsciousness after that dreadful thing happened and I stared at him with terror swimming in my eyes and veins when he didn’t move from his awkward looking position and instead remained in that same position, without a sound leaving his mouth. To think that I had winced after he had landed down in a bad way, thinking it was just one of those tiny slip offs, not knowing it was something extremely serious.

After he still didn’t move from his position a few seconds later, I screamed loudly and went to get the guards who were already coming straight into the garden before I could take five more steps out of the garden in order to go get them.

I had been eleven years old when that dreadful incident, and Angelo had been eight years old– an extremely rough and reckless eight years old boy.

Our two bodyguards had l checked if he was still breathing, and after confirming, the first thing they did was to call my father– to my horror. I was shocked because they hadn’t bothered to even move him into a better position or try to revive him, all they did was to check his pulse and once they were satisfied with what they saw, a call was placed to my father immediately.

I didn’t listen in to the conversation that went down between one of the two guards and my father, all I did was to stand a few feet away from an unconscious Angelo – on the command of the second guard who had ordered me to give Angelo space and not jolt him for his own good. Tears were falling out my eyes and over my cheeks at the moment because I had been a lot scared, coupled with the fact that I was asked to not touch Angelo and give him space by the guard who looked genuinely worried – a look which was extremely rare to cross their faces.

Once the guard was done discussing with my father, they placed a call on an ambulance and we all waited for it to arrive. The guard who had placed the call to the ambulance carefully moved Angelo’s until it wasn’t in a really awkward looking position like the way it had been in for a while then.

The ambulance finally arrived and we all left for the hospital with one of the guards sitting in the ambulance with an unconscious Angelo and I while the other one followed us in one of my father’s cars which was used to drive Angelo and I around. While we were in the ambulance, I watched as they moved Angelo carefully on the bed and inserted a needle into the vein on his right arm before connecting it into a drip bag and I watched, with tears still running quietly down my cheeks as the whitish liquid substance in the drip bag slowly slid down the tiny nose, and into his veins, through the aid of the needle.

Angelo finally came back into a conscious state after some minutes and I felt a deep wave of relief flood into my whole body immediately. The nurse tending to Angelo had glanced up at me at that moment and given me a reassuring smile– a smile which I badly wanted to believe in at all cost, at that very moment.

We finally arrived at the hospital and Angelo got wheeled out of the ambulance carefully, and into the hospital while I stayed behind with the guard who had accompanied us at the back of the ambulance, in the hallway in the premises of the hospital.

I wasn’t completely hoping on my mother to show up in the hospital, but a part of my heart had wished she could show up looking flustered and heartbroken or like someone who cared about her young son undergoing an arm surgery, but she never showed up– as well as our father, to my complete disappointment.

I haven’t been completely hoping for them to show up, but a part of my mind had been wishing they had shown up or acted like they cared a little by showing up and offering emotional conformity at that very moment at least, but none of them showed up. I could still understand the fact that my father was a busy man and wouldn’t be able to squeeze out time to come see his dumb son at the hospital, but I couldn’t quite understand my mother’s own.