chapter twenty-three.

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D A V I N A

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D A V I N A

It has been a few days since the little riot, and I'm terrified, terrified being an understatement.

The doctors said that Rafael was supposed to wake up a few hours after the surgery, but he hasn't. He's still in a deep coma, and it's absolutely terrifying. He hasn't made any progress over the last few days, and the doctors are starting to loose hope.

"This is your fucking job, bring my brother back or I swear to mother fucking god, I'll kill each and every one of you with my bare fucking hands." I yell, pointing a finger at the head doctor. She gulps, and quickly nods her head before making her way to Rafael. "Yelling at the doctors won't do shit, Romano." Lorenzo's voice speaks out.

"You don't know shit." I growl, turning around to face him.

"I do know that fucking screaming at a doctor doesn't do shit. Go take a shower and get a good nights sleep, I'll stay here with your brother." He sighs, massaging the bridge of his stupid fucking nose. "I can't leave Raf's side, you know that." I sigh, defeatedly.

"Remember when my Mom was in the hospital bed, and you took care of her for me? This is my way of paying you back, now why don't you go upstairs and take a nap." I sigh, and nod.

I make my way to Dad's room before I make my way up the stairs to the third floor. I stare down at his corpse, with nothing but pure hatred.

"You're the reason why Rafael is in that hospital bed, and it's taking everything in me," I take a deep breath, "To not fucking pull the plug on you, and leave you suffering. But hey? Who's to stop me. Because I know Mom isn't, everyone around you fucking hates your guts. Wake up from your little fucking coma, and I'll end you myself. Die, you worthless piece of shit."

I take a big deep breath, and storm out the room.

Fuck sleeping.

I make my way to the gym, stripping out of my shirt, leaving me in a sports bra. My shorts clinging to my ass and thighs as support. And right there and then, I punch the absolute hell out of the punching bag. After 10 minutes, I lay on the floor with bloody, bruised knuckles. The bag not attached to the ceiling, and bits of grain pouring out.

I see a figure walking towards me, and I turn my head.

I see Mom in a white robe, with her brown hair tied up in a loose bun.

She sighs, and sits beside me.

"Hey." She whispers.

I ignore her, and turn my head to face the ceiling.

"I am so sorry, Davina." She says, before breaking into sobs.

"The fuck are you sorry for?" I grumble, looking at her in confusion.

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