Free Strange Bedfellows: My Mafioso Boyfriend, Part 4 by Eliza Stout

Strange Bedfellows: My Mafioso Boyfriend, Part 4
    by Eliza Stout
    Published by Eliza Stout
    Copyright 2013 Eliza Stout. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected
     under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint
     or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
     in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
     or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission
     from the author.
     
    This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are
     of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
     actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
     
    Strange Bedfellows: My Mafioso Boyfriend, Part 4
    The first thing I had done upon waking up in the morning was feel around on my pillow,
     patting it and noticing that it felt damp. It took me a few moments before I was fully
     back in my senses and remembered that I had cried myself to sleep the night before.
     So much so, it would seem, that the tears hadn’t even completely dried by morning.
     My boyfriend Tony had been shot the night before, and I was an unfortunate witness
     to the entire bloody scene. It was like something out of a mob movie; like something
     out of a nightmare as well. I had known that what Tony did for a living was dangerous
     – that went without saying – but never in my wildest dreams did I expect that something
     like this would happen. It was simply devastating. The worst part of it all was that
     for some reason his friends would not even let me see him at the hospital. They were
     nice enough guys and they had always treated me with kindness and respect, but they
     had rebuffed my every attempt at trying to get up to his hospital room with a cold
     stoicism that made me wonder if I really knew them at all.
    It was difficult getting on with my morning routine with all that had happened in
     mind, but I set to it nonetheless. I made breakfast. I fed Tom and changed his litter.
     I picked up my trash from the day before. The routine stuff was tough, but mechanical
     enough that I could put myself on autopilot anyway. When I had run out of chores,
     however, I tried to get on with a painting that I had left off in the middle of, only
     to find that I couldn’t concentrate on it at all. As I was putting away my brushes
     in disgust, my cell phone began to ring and vibrate from the night stand by my bed.
     I slowly made my way across the room and answered it.
    “Hello?” I said, my voice hauntingly weary.
    “Tara, it’s Sal. Are you doing alright? I told you I would call and check on you.”
    “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”
    “Alright. Good. I just left the hospital a few minutes ago. Tony’s good. He’s stable.
     The doctors say he’ll be alright.”
    “So I can see him?”
    “Erm… no.”
    “What do you mean no? You said he’s doing better. Why can’t I see him?”
    “You just can’t. I already told you this. You can see him when he gets out.”
    I hung up the phone and threw it across the room. That was bullshit. He had told me
     that he loved me and I was starting to think that I felt the same way about him. I
     was going to see him and no stupid mobster wanna-be lug was going to keep me from
     doing that. I quickly got dressed and grabbed my purse and then set out immediately
     towards the hospital.
    It wasn’t hard to find him once I was there. I entered through a large waiting room
     where there were a few bored looking people buried in their phones scattered about,
     but none of Tony’s friends from the family. I was worried that one of them would spot
     me coming in and try to stop like they had the night before, but it was clear that
     fear was unfounded. I came up to the receptionist at the front desk and politely requested
     the room number for a Mr. Anthony