I Lost My Legs Saving the Don

I went to surprise my fiancé, Dante Rossi, in my wheelchair. But just as I reached his door, my phone rang. The caller was me, ten years in the future. "Don't go in. He's in there with another woman." "No way." She read back the text I had just typed and deleted. "If I could still dance, would you come home earlier?" My hand jerked. I hadn't sent those words to anyone. I lost my legs saving him, and I would never dance ballet again. The day of my amputation, Dante, a Boston mafia Don, knelt beside my hospital bed in tears and begged me to marry him. He swore that whenever I was in pain, he would be right there with me. He loves me. How could he change? But the woman on the phone started to cry. "Last night, I fell in the bathroom. When I called him, all he said was, 'Erin, how much longer are you going to make me feel guilty about your legs?'" I gripped the armrest. "And then what?" "I apologized. I begged him not to be mad." I stared at the empty fabric hanging where my legs used to be. I'm the one who fell. I'm the one who got hurt. So why am I the one saying sorry? Just then, Dante texted me, "Still busy. Be good and don't wait up." Through the glass wall of the shooting range, I watched him put his phone away. Then he leaned down and kissed the woman in his arms. She turned her head, and I forgot how to breathe. How can it be her? Chapter 1 Isabella Vitale. We used to dance in the same ballet company. "I'm going in to ask him." I pushed my chair forward, but the wheels caught on the threshold. "I already did," the woman on the phone sobbed, stopping me. "He came home with me, but the very next day, he went straight back to her. After that, I stayed up night after night trying to find out where he was. I even begged him to stay because of what I'd sacrificed for him. The more fed up he got, the more scared I was to let go." "How could you put up with it for ten years?" "I never meant to put up with it for ten years. I just kept telling myself I'd give him one more chance." I pressed a hand over my mouth. Tears slipped between my fingers. The call dropped, but I kept holding the phone, staring at the two of them on the other side of the glass. Five years ago, I joined the company after an open audition. Isabella's father, Paolo Vitale, was the company's biggest donor. Whatever role she wanted, nobody dared fight her for it. But that season, the choreographer cast me instead. On the night of the show, she told me my headpiece was in the wrong place and asked me to get it from the dressing room. The second I stepped inside, the door locked behind me. "We've got a VIP coming tonight, and my father's already taken care of everything. Why don't you sit this one out?" I pounded on the door and begged her to unlock it. I had rehearsed that solo for three solid months. My mother had traveled six hours just to watch me. But Isabella never looked back. Her footsteps quickly faded. I pounded on the door until my fingernails started to tear away. Then I finally heard someone outside calling my name. It was Dante Rossi, the Don who ran the Rossi family in Boston. He was also the guest of honor that night. At an earlier company reception, he had promised to come see my solo. When someone else walked onstage in my place, he asked the staff what had happened. They told him I had refused to go on at the last minute. He didn't buy it. He came backstage looking for me and heard me pounding on the door. When it swung open, my legs gave out. He caught me. The moment he saw my bloody hands, he sent for Isabella. She was still wearing the costume that should have been mine. She swore it was only a joke. Dante tossed the key at her feet. "A joke? Then how about you go sit in there for a while?" She burst into tears and tried to use her father's name to get out of it. The two families had done business together for years. She had never imagined Dante would humiliate her in front of everyone. Dante didn't budge. He wouldn't let her leave until she apologized to me. On her way out, she reached for his sleeve. He simply stepped aside. By then the show was over. My mother was waiting for me in the empty theater. The moment I saw her, I broke down. I told her all those months of practice had been for nothing. Once again, Dante came to my rescue. He asked the theater manager to keep the lighting crew and the musicians from going home. Then he calmed me down, had me put my costume back on, and sent me back out onstage. That night, the only people in the audience were my mother and Dante. Still, I danced with more heart than I ever had. At the curtain call, he stood up and applauded. For the first time, I felt like someone truly appreciated all the hard work I'd put in, even when no one was watching. After that, he asked me to dinner. I told him rehearsals ran too late. So he waited until the theater closed and took me for pasta at the little place on the corner that was still open. Little by little, I started looking for his car after every show. Eventually, I agreed to be his girlfriend. During our first three years together, he came to most of my shows. He even set aside a dance studio for me at the Rossi estate. I taught him to dance. He was always off the beat, and he would wrap his arms around me and refuse to let go. "Teach me. Then I'll only ever dance with you." Two years ago, the Rossi family clashed with another family over business at the docks. One night, just as a family dinner was breaking up, the other side's men attacked the estate. Bodyguards burst in to get Dante out through a side door. I followed him out. We had just reached the front porch when an explosion went off outside the estate walls, and the stone beam above us cracked. Dante had turned back to call to one of the Rossi elders who had fallen behind. He didn't see it. I shoved him toward the steps with everything I had. I didn't have time to get out of the way myself. The beam came down and pinned both my legs. The pain knocked me out. When I woke up, I reached down and felt nothing but the empty fabric of my pants. Both legs were gone below the knee. The doctor said the crush injuries had been too severe. Surgery had saved my life, but not my legs. Sobbing, I begged Dante to find other doctors. He held me, and he couldn't stop crying either. That same day, he brought the Rossi elders to my hospital room and proposed to me in front of them. He promised to stay by my side for the rest of my life. He would be my legs, he said, and take me anywhere I wanted to go. At first, he really did stay by my side. He held my hand while they changed my dressings. He got up at night at the slightest sound. When he heard I could be fitted for prosthetics, he was even more eager to book the appointment than I was. But the training didn't go well. My residual limbs ached constantly, and the prosthetics rubbed my skin raw. I fell a few times, and I grew more and more afraid to stand. He would lift me back into my wheelchair and tell me it was okay to stop. From now on, he said, he would take care of me. I believed him. I quit training and moved into the estate. Six months ago, my old dance partner, Mara Keller, urged me to go to Switzerland and have my prosthetics and rehab plan reassessed. Dante said he couldn't stand to watch me suffer through it, so I stayed. But for the past three months, he'd been coming home later and later. When the pain woke me and I called for him, the first thing he asked was whether I'd taken my meds. When I wanted him to sit with me for a while, he said he had things to do in the morning and called the caregiver instead. I thought I was dragging him down. I hadn't even dared to send that one line asking him to come home earlier. Now, through the glass door, I watched Isabella take his hand and put it on her waist. He looked down at her, smiling, and let her lean into his arms. So he hadn't forgotten how to make a woman feel loved. I just wasn't that woman anymore. Chapter 2 Luca Ferraro, Dante's assistant, hurried after me and asked if I wanted him to get Dante. "No." I wheeled myself away, afraid that if I watched them any longer, I'd go inside and beg Dante to come home with me. That night, I called Mara and asked her to check with the rehab center for me again. Then I sat in the bedroom and waited for Dante. He came home well after midnight and crouched down to tuck the blanket around me. "Hurting again?" He could still be so gentle with me. I grabbed his hand, and the tears came all at once. "I saw you kiss Isabella. Dante, you know what she did to me." He stiffened and pulled his hand free. "That was years ago. She's been getting threatening letters lately. Her father asked me to keep an eye on her." "Does looking out for her mean kissing her?" "Erin, don't make it sound so ugly." "So you can kiss her, but I'm not allowed to talk about it?" He shot to his feet and tossed his jacket onto the couch. "Every time I come home, it's the same thing. Are you hurting? Have you taken your meds? And God forbid I'm a little late, because you'll be waiting to interrogate me. I'm tired too, Erin!" My first instinct was to apologize. The words were right there, but I swallowed them. "Dante, you used to hate seeing me hurt. How could you do this to me? And with Isabella, of all people?" He didn't answer. He turned and walked off to his study. I lay awake all night, crying until my pillow was soaked. I still had a hospital appointment the next day. The rehabilitation specialist I'd booked well in advance was only in Boston for the day. I needed him to assess my injuries so I could take his report to Switzerland. The next morning, Dante came to collect my medical records. "Come on. I'll go with you." I didn't bring up last night's fight. I just tucked some old performance photos into the folder. I cared more about finding out whether I could ever dance again with prosthetic legs than getting an apology from Dante. The rear door of the armored van had just opened for the wheelchair lift when Isabella called. She said a strange car had been parked outside her apartment for a long time. Dante immediately ordered Luca to drive over and pick her up. I grabbed Dante's hand. "My appointment's at ten. You promised you'd come with me." "She could be in danger. I'll get you another car." "Can't you at least wait until my ride gets here? I can't get into another car on my own." He looked down at my hand holding his. "Are you trying to remind me again that you lost your legs for me?" "I'm talking about the car." "I'll handle it. Stop trying to guilt me into staying, Erin. I'm exhausted." Tired. Again. I let go of his hand. He climbed into the van and left without arranging another ride for me. My caregiver managed to arrange a ride through the hospital, but I arrived 40 minutes late. I completed the tests, only to find that the specialist had already left. I took out one of my old performance photos and asked a nurse to pass it along with my test results. My hand trembled, and the photo slipped to the floor. Someone picked it up, glanced at it, then looked at me in my wheelchair. "Is this you?" I nodded and placed the photo facedown on my lap, unable to bring myself to look at it again. Luca came to pick me up. He told me the suspicious car outside Isabella's apartment belonged to a repairman. Even so, Dante had insisted on bringing her back to the estate. When I entered the living room, Dante was crouching beside the couch, holding Isabella's ankle as he urged the family doctor to examine it more closely. "My new shoes rubbed a little, that's all." She laughed and drew her foot back. "I'm dancing Giselle next week. A Band-Aid will do." "You're a dancer. We can't take chances with your feet." Dante wouldn't let her put her foot down. There was a small red spot on her heel. The skin wasn't even broken. All I'd done was ask him to wait for one car, and he'd made it sound like I was calling in a debt. He finally noticed me. "How'd the checkup go?" "I didn't get to see the doctor. I was late." "I'll book you another one." He started to get up, but the second Isabella's foot moved, he caught it again. "Keep it off the floor." I couldn't stop myself. "What, are you going to carry her up the stairs too?" Isabella looked at me. "You've danced this role too. You know better than anyone how much your feet matter. Once the show's over, I'll be fine. Please don't be mad." "Do you really have to rub it in?" "I was the one who sent the van to get her. Don't take your anger out on Isabella," Dante cut in. I clutched my medical file. "Then look at me. I just want to stand up again. I'm not trying to torture you. Dante, do I have to beg you for that too?" He fell silent for a moment before moving behind my wheelchair, offering to take me back to my room. I gripped the wheels to stop him from pushing me and asked my caregiver to take me instead. But Walter, the butler, stopped me by the elevator. "Ms. Walsh, we're converting your dance studio into a guest room. There are some things we need you to sort through. Would you like to keep them or have them thrown out?" Chapter 3 By the time I got upstairs, Isabella had already taken the stairs and changed into slippers. She was walking just fine on the same foot Dante had insisted she keep off the floor only minutes ago. Two workers were carrying a mirror out of my studio. I stopped them at the door and demanded they put it down. That's when I noticed half the room had already been cleared out. The barre had been removed, and my performance photos and ballet shoes were piled into cardboard boxes. "Who gave you permission to touch my things?" One of the workers said Dante had ordered them to prepare the room for Isabella that night. Isabella stood by the window, directing them where to put the bed. She'd also asked them to leave the mirror because she still needed it for her daily practice. I was shaking with anger. "There are so many guest rooms. Why does it have to be this one?" "Dante says this room is safe. I'm only staying a few days." She came over and picked up a ballet shoe lying beside a box. "You never could stand sharing the barre with anyone. Still so possessive, I see." I knocked her hand away. "Don't touch that!" She staggered back and immediately looked past me, her eyes filling with tears. "I was only trying to help you pack." Dante came up behind us. I grabbed his hand and begged him to stop the workers. Instead, he gripped the handles of my wheelchair and tried to move me away from the doorway. "We don't have time to install extra security in another guest room. She'll stay here for now." For two years, only our bedroom and my dance studio had bulletproof windows. Back then, Dante had promised I could practice there safely once I was ready to dance with prosthetics. Now he wanted me to hand it over. I gripped the doorframe. "Then give her your bedroom. You're not taking my studio." On nights I couldn't sleep, I often came in here and played the music I used to rehearse to. I couldn't dance anymore, but at least I could look at those photos and remember what I looked like up on stage. I've already lost my legs. Now I have to give up my studio for her too? Isabella tugged at his sleeve. "Forget it. I'll go to a hotel. Erin's already like this. I shouldn't upset her." "What's that supposed to mean?" "She's just trying to be nice." Dante stepped in front of Isabella. "You can't even stand on your own. What do you need a dance studio for? Do you expect everyone to waste their time protecting a room you can't even use?" My grip on the doorframe loosened. He froze too. After a moment, he bent down to reach for me. "That's not what I meant." "Then what did you mean?" I stared at him. "How did I lose my legs?" He said my name, but I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Look me in the eye and say it! When I saved you, I was worried about rehearsals the next day. I was terrified of twisting an ankle. And then I lost both my feet! Did I ever blame you for that? How could you use my injuries against me just to kick me out, Dante?" My voice kept rising, and the tears wouldn't stop. He crouched down to hold me, but I shoved him away, snatched a photo of us from the box, and ripped it in half, separating his image from mine. We'd taken it during the first tour he accompanied me on. I was wearing my tutu, and he was holding a bouquet, grinning even wider than I was. He lunged for it. "Don't tear it!" "Oh, so now you care?" I threw his half at his feet and pointed at the door. "Take her and get out. I'll pack my own things. I don't need you two standing here watching." Only then did he order the workers to stop. Once the door shut, I clutched my half of the photo and broke down sobbing, doubled over in my wheelchair. That evening, Mara received my test results and told me the doctor had agreed to treat me. She'd also arranged a place for me to stay. But she warned me not to expect to walk again right away. I'd need treatment for my old injuries, along with a fresh assessment of my prosthetics and rehabilitation plan. "I know. I'm going." I booked a one-way ticket for two days later. Just as I finished, Dante knocked on my door. He promised to restore my dance studio as soon as Isabella moved out. I didn't open the door. He tried again. "There's a family dinner tomorrow night. Sit next to me. I'll stay right beside you. I won't go anywhere." I snapped a photo of the studio, slipped my half of our torn picture into my medical folder, and agreed to go. I'll treat this dinner as my goodbye. Chapter 4 Before dinner, Dante fastened my earrings for me and smiled at me in the mirror. "You look beautiful tonight. Still mad?" I glanced at the same hands that had tried to wheel me out of my studio yesterday. "After tonight, I'll be fine." Thinking he'd made things right, he kissed the top of my head. But when we entered the dining room, Isabella was already sitting to his right, wearing his jacket over her shoulders. "Her father couldn't make it, so I'm keeping an eye on her. I'll come sit with you in a bit." He had a servant wheel me to a spot diagonally across the table from him. I didn't remind him of what he'd promised the night before. I just ate quietly. Someone raised a glass and toasted me for saving Dante's life, saying I'd chosen a man worth saving. Dante smiled and raised his glass. I lost my appetite. When the music started, one of the guests asked Isabella to dance. She declined, saying her foot had only just healed and she didn't feel comfortable dancing with someone she barely knew. Then she turned to Dante and held out her hand. "Dance with me, just once?" He glanced at me. Then he stood up anyway. As Isabella passed me, she bent down and spoke so only I could hear. "Back then he wouldn't even touch me. Remember?" She glanced at my empty skirt and smiled. "And now, you can't take him back from me." I watched her step onto the dance floor and place her hand on Dante's shoulder. He guided her through a turn, using the very steps I'd taught him. Her calves flashed beneath her swirling skirt. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through the feet I no longer had. Instinctively, I reached down to rub them, only to feel the empty fabric of my dress. I pulled my hands back, clenched them together, and waited until he came back for his drink. "What's the problem now?" he asked. I looked up. "She said I'll never get you back." Dante frowned. "She just likes to say things like that. Ignore her." "That's not what you said back when she was bullying me." "She's already apologized. You can't keep holding a grudge forever. Erin, don't make a scene in front of our families." I stared at him, speechless. He was the one who'd forced Isabella to apologize to me all those years ago. Yet somehow, I was the one in the wrong now. "I'll only ever dance with you." His words from back then came back to me. But just now, he'd been holding her in his arms. When I didn't say anything, Dante assumed I had let it go. He set down his glass and bent to pick me up. "I'm sorry I couldn't spend much time with you tonight. I'll make it up to you tomorrow. Come on, let me carry you upstairs." I pushed his hands away, pulled off my engagement ring, and dropped it into his wineglass. The diamond clinked against the bottom of the glass. An elder seated beside me turned at the sound. He'd been there the day Dante proposed to me in the hospital. The smile dropped off Dante's face. "What are you doing?" Everyone at the table was looking now. I met his eyes and didn't pull my hand back. "The engagement is off, Dante. You don't owe me anything for saving your life."