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Elena’s lips part slightly, her expression softening. “Matteo…”

I shake my head. “It was a while ago. But the nightmares don’t care about time.”

For a moment, we just stand there, drinking our coffee in silence.

Then, because I don’t know what else to do, I say, “If you ever need someone to wake you up from them… I’m here.”

Something flickers in her eyes, but disappears quickly.

And for the first time since I met her, she looks at me like I might be something other than a killer.

7

Elena

Ijoltawaketoasound that makes my blood run cold.

It's not the usual nightmare—Mark's body hitting the floor, gunshots echoing in my ears. No, this is real. This is now. This is my daughter's cry, but not her usual fussing.

This sounds wrong.

I'm on my feet before I can think, racing down the hallway to Fiona's room, heart hammering against my ribs. When I push inside, my throat closes up at what I see.

Fiona is thrashing in her toddler bed Matteo bought, her tiny face flushed scarlet, limbs flailing weakly as she struggles to draw proper breath. When I lift her, her skin burns against mine.

"Oh God," I whisper, cradling her against my chest. "Matteo! ”

In less than a minute, Matteo fills the doorframe, barefoot and disheveled from sleep, but his eyes are sharp and alert.

"She's burning up," I tell him, my voice breaking. "Something's wrong."

He's beside me in three strides, pressing his hand to Fiona's forehead. His jaw tightens. "I'll call the doctor."

Thirty minutes later, the family doctor arrives and examines Fiona with careful hands, his frown deepening as he checks her breathing, pulse, and the angry rash blooming across her chest.

"She needs a hospital," he says finally. " I can’t treat her with what I have here. Her fever is dangerously high, and I'm concerned about her respiratory rate."

A hospital means leaving the safety of the estate. It means exposing ourselves when there's a target on our backs.

But there's no choice. Not when it's my baby.

"We go," I say, looking at Matteo. It's not a question.

He nods once. "Five minutes. Bring only what you need."

The unwelcoming white walls and the smell of harsh cleaning solvents fill my nostrils as we make our way into the hospital’s emergency room.

I haven't let go of Fiona once, not in the car, not during check-in, not even when the nurses tried to take her for tests.

How many gunshot wounds and knife injuries has Matteo had treated in places like this? The thought makes me dizzy. Or maybe it's the fear and exhaustion.

"Miss Elena?" A doctor approaches, clipboard in hand. "We need to run some tests. I'll need you to let the nurse take your daughter."

I hesitate, my arms tightening around Fiona's warm body.

"I'll be right outside," Matteo says quietly at my back. "Nothing will happen to her."

I finally place Fiona into the nurse's waiting arms. "I'll be right here, baby. Mommy's right here."