Page 72

The OR doors finally swing open. A doctor strides toward us, exhaustion lining his face.

"He's alive," he says without preamble. "It was close. Very close. But he's stable for now."

A sob breaks free from my chest before I can stop it. I press a trembling hand over my mouth, overwhelmed with relief.

"There’s internal damage," the doctor continues. "We'll monitor him closely. A second surgery may be necessary if bleeding continues, but for now... he made it."

Tears blur my vision as an involuntary sob escapes from my lips. Vittorio squeezes my shoulder, murmuring something I don't catch.

They allow me into the ICU once Alessio is settled. I scrub my hands roughly before stepping inside, my heart hammering against my ribs.

For two days I am allowed in briefly and the sight of him in this vulnerable state steals my breath.

He lies there, deathly pale against the white sheets, tubes and machines surrounding him like a fragile cocoon. His chest rises and falls in slow, shallow breaths. A monitor beeps steadily beside him, each sound a lifeline I cling to.

I pull a chair up to the bed and sink into it, reaching for his hand. It's warm. Still warm.

"You fought your whole life," I whisper, bringing his hand to my lips. "Fight for me now. Fight for us."

The machines beep and hum, filling the room with a mechanical lullaby. I don’t know how long I sit there, speaking to him in low, desperate murmurs about the life we haven't lived yet, about the future still waiting for us.

At some point, I feel it—a tiny movement against my palm.

I freeze, staring at his hand. Another twitch. His fingers curl weakly around mine.

"Stefano?" I breathe.

His lashes flutter. His mouth moves, dry and broken, barely forming the word.

"Angel..."

A sob cracks out of me. I lean in, tears sliding down my cheeks, pressing my forehead to his knuckles.

"Stefano?” I say with tears streaming down my face. The machines continue their steady chorus, but hope blooms fierce and unbreakable inside me for the first time in two days.

"I'm right here," I whisper through my tears. "I'm never leaving you."

I lay my head against the bed, my heart hammering out a silent vow into the dim, sterile air. He found his way back to me.

And I will fight the whole damn world to keep him.

He’s alive.

He’s still fighting.

And I will be right here, fighting with him until the end.

Alessio

I wake to the sound of machines beeping steadily, the smell of antiseptic sharp in the air. My body feels heavy, weighted down by pain and something deeper—something colder. My mind fights to surface, clawing through the fog of unconsciousness.

The first thing I see is her. Isadora. Sitting by my bedside, her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly around mine. Her hair falls like a dark curtain across her face, hiding the tears slipping down her cheeks.

She’s here. She didn’t leave me.

I try to speak, but my throat feels like sandpaper. A low groan escapes instead.

Her head jerks up, and when her eyes find mine, the relief that floods her beautiful face steals my breath more effectively than the bullet had.