Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Leila’s POV
My hands and shirt were covered in blood.
Luca’s blood. My Mate’s blood. I couldn’t escape the image etched into my mind—Luca bleeding out in my arms, his face growing pale as paper while he still managed to give me that reassuring smile, whispering that all would be well.
Even as his life leaked away beneath my trembling fingers.
The despair of that moment still crawled through my veins like ice, cold and unforgiving.
He hadn’t been shot with just any bullet—that would have almost been merciful. His wolf shifter healing ability would have kicked in, expelled the foreign metal, and since he was an Alpha, complete recovery shouldn’t take more than a few hours.
But this was silver. Silver was almost akin to aconite. Deadly. Poisonous. And Luca had been shot right in the chest, inches from his heart.
My eyes fluttered closed and tears streamed down my cheeks as I held Ollie’s whimpering frame in the back seat of the car.
Charles was driving us to the hospital where Luca had been taken. A medical team had stormed Dock Street less than ten minutes after the shooting, whisking him away in a blur of sirens while I waited agonizing extra minutes for a useless conversation with the police.
Meanwhile, Luca’s men had dragged Victor away like the gutter rat he was, shoving him into a Vaughn SUV and hauling him to their precinct to be locked up until Luca could decide what was to be done with him.
He showed no sign of guilt, not even a flicker of remorse as his own brother bled out in front of him.
If anything, I could swear I caught the ghost of a smirk when the medics carried Luca into the ambulance.
“We’re here,” Charles said as he pulled into the hospital driveway.
I was out of the car before he’d fully stopped, racing toward the reception despite the sea of media outlets already crowding the entrance.
News of what happened on Dock Street had already traveled across the city.
Headlines were already calling Luca a hero, praising him for jumping in front of a bullet to save his family.
“Any news?” I asked a nurse frantically, gripping the reception desk as tears blurred my vision.
The woman looked at me with pity that made my stomach drop. “Mr. Vaughn is in surgery now. We have our very best doctors operating on the Alpha. I assure you, we’ll do everything we can.”
That was all she said. And it wasn’t enough. I needed to hear the words, “He’s going to be fine. You’ll see him again.”
But for now, all I could do was wait.
I led Ollie to the elevator and then to a waiting area near the OR.
I knelt to look at him. His eyes were swollen and red, his cheeks stained with dried tears.
My little boy, who was always radiant with infectious joy, looked broken.
I’d never seen him this sad, and it shattered what remained of my heart.
“Mommy, is Daddy going to be okay?” His little voice cracked.
A tear escaped before I could stop it. I quickly wiped it away. “You know your Daddy is a strong man. He’s an Alpha, and Alphas are fighters.”
He didn’t look convinced, not with the amount of blood still coating my hands and clothes. His gaze lingered on the crimson stains, and I had to gently guide his chin up to meet my eyes. “Hey,” I said, firmer this time, “Daddy is going to be fine, Ollie.”
But even as I said it, doubt clawed at my insides.
I tried to ignore the pounding in my chest, the voice in the back of my head whispering that I might never see him again, never hold him, never kiss him. I needed to remain strong for Ollie.
“I’m going to call Valerie to take you home,” I said, already reaching for my phone, but his small hand covered mine, shaking his head furiously.
“No. I want to be here when Daddy wakes up.”
“That could take a while, baby. You need to shower, change into clean clothes, eat—”
He was still shaking his head with the stubborn determination he’d inherited from his father. This gruesome waiting, the uncertainty—this was no place for a four-year-old. Especially when I didn’t know what news the doctors would emerge with.
“Okay,” I said, wiping fresh tears from his face. “How about this—Valerie takes you home to change and eat something, and once you’re done, she can bring you right back. I’ll be waiting here for you, and your Daddy will, too.”
That seemed to lift his expression slightly. “You promise, Mom?”
“I promise.”
I gestured to Charles to watch Ollie while I went to the bathroom to scrub the blood from my hands and call Valerie.
When I emerged from the restroom, I saw Isabelle rushing toward the OR, her face etched with pure anguish, her usually perfect hair disheveled like she’d been yanked from bed when someone delivered the devastating news.
“How is he?” she asked, gripping my hand so tight I felt her nails bite into my skin. “How’s my son?”
“Mrs. Vaughn,” my voice was steadier now, though it cost me everything to maintain that composure, “Luca is in surgery. The doctors haven’t said anything yet.
But please, you have to remain calm.” My gaze shifted to Ollie, who was watching us with wide, frightened eyes.
I’d managed to keep him positive. I couldn’t let anything shatter that fragile peace. “Please.”
Isabelle’s eyes followed mine, and when they landed on Ollie, she went completely still. She stared at him for a heartbeat too long before turning back to me with wonder warring in her expression. “Is that…” Her voice faltered.
I nodded. “That’s Luca’s son.”
“Oh,” she clutched her chest, looking back at Ollie as if she was seeing a miracle. “Can I…may I go to him?” she asked with desperate hope.
“I’ll introduce you.”
We moved toward Ollie and sat on either side of him.
“Ollie, baby, there’s someone special you should meet,” I said gently, threading my fingers through his dark curls. “This is Isabelle, your father’s mother. Your grandmother.”
Ollie looked up at Isabelle with wide, curious eyes, his tears momentarily forgotten. “My grandmother?” he whispered, the word foreign on his tongue.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Isabelle said softly, her voice thick with emotion as she reached for him.
“You look like Daddy,” Ollie observed, tilting his head as he studied her features.
A broken laugh escaped Isabelle’s lips. “Do I? Well, you look exactly like him when he was your age.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “May I sit closer to you?”
Ollie nodded solemnly and scooted over on the chair, making room for her. When she sat beside him, he immediately leaned against her side, seeking the comfort that only family could provide.
I felt my heart swell inside my chest. Just last month, I was Ollie’s only family. But now, he had his grandmother. And his father. The feeling was immediately replaced by the sinking reality of the situation we were in.
It had been two hours. Two dreadful hours of suffocating silence.
Two hours of trying to cling to optimism.
As seconds bled into minutes and minutes into hours, despair began its insidious creep.
Surgery wasn’t supposed to take this long, was it?
The longer it took, the worse the sign, right?
It became harder and harder to keep hope alive.
“Leila, you’re wearing a hole in the floor,” Isabelle murmured, placing a hand over my thigh. Only now did I realize that I’d been frantically tapping my feet against the floor.
I forced myself to stand, needing to move before my nerves unraveled completely.
I headed down the hall to the dispenser to get some water for my dry throat.
Through the window, I could see that the crowd outside had swelled.
Pack members gathered, holding placards and candles, praying for their Alpha’s recovery.
The news had spread like wildfire throughout the pack, keeping everyone awake despite the late hour.
Pack media outlets spoke of Luca’s bravery, how he’d sacrificed himself for his family, saying he was exactly the kind of leader the Manhattan pack needed.
A smile ghosted across my lips. I wished Luca could see this outpouring of love from his pack.
But the smile quickly turned bitter as a darker thought intruded—what if he never would?
What if he never got to know how deeply his people loved and respected him?
Just days ago, the narrative had painted him as incompetent, possibly corrupt.
Now, they saw him as he truly was: a hero.
I hadn’t realized I was crying until a tear slipped from my chin to the floor. I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, trying to stem the flood of emotion. But the truth was, I was terrified. Terrified in a way I’d never experienced before, not even when I’d fled five years ago.
The past week with Luca had been emotionally daunting, but also the happiest I’ve been in a while. And I’d never told him how happy he made me. The realization hit: I hadn’t admitted to Luca that I loved him. That I’d never stopped loving him. That my heart had never stopped beating for him.
I sucked in a ragged breath, my legs threatening to give out. God, I couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not when my life was finally making sense again. Not when I felt whole for the first time in five years. Not when our son had just found his father.
My knees nearly buckled, but I caught myself against the wall, steadying myself as I whispered desperate prayers. For Luca. For one more chance to love him the way my father had begged me to in his letters—to forgive, to let go, to choose happiness before it was too late.
The waiting room door banged open, and my head snapped up to see Luca’s father racing in, agitatedly questioning a passing nurse. When his eyes found Isabelle, my stomach plummeted. I started toward them, but Isabelle was already standing, walking up to him with purposeful strides.
The sharp crack of her palm across his face echoed through the room like a gunshot.