39. Raiden
Chapter 39
Raiden
T he makeshift hospital room at Saverio’s compound is too damn bright for how grim it feels. The lights overhead make a harsh buzzing sound as they wash the room in a cold, sterile glow. The walls are plain—off-white, maybe beige—and the floor’s marble tile reflects the overhead glare. It smells like antiseptic, sweat, and exhaustion.
I’m perched on the edge of a battered wooden chair, one of those things that looks like it was salvaged from a yard sale. My hand throbs from beating Kristopher to death. A nurse stands beside me, wrapping my hand as gently as she can. The roll of bandages is soft but unyielding—every pass she makes tugs my broken fingers in a way that sends sharp pains up my wrist. I grit my teeth, determined not to make a sound.
The real reason I’m trying to stay still is sleeping just a few feet away: Lucrezia. She’s on a simple hospital bed—metal frame, thin mattress, IV drip hooked into her arm. The sheet is pulled up around her waist, revealing bruises that catch my eye whenever I glance over. Even asleep, with dark circles under her eyes and a needle taped to her forearm, she has this quiet radiance that demands attention. And it keeps my anger at the edges of my consciousness, simmering, reminding me how close I came to losing her.
A doctor stands at her bedside, checking vitals—pulse, blood pressure, that kind of thing. His movements are practiced and efficient, barely disturbing the quiet of the room. He nods to himself, making notes on a clipboard. “She’s stable,” he says to the nurse, voice low to avoid waking her. Then he addresses me, his tone gentle but clinical. “We’ll keep her on IV fluids for the next day or so. She’s severely dehydrated and undernourished—her body’s been through quite an ordeal. But if she keeps improving at this rate, she’ll recover physically without major complications. The human body is remarkably resilient.”
Physically. The doctor’s careful not to mention the mental toll, dancing around the psychological trauma like it’s a live wire. When Kristopher took her, I lost more than just a partner in crime. I lost the woman who made me feel alive for the first time in years, for the first time since Becca.
The nurse finishes taping my splint, then steps back, giving me a small, sympathetic smile. “Don’t move those fingers,” she warns gently. “They need time to heal. Take it easy.”
I barely acknowledge her. My eyes remain locked on Lucrezia, that unstoppable force of a woman now lying fragile and pale in front of me. Her breathing is steady, though, rising and falling in a slow rhythm that calms the chaos in my head. The doc and nurse exchange a few more quiet words, then exit, leaving the room in near silence.
I hear footsteps behind me, the familiar cadence of expensive leather soles against linoleum. I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Saverio stops at the foot of Lucrezia’s bed, eyes scanning her body with the same intense scrutiny he brings to everything. The monitors beep steadily in the background, marking time as we stand there. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Finally, Saverio breaks the silence. “I won’t retaliate for what you two did to me. What you did to Kristopher for her ,” he pauses, searching for the right words, his jaw working as if chewing on something bitter, “thank you.”
My lips part in a wry almost-smile. “No retribution for blowing up your house with you inside of it?”
He sighs, and in my peripheral, I see him shift his weight off his bad hip, one hand absently massaging the spot where the injury troubles him. “I have a family to worry about—Lucia, my son, even Lucrezia. I won’t risk them for vengeance, especially now that I know why my sister did what she did.” His words carry a weight of understanding that wasn’t there before.
My gaze flicks to Saverio for the first time. He looks oddly hollowed out, like the violence in the woods drained a part of his spirit. Dark circles ring his eyes, and his ordinarily immaculate suit shows signs of wear. “All right,” I say quietly. “If you want to put all that behind us, I’m not complaining.”
He inclines his head, a gesture both formal and final. “Good.”
Silence falls again, broken only by the soft beeping of Lucrezia’s monitors. I pull my eyes away from her, forcing myself to look Saverio in the face. Something in his expression is different. He’s still formidable, still carries an aura of danger, but there’s a weight lifted off his shoulders, replaced by a sadness and regret I can’t quite define. Like a man who’s finally set down a burden he’s carried for too long.
“Tell her,” I say after a moment, nodding toward Lucrezia. “Tell her this war between you two is over. She needs to hear it from you. After everything that’s happened, she deserves that much.”
Saverio nods, mouth set in a grim line, his fingers absently smoothing a wrinkle in his suit jacket. “I will. When she wakes up.” He glances at my hand, taped to prevent further damage. “Not the first broken bones you’ve had, I imagine.”
I snort, flexing my stiff fingers and wincing at the sharp pain that shoots up my arm. This is exactly what the nurse told me not to do. “I’ve had worse. Occupational hazard, you could say.”
He shifts his stance again, eyes scanning the row of monitors displaying Lucrezia’s vital signs. “I heard everything you two said back at the cabin. And I appreciate that you stood by her and protected her when I couldn’t.”
I tense, muscles coiling instinctively, unsure of where this is going. “I did what I had to do. Anyone would have done the same if they knew the Lucrezia I knew.”
He exhales and it’s half a breath, half a laugh. “If Lucrezia decides to stay—here in Manhattan or with you—I won’t stand in her way. I welcome it, in fact. You’d be part of our family.”
My throat tightens and a second passes before I manage to reply, the words feeling strange on my tongue. “You’d be okay with that? Letting me into the Castiglione fold?”
Saverio shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You’re a good man, Drake. A brutal one, maybe, but in this life, that’s not a flaw. You fought for my sister when I didn’t, and that’s more than I can say for half the family. The Castigliones have done bad things; there is no denying that. We haven’t always looked out for Lucrezia’s best interest, whereas you have.” His gaze rests on her sleeping form for a beat, and his voice softens. “That makes you worth trusting.”
A wash of something akin to relief passes through me. I never gave a damn about Saverio’s approval, but it feels strangely validating to have it. “I won’t let her down,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before I can second-guess them.
Saverio nods, then rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking older and more worn. “I’m sure you won’t. Get some rest. And tell her...” he hesitates, swallowing hard, “tell her I’m sorry for everything. She’s always deserved better than what we gave her.”
Then he leaves. The door shuts behind him with a muted thud, and I’m alone with Lucrezia again. I blow out a breath and lean back in my chair, ignoring the twinge of agony in my knuckles. My mind replays Saverio’s words, turning them over and over. It’s surreal, this shift from enemies to allies, from wanting each other dead to forging a future that includes all of us in some twisted notion of family. But if it means Lucrezia finds peace, if it means she can finally heal from the wounds of her past, I’ll take it. I’ll take all of it.
I push to my feet, stepping closer to her bedside. She stirs slightly, face scrunching in a grimace as if she’s fighting off a bad dream. Her brow glistens with sweat, strands of hair sticking to her damp skin. Gently, I brush them aside, letting my fingertips trail across her forehead. My heart twists at how fragile she looks, how small she is among the white sheets and medical equipment. My hand finds hers, careful to avoid disturbing the IV line snaking from her arm. Even unconscious, Lucrezia’s fingers curl around mine, and I hold onto that small response like a lifeline.
“You’re safe,” I whisper, more for my own sake than hers. “You’re safe now.” I pray that a part of her hears me, even in sleep. If she were awake, she’d argue she’s always been safe, would flash that stubborn smile, and tell me I worry too much. But I know the truth: we both needed saving from ourselves, from the world, and from the shadows that were slowly consuming us both.
I linger a moment, letting the beep of the IV pump and the soft hum of fluorescent lights fill the silence. But eventually, I ease back into the chair, pulling it closer to Lucrezia’s bedside. I can’t bring myself to leave her, even though sleeping on the wood is murder on my back. My body is beyond exhausted, but each time I close my eyes, I see her in that filthy cabin.
Minutes tick by in a haze. I’m drifting, half-dozing in the uncomfortable seat. My hand throbs in time with my heartbeat, but I welcome the pain; it keeps me alert. At some point, the nurse returns, checking Lucrezia’s vitals again, nodding approval at the drip rate. She glances at me and asks if I need anything. I just shake my head. Nothing but Lucrezia waking up will ease my mind.
Time passes, or maybe it stands still; I can’t tell anymore. My phone buzzes in my pocket once, then again a few minutes later; probably Bash or Priest checking in, wondering why I’m not responding. I ignore it. Saverio’s men are posted in the halls, their footsteps occasionally echoing past the door, ensuring we’re safe for now. The compound is quiet, almost unnaturally so after all the chaos. Kristopher is dead, his body being disposed of by Saverio’s clean-up crew; there’s nothing else we need saving from. At least not tonight.
A soft noise draws my attention. Lucrezia’s dark lashes flutter against her pale cheeks, her gaze slipping open like a slow sunrise. She moans softly, disoriented, and tries to lift her head from the pillow. I’m at her side in an instant, gripping the cold metal bed rail with my good hand. “Hey,” I whisper, “take it easy, gorgeous.”
She blinks several times, confusion clouding her eyes for a moment as they drift around the dimly lit room. Then, like pieces falling into place, recognition settles in. “Raiden?”
“It’s me,” I say, relief flooding my tone and making my knees weak. I want to say so much more: I’m here, I love you, and I won’t let anyone hurt you again . But the words knot in my throat, tangling with all the fear and worry I’ve been holding back for hours.
Lucrezia exhales, and a few tears slip down her cheeks; I gently brush them away with my thumb. The sound of voices outside the room—nurses chattering, monitors beeping—reminds me we’re not alone in a romantic bubble. Still, I dip my head a fraction, letting my forehead rest against hers. Her skin is warm and alive, her breath mingling with mine in a quiet intimacy that sets my pulse racing.
“I—” she starts to speak, but her throat closes around the words. Instead, she settles for leaning into my touch, her fingers curling around mine as she notices the bandage wrapped around my hand. “You’re hurt?”
I manage a tight smile. “You should see the other guy.”
A shaky laugh escapes Lucrezia’s lips, more of a wheeze than real laughter, but it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in days. Her eyes flick to the overhead lights, wincing at the brightness. Then she focuses back on me, and I see relief sparking beneath her exhaustion.
I settle on the mattress’s edge, ignoring the protest of my battered hand. She’s quiet for a long moment, maybe gathering her thoughts. When she finally speaks, her voice is a soft rasp. “Did I hear my brother say he’s done fighting?”
I nod. “Yeah. He says no more war, at least not between the two of you. He wants to take care of his family, and that includes you now.”
Something unreadable flashes in her eyes—relief, maybe regret. She looks away, swallowing hard enough that I can see the movement in her throat. “Family,” Lucrezia echoes. “I guess we might all figure out what that means.” Her fingers clench slightly in the sheets, betraying her uncertainty.
I take a breath, thinking of Saverio’s final words. He’d welcome me if that’s what she wants. The thought still feels surreal, like a dream I might wake from at any moment. “You can define it however you want,” I say carefully, watching her face for any hint of what she might be thinking.
Her gaze returns to mine, and there’s a softness there that makes my heart squeeze. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For coming for me. For not giving up. I knew you would find me.”
“I would have burned this city to the ground if I had to,” I murmur, letting my uninjured hand come up to stroke her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed briefly at the contact.
A fresh wave of tension crackles between us. It’s that same electric charge I felt the first time I laid eyes on her, only now it’s tempered by an intimate connection. I’m hyperaware of her parted lips, the curve of her collarbone peeking from the hospital gown. Everything in me aches to close the gap, to taste her breath, to reaffirm that she’s alive and here.
But this isn’t the time or place. She’s still recovering, still fragile from everything she’s endured. I tear my gaze away, forcing composure even as every fiber of my being protests the distance. “You need rest,” I say gently, trying to inject steadiness into my tone.
Lucrezia nods, though her eyes remain on my face, searching, yearning. “Stay?” Her voice wavers, but the vulnerability in that single word is a punch to the gut.
I lean in, pressing a featherlight kiss to her temple. “Always,” I promise, and pour every ounce of conviction I possess into that word.