Antonio
The ambulance ride is a blur of flashing red lights and wailing sirens. Blood drips into my eye from the gash above my brow, and my ribs scream every time the ambulance hits a bump, causing the entire compartment to lurch, but I don’t care.
I deserve this agony for letting it happen to her. If she’s broken, then I should be, too.
My beautiful wife, the woman I swore to protect, lies strapped to a gurney. I grip her hand like a lifeline, as if my touch alone is keeping her tethered to this world. I whisper her name, begging her to stay with me.
The paramedics work around me, their movements quick and mechanical as they fight to stabilize her. One threads a needle into her arm with practiced precision, hooking her up to an IV while the other attaches sensors to her chest. The steady beeping of the heart monitor fills the cramped space, but it does nothing to calm my terror.
An oxygen mask is placed over her mouth and nose. I watch in helpless agony as they adjust the flow. Her breaths are so shallow, I fear any one might be her last.
"Sir, you're in the way," one paramedic says, his tone firm. "You need to let go of her hand. We need the space."
Let go? The thought is absurd. Her hand is the only thing anchoring me to reality, the only proof that she’s still alive. If I release her, she’ll slip away. I can’t let that happen.
“No.”
"Sir—"
"Work around me," I snap.
"Your wife is in critical condition," he says, his patience fraying. "We need to be able to move freely to help her."
“You don’t understand. If I let go, I’ll lose her.” My words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “She can’t leave me. So, you’ll have to figure it out.”
Tears blur my vision, but I barely notice. I cling to her hand desperately. She’s everything I am—everything I love. I can’t let go. Not now. Not ever.
“ Tesoro ,” I murmur, my voice breaking. “Please. I need you. I can’t do this without you.”
When we finally pull up to the hospital, the back doors burst open and chaos erupts. A team of doctors and nurses rush toward us, barking orders and spouting medical jargon. I stumble after them, my legs weak, barely carrying my weight, the pain in my ribs screaming with every step.
Alessia’s hand is ripped from mine as they rush her toward the trauma unit. My heart lurches as I watch her disappear behind a set of double doors. I try to follow, but hands press against my chest, firm and unrelenting.
“You can’t go back there.”
“Move,” I shout, trying to push past. “I need to be with my wife.”
“Sir, you need to stay out here,” he insists. “Let the doctors do their work.”
“I’m not leaving her.” My voice is hoarse, desperation choking me.
“Sir, please,” he says, his tone soothing, as though talking to a caged animal.
I don’t give a damn about rules, I need to be with her. My ribs throb as I argue, the pain finally breaking through my panic. Instinctively, I press a hand to my side.
“You’re injured too,” the nurse says, his voice firm but kind.
“I don’t care about me,” I snap, trying to shake off his hold. “I’m fine.”
But he doesn’t let go. His hands remain steady as he guides me to a chair, not taking no for an answer. “My name’s Liam. I’m a physician’s assistant, he says. “Dr. Hill’s with your wife. He’s one of the best trauma doctors we have. He’s doing everything he can for her.”
“Her name is Alessia,” I mutter.
Liam’s expression softens. “Alessia’s in good hands, I promise.” He crouches down, examining the cut above my eye. “Let’s get you patched up so you can be there for her when she wakes up, alright?”
The fight drains out of me, leaving only exhaustion and fear in its wake. My shoulders sag in defeat. “Fine. Just make it quick.”
Liam gives me a reassuring nod before gathering supplies. “Looks like you’re having trouble breathing,” he observes, pulling on gloves.
I sit back in the chair, my hands gripping the armrests. “I’ve had worse,” I mumble.
He drags a metal tray over, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure. But right now, I’m responsible for you, and I’m not cutting corners,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. And I’m pretty sure Alessia would want me to make sure you’re in one piece. Don’t want to get on her bad side.” He smiles.
A weak chuckle escapes me. “She’s tough,” I whisper. “A fighter.”
“She is,” Liam agrees as he cleans the cut. “And tough women need their stubborn husbands in one piece. So let me take care of you for her, okay?”
I stay silent this time, the sting of the needle barely registering. My focus already drifting back to the doors, waiting for any news.
“Just a few stitches,” Liam continues, his voice almost soothing as he works. “Then we’ll get those ribs x-rayed.”
Minutes drag by and I close my eyes, my thoughts are miles away—with Alessia and the promise that they’re doing everything they can to save her.
“Alright, that should do it. You’ll have a bit of a scar, though.” Liam says, pulling off his gloves. “I’m going to put in the orders for your x-rays. I’ll be back shortly to take you over.”
He walks away, leaving me alone in the sterile silence of the treatment room. The moment the door shuts, I pull out my phone to text Enzo.
Me: I found her.
Enzo: Where are you?
Me: The hospital. That fucker beat her.
Enzo: How bad?
Me: She was unconscious and barely breathing when I found her. They won’t let me see her.
Enzo: What about Draco?
Me: Dante has him. I gave the order.
Enzo: What do you need?
Me: A cleanup crew at the warehouse.
My mind sharpens as I assume the role I know best. Capo. Business. Order.
Enzo: Done.
Me: And a lawyer. Someone’s going to start asking questions soon.
Enzo: Already on it. Guards are en route. Focus on Alessia. I’ll handle the rest.
Me: Thank you.
The door swings open again. Liam returns with a wheelchair. “Ready to get those ribs checked?” he asks with a wry smile.
I look at the wheelchair, then back at him. “No,” I say flatly, shaking my head. “I’m not using that.”
Liam raises an eyebrow, clearly used to stubborn patients. “You’re telling me you’d rather limp across the hospital in pain instead of sitting for a few minutes? I gotta admit, I’m impressed by your commitment to making life difficult.”
“I’m walking,” I reply, standing up slowly. The sharp ache in my ribs makes me wince, but I push through it.
Liam chuckles, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, your call. Just don’t tell my boss I didn’t offer the luxury option.”
As we head to radiology, Liam lowers his voice. “They’re still running tests on Alessia, but right now, she’s stable.”
Stable. The word sticks in my mind, offering a sliver of hope. “Thank you.”
The X-rays are agony, each breath a knife twisting in my chest. After what feels like an eternity, I’m returned to my room. Liam pulls up my scans.
“Good news,” he says, almost surprised. “Your ribs aren’t broken. Just bruised.”
“Lucky me,” I mutter as my phone buzzes again.
“I need a few minutes,” I say, already connecting the call.
He nods, not saying anything, but I catch the knowing look in his eyes. He recognizes me. “Take your time,” he says, as he steps out of the room.
I bring the phone to my ear. “Dante,” I say, my voice low.
“Draco’s dead.”
“Did he suffer?”
“Yes. His end wasn’t painless.”
“Good,” I reply, my voice cold. “Where’s the body?”
“It’s in a deep, dark place where he’ll never be found.”
Twisted satisfaction curls through me knowing Draco’s remains have been left in some cold, forgotten place. Gone. Forever erased from this world—except the hell he left behind for Alessia.
But it’s not enough. His death doesn’t undo the damage he caused.
“How’s Alessia?” Dante asks, his tone gentler now.
“They’re still running tests,” I say, the knot in my stomach tightening.
“I’m on my way to meet with Moretti’s second-in-command now,” he continues. “I need to be sure they don’t retaliate for this. I’ll let him know what Draco did to Alessia and the—” Dante’s voice falters, but he quickly corrects himself. “To Alessia. I’m hoping when he hears the full extent, he’ll see reason.”
A doctor enters, his face grim. “I have to go,” I say, ending the call.
I move to stand, but the doctor raises a hand. “No need, Mr. Luciano. You can stay seated.” I ignore him, pushing to my feet as every muscle in my body tenses. Standing makes the pain in my ribs flare, but it grounds me. “I’m Dr. Hill, I’ve been overseeing your wife’s care.”
“How is she?”
"Mrs. Luciano’s injuries are quite extensive.” He pauses. “Two broken ribs, a concussion, and multiple contusions all over her body.”
My heart slams against my chest. The air in my lungs becomes harder to find.
“We’re monitoring both her and the baby closely.”
“The baby?” I ask, unable to comprehend his words.
The doctor hesitates, his tone gentler now. “Alessia’s eight weeks pregnant. The baby has a strong heartbeat, but given her injuries, we need to keep them both under observation for the next few days to ensure they remain stable.”
The room spins. I stumble back, gripping the bed’s edge to keep myself upright.
Pregnant. Alessia is pregnant.
The doctor continues, but his voice sounds distant, muffled. Something about the ICU, monitoring her, keeping her stable. His words blur together, drowned out by the single fact echoing in my mind—Alessia’s pregnant. She and our baby were nearly beaten to death.
“I need to see her.”
The doctor looks wary, hesitant. “The police are on their way. It would be best if you spoke to them first.”
Rage flares hot and fast, but I rein it in. Barely. “I’m not answering a damn thing until I see my wife. The police can wait.”
The doctor tenses. Then, an unspoken understanding passes between us. He knows who I am, knows there’s no use arguing. After a long pause, he exhales. “Alright,” he says quietly, resignation in his voice. “Follow me.”
* * *
I’m led down the hall to her room. The moment I see her, my legs falter, forcing me to grab the doorframe for support. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. All I can do is stand there, frozen, unable to process reality.
“I know it’s difficult to see someone you care about like this. But for now, she’s stable,” Dr. Hill says. “What she needs most is to rest and heal.”
His words barely register. My gaze is locked on Alessia, lying so still, surrounded by wires and machines that beep in the background. Her face is battered and swollen. She looks so tiny and fragile.
“Come in and sit with her.” The nurse who’s adjusting her IV says.
My legs feel heavy as I move toward the bed.
“I’m Alora, one of the nurses taking care of your wife,” she says softly, offering a kind smile. “I’ll be just outside. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”
Unable to find my voice, I nod and stumble to the chair beside Alessia’s bed. My hand reaches for hers instinctively. It’s so cold. I swallow hard, trying to push down the storm of emotions threatening to consume me.
When Alora finishes, she hesitates for a moment, then reaches into her pocket and hands me something—a small piece of paper. “This is for you,” she whispers.
My hands tremble as I take it. I look down at the grainy, black-and-white image. It takes me a moment to process what I’m looking at. When I realize what it is, my heart skips a beat.
“Congratulations,” Alora says quietly.
Congratulations. The word feels foreign. Out of place in this environment. I stare at the ultrasound, the proof of the tiny life nestled inside Alessia’s body. For a fleeting second, the chaos in my mind stills.
“She’s strong,” Alora adds. “And so is your baby. We’ll take good care of them both.”
The joy I should feel at this moment is overshadowed by the fear that plagues me. “Thank you,” I manage, my throat tight.
She nods and slips out of the room, leaving me alone in the suffocating quiet staring at the faint outline of our baby. Does Alessia even know she’s pregnant?
My eyes drift back to my wife. The fear, the guilt—it’s too much. My strength crumbles, and I break. Silent sobs wrack my body as I hold the ultrasound, terrified of losing her. Terrified of losing them both.
I never imagined loving something this much—someone I haven’t even met yet. The thought of a future without them—I wouldn’t survive it.
I can’t lose them. Not like this.
I don’t know how long I sit there, drowning in my grief and fear, but then I feel it—a faint movement. Alessia’s fingers twitch.
I look up just in time to see her eyes flutter open. “You found me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I nod, choking back tears. “I’ll always find you, tesoro .”
Her eyes slip closed again, but not before her hand squeezes mine, a weak but undeniable connection.
A sense of peace settles over me. But it’s fleeting, because I know what still needs to be done.