7. Elena
7
Elena
I jolt awake to a sound 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."
The nurse gives me a reassuring smile as she takes my daughter away, and I have to fight the urge to snatch her back. Matteo places his hands on my shoulder, silently comforting me.
"I need some air," I manage finally. "Just... five minutes."
Matteo sighs, but a look of understanding flashes across his face. "I'll have Valentino stay with you."
The night air is cool against my skin as I step into the small courtyard. Valentino keeps a respectful distance, his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings.
That's when I notice it. The too-casual way a man in scrubs is leaning against the wall. Expensive leather shoes instead of practical nursing clogs. A slight bulge beneath his uniform.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up. I duck just as he reaches for something at his waistband.
"Gun!" I shout, but it's too late .
Valentino goes down instantly, blood blooming across his chest. The assassin turns to me next, his face emotionless as he raises the weapon again.
My hand finds the small blade Matteo insisted I keep with me.
His voice echoes in my head.
Close the distance if you can't run. Aim for vulnerable spots. Throat. Eyes. Don't hesitate.
The assassin isn't expecting me to charge him. His eyes widen as I lunge forward, my body remembering the movements Matteo drilled into me.
The gun fires again, but I'm already inside his reach, the bullet grazing my arm. I slash upward with the knife, catching him across the face.
He snarls, dropping the gun to grab me by the throat. His fingers dig in like iron bands, cutting off my air. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
Don't panic. Use his strength against him .
I go limp suddenly, making the assassin overbalance. As his grip loosens, I drive my knee up between his legs with every ounce of strength I have.
He doubles over, and I slash again with the knife. The blade sinks into his neck, hot blood spilling over my fingers as he gurgles.
Even wounded, he lunges for me. I stumble backward, tripping on Valentino's body .
Bam!
A shot rings out. The assassin jerks once, a perfect red hole appearing in his forehead, before he collapses.
Matteo stands in the doorway, gun extended. Then he's across the space in seconds, pulling me to my feet.
"Elena," he said, his usually gruff voice filled with relief. "Are you hurt?"
"Not mine," I say, gesturing to the blood. "Except—" I glance at the graze on my arm.
His eyes move to the knife still clutched in my bloody hand, and something shifts in his expression. Something like pride.
"You fought back," he hisses.
"Like you taught me."
His eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions I can't name. Relief. Rage. Something else.
Then, with no warning, he pulls me against him and his mouth claims mine in a kiss that's desperate and hungry and tastes like fear and relief.
I should push him away. I should remember who he is, what he does.
Instead, I kiss him back, pulling him closer as if I could crawl inside the warmth and safety of him.
It's the sound of running footsteps that breaks us apart.
"We need to move," he says, voice rough. "Now. "
"Fiona—"
"Already being transferred."
Within minutes, we moved through the hospital while they loaded Valentino into a separate vehicle for emergency treatment.
By the time we reach the new hospital—a private facility with military-grade security—I'm swaying from exhaustion and blood loss. But I refuse to let go of Fiona, who has finally fallen into a deep sleep, her temperature down.
"Pneumonia," the new doctor tells us. "Severe, but we've caught it in time. She'll need to stay for forty-eight hours."
I sink into the chair beside her hospital crib, relief making my knees weak. Matteo stands guard by the door, his posture rigid, eyes constantly scanning.
"Get some rest," he tells me. "I'll watch over her."
We stayed for two days. When Fiona is discharged, her color has returned, and she breathes easier.
The drive back to Nico's estate is quiet, surrounded by an escort of armed men, while Fiona sleeps peacefully in her car seat.
It's only when we're back behind the walls, Fiona settled in her crib under Isabella's watchful eye, that I find myself alone with Matteo again.
He's in the study, issuing orders over the phone. When he spots me, he ends the call .
"She's asleep?" he asks.
I nod. "The doctor says she should sleep through the night. The fever's completely gone."
Relief flashes across his features before he schools them back to neutrality.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with all we haven't said.
"About what happened at the hospital," I start. "The kiss."
His posture stiffens slightly. "I shouldn't have done that. Not there. Not then."
"But you don't regret it." It's not a question.
"No."
"I feel like I'm betraying him," I admit quietly. "Mark. Everything he was. Everything we had."
"I understand."
"Do you?" I challenge, suddenly angry. "My husband is dead. I watched him die. And now I'm standing here with—" I break off.
"With a killer," Matteo finishes, voice flat.
"No. That's not... I don't see you that way. Not anymore. And that's the problem."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed by something that looks almost like hope .
"I don't know what this is," I continue, gesturing between us.
"It's not Stockholm syndrome, if that's what you're thinking," he interrupts. "You're not a victim, Elena. You're a survivor. And I didn’t kidnap you, I rescued you."
The memory of the knife in my hand, the assassin's blood on my skin, flashes through my mind.
"I'm not asking for anything," Matteo says quietly. "I know it's too soon. I know it's complicated. What happened... it wasn't a mistake. Not for me."
I close my eyes. "I need time."
"You have it. All the time you need."
"Thank you. For understanding. For keeping us safe."
His expression softens. "Always."
At the doorway, I pause. "What happens now? With the Caruso?"
A cold smile curves his lips. "Now we cut off their oxygen. Their money."
His phone rings. "That's Angelo."
He puts the phone on speaker. "You're on with Elena and me."
"Matteo," Angelo's voice comes through. "I cracked it. The encryption on the Caruso's financial network. You were right—they've been moving money through shell companies. As of twenty minutes ago, they can't access a single cent. I've locked them out of everything. "
A slow, predatory smile spreads across Matteo's face. "What happens to men like the Caruso when they can't access their funds?"
"They panic," I answer, understanding dawning. "They make mistakes."
"Exactly. Now we wait. ”