Milo
Everything feels rotted.
The air.
The walls.
The sterile light.
There is a wrongness here, a stench that stays on my skin and seeps into my lungs, and I can’t escape it.
I sit beside her hospital bed, my hand wrapped around hers, holding on as if letting go would make her disappear. She looks impossibly small beneath the white gown, swallowed by machines and wires. Tubes trail from her arms, monitors crowding in around her.
I hate it.
I grit my teeth but I don’t look away.
I can’t.
I watch every rise of her chest, every shallow breath.
There is no world in which she leaves me.
If she does, I will follow.
After I burn the ones responsible to the ground.
But she will not leave. She is my gorgeous girl, my queen, my spitfire, strong and stubborn.
She will come back to me, because she has to.
She was flown to London by helicopter, as the extent of her injuries was much too severe for the academy hospital to manage.
She has four fractured ribs, a broken wrist, and a severe concussion, accompanied by cerebral oedema that is currently mild not to require surgical intervention.
The doctors believe the swelling should resolve on its own with careful monitoring, however, if it doesn’t, they may have to operate.
I have been counting every second since we arrived here.
Twenty two hours, thirty two minutes, and fifty seven seconds have passed, and that is how long I have been waiting for her to open those beautiful green eyes.
They tell me this is normal, that her body needs rest, but I need to see her wake, because in the state she is in—fuck—I need to hear her speak and know that she is really here with me.
No one tried to stop me from staying at her side, and no one would have succeeded if they had. I was prepared to rip this place apart if it came to that, and it helped that Arlo bought this hospital when Ophelia was hurt, all those weeks ago.
I haven’t moved, and I don’t intend to, even though every part of me burns to hunt down the bastard who did this to her and end him.
My woman matters more than anything else, and there is no force in this world capable of tearing me away from her.
Adriano is searching, her men are searching, and my own people are everywhere, because enough is enough.
What sits wrong with me is that I was under the impression they meant to abduct her, yet now it appears they tried to kill her instead. That uncertainty is driving me mad, because I need answers, and I need them now.
The anger becomes unbearable, and I reach for my blade… her blade, and drag it across my palm in a single line. Blood spills onto the sterile floor, and only then does the fury ease its grip on my body.
I am no longer sane, because once someone touches what is mine, make her bleed, there is no control left in me.
I will carve them apart piece by fucking piece, and I will make them beg for an end I have no intention of granting.
I am not human anymore.
The door bursts open, dragging me back into the room, and I slide the blade into my pocket, glancing up to see who it is.
When I recognise Luigi Bellanti, my lip curls before I can stop it.
For a moment, I see concern on his face as he looks at his daughter.
Then his eyes find me.
The concern turns to fury.
“What the hell are you doing here with my daughter, you Russian scum?” he snarls.
I don’t answer, because I won’t waste words on him. He is her father, and she loves him despite everything, which is the only reason he is still breathing, since hurting him would only hurt her.
Accidents happen, though, and he is testing how far that mercy extends.
He snaps again, “Answer me.”
That is when I finally look at him. “Lower your fucking voice,” I grit out.
I know for a fact that Octavia never told him about the attacks, so I keep my mouth shut. If she didn’t want him to know, then he will not hear it from me.
I look him over slowly, then lift my gaze to his face.
“I’m here,” I say calmly. “Where else would I be if not beside my woman?”
“Your woman?” he nearly shouts. “Who the fuck do you think you are—”
“Lower your voice,” I grit again. “You will let her rest. She needs it.”
That stops him.
His jaw tightens, fury flashes through his eyes. “I want you out of here. If I see you again anywhere near my daughter—”
I release Octavia’s hand and stand, closing the distance in two strides. Every second away from her makes my temper burn hotter.
“I am her boyfriend,” I say flatly. “I am her future husband. I am her family. I am all she needs. You will not keep me from her, and you will not interfere in our lives if you want to continue breathing, because the moment you step between us and create problems, you are dead.”
He opens his mouth. “Are you threatening—”
“Yes,” I interject.
“She was hit by a car.” I clench my jaw as the words leave me.
“An accident. Broken ribs, a fractured wrist, a concussion.” I don’t tell him about the swelling, he doesn’t deserve anything more.
“She is resting. She will wake up, and when she is ready, if she wants to speak to you, she will call you.”
“Do you think I’ll leave my daughter—”
“Yes,” I interrupt once more. “You will.” I add, “She doesn’t need you here, and she doesn’t want you here.”
Something like pain crosses his face.
“How the hell would you know?” he snaps.
“You weren’t there for your other daughter, were you, when she was lying in a hospital bed after a car accident?” I ask.
His expression changes.
“Where were you when Ophelia was hurt? Why did it take you hours or was it days to show up? Because you didn’t care. But this one, this daughter, you care about. And how do you think she would feel knowing you couldn’t be bothered when her sister was fighting for her life, but now here you are?”
He clenches his hands but stays quiet.
“She will be fine,” I continue. “She will recover, and she will decide who she wants around her. After the way you handled things last time, I know she doesn’t want to see you.”
“You think I’ll listen to you?” he snaps weakly. “If anything, you should be the one who leaves. I am her family.”
I smile.
“And you won’t marry my daughter,” he adds harshly. “Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged,” I say calmly.
I continue without raising my voice. “I am marrying your daughter, so get used to it. You can even pretend you’re happy for us. If you try to stand between me and Octavia, as I said, I will end you. Or,” I pause, “others will.”
I meet his stare. “My cousin Isaak, for instance, would be more than willing, especially after what you set in motion between the Bratva and the Cartel. And it is not only those two families. We both know that. You have enemies. All it takes is for me to open my mouth and show them the proof I have, and suddenly there is a tomb with your name on it.”
He looks lost for words.
Good.
I lean in slightly. “And don’t do anything stupid to earn yourself more enemies, because whatever you provoke will put Octavia in danger once she takes over.”
I continue. “If you do, I swear you will beg for mercy you will not receive. I will torture you to death and keep you conscious the entire time, flooding you with adrenaline so you can’t faint, so the pain never stops and never dulls.”
He looks at Octavia one last time, then nods without a word before turning and leaving.
I know I have achieved what I wanted.
He will not interfere between Octavia and me.
Still, I will keep an eye on him, because he is reckless.
I don’t care what happens to him.
I care about what might come for her, because of him.