Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Enzo
Pain.
That's the first thing I felt every morning.
The wound in my abdomen was like something alive, burning from the inside out.
Every breath tugged at the healing tissue, bringing cold sweat to my forehead.
The gunshot wound in my left shoulder wasn't as bad, but it wasn't much better either.
Lifting my arm above shoulder height sent searing pain through me.
But these wounds weren't completely useless. Besides the pain, they brought me Chloe.
She was there every day.
Chloe stayed by my bedside. She barely left the room. Luca's people brought her meals, and she slept curled up in that damn chair. I'd told her countless times to go rest. Her answer was always the same: shut up and heal.
Not many people talked to me like that, but her sharp tongue made me happy.
Recovery dragged on forever. The first two weeks, I couldn't even roll over. The slightest movement sent black spots across my vision.
I'd seen the wound once when the nurse changed my dressing.
A scar over ten centimeters long, running across the left side of my abdomen.
The surrounding skin was purple and swollen, brutal-looking.
Every time Chloe saw it, her lips pressed tight and she'd turn away.
When she turned back after the dressing was done, her eyes were always red.
She was still that kind, gentle Chloe, even if her temper was worse than before. But that only made me like her more.
I kept wanting to dig deeper with her. Things like, "Hey, have you really forgiven me? Are we good now?"
But Chloe never gave me a straight answer. I figured Miss Stubborn needed time to face the fact that we still loved each other.
God, who could deny it?
And I had plenty of time to wait for her to come around. I hadn't been this idle in years.
Emily had grown attached to me. The moment she saw me, she'd reach out, babbling, demanding to be held. Chloe worried Emily would yank out one of my tubes and wouldn't let me hold her, but she couldn't stop a father and daughter who wanted to be together.
Emily took after me, though. Strong as hell. Once she nearly ripped the oxygen tube out of my nose. I jerked so hard my abdominal wound flared up, and I grimaced in pain. Chloe watched from the side, her expression flickering between concern and wanting to laugh.
The days in this room were the closest I'd ever come to happiness. Even wrapped in bandages and painkillers, even when laughing hurt enough to make me want to curse, I felt this goddamn hospital room was the best place I'd ever lived. Because she was here. They were here.
But nighttime belonged to a different Enzo.
When Chloe and Emily fell asleep, I'd carefully pull the phone from under my pillow. Screen brightness at minimum so the light wouldn't wake them. Then I'd open the encrypted app and send instructions to Kirill.
Kirill was my final piece planted next to Julian. He'd been Julian's personal bodyguard for four years without slipping once. Julian even considered him a confidant, bringing him along for meals and drinks. Of course, to avoid exposure, we'd barely contacted each other all these years.
After receiving Luca's instructions, Kirill had already attempted two assassinations. Both failed. He wasn't a natural killer. Another attempt might blow his cover.
But Julian had to die.
This wasn't about hatred. I didn't have energy left to hate anyone. It was a pure, cold calculation based on survival.
As long as Julian lived, Chloe and Emily couldn't be truly safe.
He'd already sent Carmine's elite squad.
They'd nearly killed all three of us. Next time, he wouldn't make the same mistakes.
He'd send more people, better plans. Next time, Chloe might not be so lucky.
Next time, Emily might not just be scared.
I couldn't allow a next time.
I spent five days in this bed crafting the plan. Every detail examined repeatedly. Timing, location, method, and cleanup. Everything precise to the minute. Kirill was the executor, but every move was mine to make from this bed.
Chloe didn't know any of this. She thought after she fell asleep, I did too. She didn't know that after she closed her eyes, the recovering new father beside her became someone entirely different.
I needed to assess every potential threat in the family. Identify every name that needed to be eliminated.
On the seventh night, Kirill sent his execution report.
Julian raised his glass at a family celebration dinner. Before drinking, he even stood to give a speech about "new eras" and "family renaissance." Then he drank.
The toxin worked fast. Kirill wrote in his report: Target showed symptoms approximately ninety seconds after consumption. Finger twitching first, then full-body convulsions. Finally collapsed onto the banquet table.
People thought it was a heart attack. By the time the ambulance arrived, he'd stopped breathing.
I deleted the message after reading it, shoved the phone back under my pillow, and turned to look at Chloe curled up sleeping on the cot beside my bed. Her breathing was steady, lips slightly parted, one hand resting on Emily's small body.
Julian was dead. The threat eliminated.
His life had always been mine to take. That fool always thought he was so clever, assuming I hated him. But I'd never considered him a rival.
I hadn't touched him simply because there was no need. And I'd always blamed his hatred of me on Carmine. We were both victims. Apparently, he didn't see it that way.
After Julian's death, Luca and Kirill went to New York and conducted a thorough purge of the family according to my plan. Everyone loyal to Julian and Carmine's old guard was eliminated or brought in line.
The entire power structure was reorganized within two weeks. The Falcone family now had one voice. And that voice belonged to a man lying in a small North Carolina hospital, tubes running everywhere.
Four weeks later, I could finally get out of bed.
The first time I stood, my legs nearly gave out. Chloe caught me. I leaned on her shoulder and managed three steps before gasping for breath. The abdominal wound throbbed dully, but not like before.
Enemies eliminated. Family stable. Wounds healing. And my two most important people right here.
I stood by the window, watching sunlight fall across the parking lot asphalt.
Behind me, Chloe was changing Emily's diaper in the chair, muttering something about holding still.
Emily wasn't cooperating, legs kicking everywhere.
Chloe held her belly with one hand while fumbling with the diaper tabs with the other.
The sight made my mouth curve involuntarily.
I had to make a decision. One that had already formed in my mind.
I was going to marry her.
After everything, I'd known for a while that this woman was the only thing I wanted for the rest of my life.
The next day, Chloe came to the room as usual. She carried coffee from the machine down the hall, head down scrolling through her phone. Probably reading some parenting post. She walked to the bed, set the coffee on the nightstand, and was about to sit when I grabbed her wrist.
Chloe froze, looking up at me. "What?"
I pulled hard, dragging her onto the bed.
Her body crashed into my chest. My abdominal wound screamed in protest, but I bit back the sound. Her phone dropped onto the blanket. Her hair swept across my face, smelling of shampoo and formula mixed together.
"You're crazy! Your wound—"
"Don't move."
My arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her whole body against mine. Her hands braced on either side of my shoulders, face less than ten centimeters from mine. Her honey-colored eyes held surprise, concern, and a hint of tension from being caught.
"Enzo, your wound isn't healed." Her voice dropped, but her breathing had clearly quickened.
"I know." I used my good hand to brush the hair from her face, fingers threading through her brown curls, palm cupping her cheek. Her face was warm. I felt her jaw tighten slightly against my palm. "Let me hold you. I've been dying to."
Chloe sighed and buried her face in the crook of my neck. I felt her lashes brush my skin. Her breath warmed my throat. Every exhale raised goosebumps on my neck.
We lay like that for a long time. Her on top of me, my arm around her waist, her heartbeat pressing through two thin layers of fabric into my chest.
Thank God I didn't die. This was unbelievably happy.
I looked at this woman so close to me and kissed her forehead.
"I have something for you."
Chloe lifted her head from my neck, looking at me.
"What?"
I pulled something small from under my pillow. Just a silver ring bent from metal wire. The craftsmanship was laughably crude, even a bit crooked where it bent, but in the center sat a tiny crystal that caught the light with a faint gleam.
"You made this? When?" Chloe covered her mouth.
"These past weeks in the hospital. Had Luca get me materials.
Made it myself. My hands shook so bad I bent it four times before getting it like this.
" I held the ring up to her. "I know it's ugly.
But I wanted to give you something unique.
Last time that ring ended up on the wrong person's hand.
This time, I wanted to make one myself. Even if it turned out like shit. "
Chloe stared at the ring, her lips moving twice without sound. Her nose reddened, moisture gleaming in her eyes under the light.
"Marry me, Chloe. Or rather, please marry me."
Chloe's tears fell.
She held out her left hand. Her fingers trembled slightly. I took that crooked silver ring and slowly slid it onto her ring finger. The wire didn't quite fit right, catching a bit at the knuckle. She helped push it down the rest of the way.
Chloe held her hand up, looking at the ring. Under the harsh hospital lights, the metal wire reflected a faint gleam. Compared to that engagement diamond, this thing was a joke.
But Chloe looked at it more seriously than she'd ever looked at any diamond in the world.
Then Chloe's tears streamed down, soaking her whole face. She bent down and hugged me, burying her face in my chest. She hit my abdominal wound, and I hissed.
"Yes." Her voice muffled against my chest.