Chapter 2
two
GIOVANNI
The sterile hospital room assaulted my senses the moment I stepped through the doorway. Antiseptic and the coppery hint of blood mingled with the faint traces of Kitania’s signature. The scent neutralizing lotion she wore was fading, revealing that the dark moss and moonflower notes of her scent had gone bitter at the edges, tinged with exhaustion and fear.
Seven days of this hell had worn her down to something barely recognizable, a shadow of the woman she’d been before that fateful night. The light inside of her had dimmed, her sweet spirit harrowed in the aftermath.
I watched her from the threshold, my shoulder throbbing beneath its surgical dressing as she sat motionless at Tommy’s bedside. Her delicate fingers were intertwined with his larger ones, and her eyes never left the rise and fall of his chest.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the half-closed blinds, casting stripes across my brother’s still form. He looked younger in sleep, vulnerable in a way none of us ever allowed ourselves to be. The steady beep of monitors counted out the seconds, minutes, hours that he’d been fighting to come back to us. To her .
Kitania hadn’t moved from that uncomfortable chair except when nurses forced her to. The oversized sweater—one of Dimitri’s—hung from her small frame, swallowing her whole. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, revealing the hollows beneath her cheekbones that hadn’t been there a week ago. Dark circles bruised the delicate skin under her eyes and the usual pink hue to her cheeks was gone, leaving her looking pale and tired.
Seven fucking days of this limbo, this purgatory between tragedy and survival.
I suppressed a sigh and moved deeper into the room, hoping the aroma of the two sweet, creamy coffees I held would entice my Omega to get a little sustenance. Even if it was only caffeine-based. I’d even stopped at the café down the street, making sure to get her a high-end brew that didn’t taste like the warmed-over piss the hospital cafeteria served.
“Hey,” I murmured, keeping my voice deliberately light as I crossed to her.
Kitania startled, her whole body jerking as though I’d shouted instead of spoken softly. She’d been so lost in watching Tommy breathe that she hadn’t noticed my presence. When she looked up, the raw gratitude in her tired eyes nearly fucking undid me.
“Brought you something. It should be a million times better than that hospital garbage.” I nodded toward the mug on the side table, the cold sludge within smelling distinctly like burnt beans.
I held out the fresh cup, and the movement sent a wave of pain through my shoulder. Luckily, the bullet hadn’t gone too deep, and the surgeon had dug it out easily enough. The damage had been minimal, but if it had been an inch to the right, it would’ve been a different story. As it was, the pull of the stitches and the ache in the healing muscles were constant reminders of how close I’d come to losing everything.
“Thanks.” Kit accepted my offering and cradled it with both hands, letting the heat warm her icy fingers.
I lowered myself into the chair beside her, body angling instinctively toward hers. Our knees touched, and I didn’t miss the way she leaned slightly into the contact, craving connection, even as her focus remained on Tommy.
“Any change?” I asked, though I’d spoken to the doctors before coming in.
She shook her head, returning her gaze to my brother’s sleeping form. “The doctor said his vitals are stronger today.” A pause, then softer, “He opened his eyes for almost five minutes earlier.”
The hope in her voice was both beautiful and heartbreaking. Her grip tightened around the coffee cup, knuckles going white. I could see the faint tremor in her hands—exhaustion, stress, and probably hunger, since she’d barely eaten in days.
I reached out, unable to stop myself, and tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. My fingers lingered against her cheek, feeling the softness there despite everything. Her skin was cool to the touch, a lack of movement and the overactive AC in the room chilling her through.
I sighed. “It might not seem like it, but we got lucky, Sweetness. All of us.”
My mind flashed back to that night—pulling ourselves from the wreckage of the explosion, the reckless drive home, rushing into the penthouse, not knowing what we’d find. The metallic scent of blood had hit me first, followed by Kitania’s terror-filled pheromones saturating the air. Vincent’s body sprawled in the hallway, a perfect hole through his head. And Kitania—Christ, our little Omega—bent over my brother’s prone form, blood covering her hands as she desperately tried to keep Tommy’s life from spilling out onto the floor.
The image was seared into my memory—her ice-blue eyes wide with shock, her clothes soaked crimson, her voice breaking as she begged Tommy to stay with her. Despite all she’d been through, all she’d survived in her past, I’d never seen her like that before. Truly shattered. It had shaken me to my core.
I took a sip of my coffee, using the rich taste and scalding heat to ground myself in the present. “You saved him, Dolcezza. And he’s going to wake up. I just know it.”
I watched as she sniffled, trying her best to blink back tears.
“Don’t make promises you’re not sure you can keep. Please. My heart can’t take it.”
Goddamn. My heart fucking broke, splintering into a million tiny pieces.
“It’s not a promise, Sweetness. It’s a manifestation.”
Slowly, she nodded. Then blew out a long, heavy breath and leaned back in her chair. It was the first time I’d seen her relax all day.
“Then I’ll manifest with you,” she murmured. “I want Tommy to wake up. I want Beretta to keep his leg. And I want Rocco to die painfully for what he’s done to us. To me .”
The hardness in her voice was almost more tragic than her sadness, her grief.
A long moment passed before I spoke again. “I never wanted this for you.” The confession slipped out before I could stop it. “This violence. This world. If I could give you a different life... I would.”
Her gaze met mine, those blue depths gleaming with a fierce edge. My sweet, gentle Omega was still there, but now she was fortified with steel—tempered in the fires of life and death, hardship and resilience.
“I chose this,” she replied with surprising firmness, capturing my hand with her free one and intertwining our fingers like we’d intertwined our lives. “I chose you . All of you. And I always will.”
I rubbed at my chest, directly over my heart. “And we’ll always choose you, Dolcezza, every day, for the rest of our lives.”
That didn’t change how much I hated the abuse she’d suffered, the danger she was in, the life she’d been forced to take just to protect the family she loved. I wanted to pull her into my arms, shield her from the harsh realities of our world, but it was too late for that. She’d already seen the worst of it, had blood on her hands that matched our own.
“Still,” I said softly, squeezing her fingers gently. “When we found you in that basement, maybe we should’ve—”
“Don’t.” The single word sliced through my sentence as she gave a sharp shake of her head. “We can’t change the past, and I wouldn’t want to. This is where I belong, Gio. With Dimitri, Marco, Tommy, you …” A soft smile touched her lips. “You’re mine , and I’m yours .”
“Fuck, Dolcezza.” My thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, and I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against her temple. Her scent filled my lungs—that mossy sweetness so uniquely her.
God, I loved this woman.
For a long moment, we stayed just like that, breathing each other in. I almost didn’t want to break the silence, but I also had the overwhelming urge to take care of my Omega.
“You should rest. He’s not going anywhere.”
Kit shook her head, stubborn as always. “I need to be here when he wakes up again.”
“And if you collapse from exhaustion? What good will that do him?” I countered, though I knew it was useless. She’d refused to leave his side for more than a few minutes since he’d been admitted.
“I’ve slept,” she insisted, gesturing vaguely to the small cot in the corner of the private VIP room that money and threats had secured.
I raised an eyebrow. “An hour here and there isn’t sleeping, Kit.”
She ignored me, taking a sip of her caffeine instead. Her attention fixated back on Tommy’s face, watching for any flicker of consciousness. The monitors continued their steady rhythm, each beep reassurance that he was still with us, still fighting.
I sighed and tried again. “You saved him, but he’ll straight up murder us if we don’t take care of you.”
“Except I didn’t.” Her confession was quiet, timid, and full of regret. “He wouldn’t have been hurt if it weren’t for me…”
“That’s bullshit. The Valentinos have hated us for years.”
“But they wouldn’t have come for you like that if it hadn’t been for me. Tommy got shot trying to protect me. He was dying while I was—”
“Fighting for your life. Surviving. None of this is your fault, Kitania.” I used her full name, hoping the weight of what I was saying would register and offer her some sense of comfort. I hated that she was beating herself up for things so far beyond her control. “You’re not responsible for the shitty, fucked up actions of others. Do you understand me?”
Eyes glistening with unshed tears, she nodded, finally seeming to let go of some of her misplaced guilt. “I just hate that it happened. That any of it happened. That you all were hurt. That Tommy almost died. That Beretta was shot too and might lose his leg. That you lost some of your men. That I—” She swallowed, not finishing that sentence.
“Do you regret it?” I asked after another long silence. The question that had been burning inside me since that night. “Pulling the trigger?”
Kitania went still, her breathing so shallow I could barely detect it. For a moment, I thought she might not answer, and I regretted asking, bringing it all back to the forefront.
Then she turned to me, her eyes clear despite her exhaustion.
“I would do it again.” Each word was deliberate. Succinct. Hardened with resolve. “And I would do worse to protect any of you.”
The fierce certainty in her voice was a goddamned turn-on.
This was what the Valentinos had tried to break—Kit’s strength, her capacity for loyalty, for love so deep she would kill to protect what she cherished.
But Rocco, Vincent, and Antonio had failed. Spectacularly.
Thank fuck.
And now there was only one of them left—the singular focus of my rage and retribution.
I brought her hand to my mouth and brushed a kiss along the back. “We’re going to end this,” I promised in a whisper meant only for her. “Rocco will pay for what he’s done.”
Her hand squeezed mine. “I know,” she said simply, with an absolute faith that still amazed me after everything she’d been through. “But right now, I can’t think about revenge. I just need Tommy to wake up.” Her gaze returned to my brother.
There were so many tubes and wires keeping him tethered to this world. I didn’t know what half of them did, but if they kept him alive, that was good enough for me.
The doctors and nurses continued to reassure us he would recover, given time. The bullet had missed vital organs by millimeters—another of those small mercies that stood between us and complete devastation.
“He’s strong. Stubborn as hell, too.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Like all of you.”
“Guilty.” I returned her smile with one of my own. “It’s genetic.”
Surprising the hell out of me, Kit leaned over and pressed her lips to mine, stealing a kiss I would have given freely.
“Love you,” she murmured.
“Fuck, Sweetness. I love you too.”
We fell into silence then, the beeping monitors and squeaking shoes in the hallway the only sounds breaking the quiet. I didn’t pull my hand from hers, instead settling deeper into the uncomfortable chair and preparing for the long wait ahead.
Because that’s what family did—they waited, they endured, they protected. They were always, always there, blood-soaked and battle-tested, holding each other up when the other couldn’t stand on their own.