Chapter 3
three
MARCO
I’d stashed the takeout bag under my arm, trying not to spill the coffees as I navigated the hospital corridor. The doctor’s words echoed in my head—stable condition, improving slowly, still critical. Medical jargon that boiled down to “Tommy’s alive but not out of the woods.” I’d heard enough.
The scent of the food I’d picked up—Kitania’s favorite pasta from that little Italian place on Seventh—wafted up as I approached Tommy’s room. The door was closed, and I had to juggle all the shit I was holding to manage the handle. I’d already spilled coffee on my shirt twice today and was sporting the stains to prove it. Sleep deprivation was a bitch, but I wasn’t about to complain. Not when Tommy was fighting for his life.
I spotted Gio first when I entered—rigid posture, that thousand-yard stare, his hand clasping Kitania’s like a lifeline. Our Omega looked worse than yesterday, if that was possible. Hollowed cheeks, dark circles beneath eyes that had seen too much already.
Dimitri’s deep timber rumbled behind me as he finished up talking with Tommy’s doctor. Even D looked rough—his imposing frame somehow managing to look both intimidating and exhausted.
Seven days of this nightmare had pushed us all to the edge.
Between the three of us, we’d established a rotation, none of us willing to leave Kit alone for long. Not that she’d asked for our help—our stubborn little Omega would have stayed here by herself, surviving on vending machine shit and sheer willpower if we’d let her. But that wasn’t how this worked. Not with family. And especially not with pack.
“Brought something that doesn’t taste like cardboard,” I announced, crossing to Kit and dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
Her hair smelled like hospital disinfectant with traces of that floral shampoo from when D had finally convinced her to shower yesterday. I set the food on the small side table, then crouched before her, hands resting on her knees as I studied her face. The shadows under her eyes had deepened, her skin pale enough to see the blue veins beneath. My chest tightened.
“You look like shit, Angel.” Not that she wasn’t beautiful. She was always beautiful. But the stress of this past week had definitely taken its toll, and she looked so damn fragile.
The comment earned me a small, reluctant smile—the first I’d seen from her today. A tiny victory.
“Always the charmer,” she murmured, but there was affection beneath the tiredness in her voice.
Her hand left Gio’s to squeeze my wrist briefly—a point of connection, of acknowledgment. I felt Dimitri watching us, saw the flash of something in his eyes—not jealousy, exactly, but that particular brand of longing he carried. My brother had always been the most guarded of us, the most careful with his emotions. The leader among us, always strong, rarely vulnerable. Seeing him with Kitania these past months had been like witnessing ice thaw in spring—slow, inevitable, revealing everything hidden beneath.
Dimitri joined us, moving with his usual predatory grace despite the fatigue evident in the tight lines around his mouth. His hand automatically found the nape of Kitania’s neck, thumb stroking gently over the spot I knew he intended to place his bond mark. The caress was possessive, instinctual—an Alpha reassuring himself of his mate’s presence.
“Doctor says he’s improving,” he reported, his deep voice pitched low. “Infection risk is down.”
The clinical update was delivered with his usual precision, but his touch betrayed his concern—not just for Tommy, but for our Omega who’d been running herself ragged. Dimitri had never been a man of flowery words or emotional declarations. He spoke through action—through the way he’d personally threatened the hospital administrator to get Tommy the best care, through the security detail positioned discreetly throughout the floor, through the gentle stroke of his thumb against Kitania’s skin.
Kit nodded, leaning into his touch like a plant seeking sunlight. Her body recognized what her mind was too exhausted to fully process—that she needed the contact, the connection to stay grounded.
“Did you update Emilio?” she asked Dimitri, ever mindful of family obligations even now.
Dimitri grunted an affirmative. “Just sent him a text. Father sends his regards. Said to tell you he’s proud of how you’re handling yourself.”
A faint blush colored her pale cheeks at the praise. She still wasn’t used to being valued, to being seen as strong rather than broken. Old habits from her past died hard. I’d noticed her flinch at compliments before, as if expecting the other shoe to drop, the kindness to transform into cruelty.
I opened the takeout containers, releasing more of those tantalizing aromas. The smell of garlic and herbs made my stomach rumble, but I wouldn’t take a single bite until my Omega had her fill. “Eat,” I urged, pressing a plastic fork into her free hand. “You need something besides caffeine in your system.”
She started to protest, but I fixed her with a look that said I wasn’t taking no for an answer. With a sigh that spoke volumes, she obeyed and took a small bite of the pasta.
“That’s my good girl,” I murmured, satisfaction warming my chest.
For the first time in days, a light pink flush colored Kit’s cheeks. I nearly did a fist pump after seeing that small glimpse of life return to my weary mate.
I caught Gio watching the exchange, his expression a complex mix of gratitude and something else—maybe envy? I knew my brother well enough to read between the lines. Gio excelled at strategy, at violence, at dismantling enemies with calculated, practiced precision. But these small acts of care sometimes eluded him, though he felt them no less deeply.
We were different that way. I’d always been physical—in affection, in combat, in how I learned and processed the world. Touch came naturally to me. For Gio, touch was deliberate, measured, each gesture carrying the weight of careful consideration.
A soft groan from the bed drew everyone’s attention at once. Tommy’s eyelids fluttered, then opened halfway, unfocused at first before finding Kitania. His cracked lips curved into a lopsided smile that made him look more like himself despite the pallor and tubes.
“Hey, Butterfly,” he rasped, barely audible over the machines.
The effect on Kitania was immediate and profound—she transformed, fatigue momentarily forgotten as she leaned forward, food abandoned. One hand squeezed Tommy’s while the other gently touched his face, fingertips tracing his cheekbone with such tenderness it made my throat tight.
“Hey yourself,” she whispered thickly. “You planning on sleeping all day again?”
The way they looked at each other… it was as though the hospital room fell away from around them, the intensity of their connection creating a bubble that none of us dared intrude upon.
I stepped back slightly, giving them space while staying close enough to support both. The adrenaline that typically fueled me—that constant search for the next thrill, the next risk—quieted in moments like these. Watching them, I felt an unfamiliar stillness settle over me. Peace in the eye of the storm, however fleeting.
Tommy tried to chuckle but winced instead, pain pinching his features. “Kinda comfortable here.”
His gaze shifted, taking in the rest of us gathered around. Relief washed over his face, followed by that irreverent humor that not even a bullet could suppress.
“You guys look terrible,” he teased, a wisp of his usual smirk playing on his lips.
Fuck , it was good to see him awake. To see him joking . He hadn’t lost his spirit, and it let me know my brother was going to be okay. He was going to make it.
Chuckling, I needled him right back, “Says the guy with the hole in his stomach.”
“Occupational hazard.” Tommy’s eyes drifted back to Kit, drawn to her like a compass finding north. “You’ve been here the whole time?”
She nodded, swallowing hard, as if she didn’t trust her voice.
“Hasn’t left your side,” I supplied, my hand finding its way to Kitania’s shoulder, feeling the delicate bones beneath my palm. “Wouldn’t even shower until D threatened to carry her to the bathroom himself.”
Tommy’s eyes softened, his fingers tightening weakly around hers. “My fierce little Butterfly.”
The pet name he’d given her had never made more sense than it did now—her transformation from the broken, terrified creature we’d found in the Valentino’s basement to the woman who’d killed to protect what was hers. Who had saved her Alpha. A metamorphosis as complete as any in nature. I’d watched it happen, had been part of it, had sometimes worried we were pushing her too far, too fast.
But Kitania had always been stronger than she appeared. It was a silent kind of strength, one that kept her on her feet even when the weight of the world was on her shoulders, threatening to crush her.
Gio smirked. “You don’t know the half of it. Kitania refused to eat. Refused to sleep. Refused to do anything except sit here and watch you breathe.”
Kit ducked her head, obviously embarrassed. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“You were worse,” Dimitri challenged, as if daring her to contradict him. He moved to the edge of the bed, hiked a pant leg, and crouched down so he was closer to Tommy. Lowering his voice like he was confiding a secret, he leaned in. “When the doctors tried to make her leave during procedures, she nearly bit their heads off. You should’ve seen her. Our sweet girl turned into a vicious little thing.”
I grinned. “You would’ve been proud.”
“Oh, I am.” Carefully, slowly, as if it took all the strength left in his body, Tommy lifted Kit’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “Thank you, Butterfly.”
Something that looked an awful lot like guilt flitted through her expression—there and gone so fast it made me question whether I’d truly seen it.
“You had us worried, little brother,” Gio rasped. He cleared his throat from the emotion that was clearly building.
“Thought we lost you there for a minute,” I added with a teasing edge, but it did a poor job of masking just how serious things had been.
We all knew what it felt like to lose a family member. I didn’t think I could do it again.
Tommy’s gaze flicked between us. “Sorry ‘bout that. Not exactly how we planned shit to go down, is it?”
“Understatement of the fuckin’ century.” D scrubbed a hand down his face, scratching at the beard that was thicker than usual from days of skipping his shaving routine. “You need anything? Pain meds? Water?”
Tommy shook his head slightly, wincing at the movement. “Nah. Just... all of you. Here.” His eyes drifted shut for a moment, then opened with visible effort. “Tell me what I missed. How long was I out?”
“Seven long as fuck days.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring him up to speed on everything when he could barely stay awake. Stress wouldn’t help his recovery. “The rest we’ll fill you in on later. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Sure enough, Tommy struggled to keep his eyes open. I could see the medication pulling him back under, his blinks growing slower. Longer.
“S’okay,” he mumbled, already drifting. “I can handle it.”
“There will be plenty of time to talk. Rest, now,” Kit soothed, tracing her fingers over his forehead to brush a stray lock of hair into place. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“‘kay.” His eyes closed again, breathing evening out as he slipped back into a healing sleep.
Kit didn’t move, her posture slightly more relaxed now, as though those few moments they’d shared had recharged something essential within her.
I exchanged glances with my brothers over her head, communicating silently. This was the first time in days we’d seen that spark relit in her, and we wouldn’t waste the moment. We wouldn’t let her waste away, sacrificing her health while she fought for ours.
The Alpha in each of us urged us to care for and protect our Omega.
“You should eat more,” I coaxed gently, reclaiming the abandoned food and placing it back in her hands. “Tommy will kick our asses if we let you waste away while he’s napping.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Can’t have that.”
The normalcy of the exchange settled something restless in my chest.
Kit hummed around the fork as she tasted the pasta, and Dimitri’s thumb smoothed over her neck once more, his expression softening as he purred out the two words she’d always loved. “Good girl.”
And there was that blush again, letting me know everything was going to be alright. That we really would come through this.
We were changed—all of us, both mentally and physically. Gio’s shoulder surgery, my bruised ribs, D’s battered body—but the real transformation was in our Omega. She’d tasted violence and hadn’t broken. She’d become part of our world in a way we’d never intended.
Her wounds differed from ours—invisible yet soul deep. And unfortunately, they were something medicine couldn’t fix. I knew we were all worried about the day they caught up with her once we were all well and back home again. Emotional scars often ran deeper than physical ones, and I feared how she’d cope with the weight of what she’d had to do.
As I watched her take another small bite to appease me, I caught Gio’s expression darkening. I recognized that look—had seen it countless times before a hit, before vengeance was delivered. Cold, calculated, deadly. I knew what he was thinking without him saying a single damn word.
Rocco Valentino would pay for all he’d done to our family. To our Omega.
The thought of killing Rocco—of ending the Valentino line once and for all—filled me with a savage satisfaction. Not just for business, not just for family honor, but for her . For the shadows that still haunted our mate’s eyes, for the nightmares that still woke her screaming, for the scars—visible and invisible—that mapped her body, her heart, her soul.
D gave a slight nod—permission, understanding, agreement. He knew what needed to be done as well as we did.
We’d keep Kit safe, get Tommy home, and then hunt down the asshole who’d caused us so much suffering.
Because until Rocco was dealt with, Kitania would never feel truly safe. She’d live with one eye on the door, one ear listening for danger. And after everything she’d endured, safety was the least of what she deserved.
She deserved everything . Every. Good. Thing.
I moved to Kitania’s other side, completing the circle around her—a shield. A pack . My fingers brushed against her arm, needing to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin.
“We’ve got you, Angel,” I murmured. “We’re with you.”
Her eyes met mine, those ice-blue depths seeing more than I sometimes wanted her to. She didn’t respond verbally, but she leaned into me, accepting the claim, the protection.
And in that small gesture was trust—the most precious gift she could give any of us after what she’d been through. Trust that we would keep her safe. Trust that we would avenge what had been done to her. To Tommy. To all of us. Trust that, somehow, we would find our way through this storm to the calm peace that waited on the other side.
I’d never thought peace was possible for people like us. But for her, I was willing to fight for it.
And it started with putting Rocco Valentino in the ground.