Chapter 52
Claire’s POV
Her body sagged against mine, weak and trembling, and I had to swallow back the nausea rising in my throat.
She was so light.
Too light.
Like the strength had been wrung out of her one scream at a time. My arms tightened around her protectively as Miguel and his men worked quickly, clearing the room, checking the corners, making sure no one else was left in the building.
I didn’t care if there were.
They’d never walk out of here if they tried to stop me.
“Can you walk?” I whispered, brushing her hair from her eyes. She blinked slowly, lips dry and cracked, but she nodded—barely.
Still, I didn’t let go.
I tried to lift her.
I wanted to. Every part of me screamed to carry her out like a promise kept—but the second I tried, my legs shook, her weight more than just body, more than just broken bones. It was everything she’d been through. Everything I had let happen.
I gritted my teeth and shifted, looping her arm around my shoulders instead, wrapping mine tightly around her waist.
“Lean on me,” I whispered, breathless.
She didn’t speak, but her head nodded against mine, her body slumping heavier into me with every step.
She made a soft sound, maybe a protest, but her face buried into my neck like she remembered how to breathe only when she touched my skin.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered again.
We moved through the corridor, Miguel leading, gun still in hand. I didn’t care about Antonio anymore—not in this moment. Not when I felt Vera’s heartbeat fluttering faintly against my collarbone like a ghost I nearly lost.
We moved slow.
One foot in front of the other, each one dragging more than walking. I was shaking with the effort, but I didn’t care. I didn’t stop.
And then the door opened.
Light—soft, gray, almost hesitant—spilled through the doorway.
And standing just outside, waiting exactly where she said she’d be, was Valeria.
She stepped forward fast, her eyes on Vera, and for the first time since I found her, I saw something break across her face.
“Give her to me,” she said, voice low, firm, not unkind.
I hesitated.
But then I let go.
Valeria slipped her arms under her sister with ease, lifting her like she weighed nothing, like this had been her duty all along.
Vera stirred slightly in her arms, her head turning weakly into Valeria’s shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” Valeria murmured, so soft it was barely a sound.
I followed behind them as we moved toward the car. Everything blurred—trees, men, guns—all of it falling away as I watched the two people I loved most disappear into each other’s arms.
We were out.
But this wasn’t the end.
This was the beginning of the reckoning.
Vera’s POV
Everything hurt.
My lungs, my skin, my ribs. Even my eyelashes felt bruised. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The world kept tilting, folding in and out of itself.
But I saw her.
Claire.
She was right there.
Her arm around me, her warmth pressed to my side, her breath coming faster than mine—wild, desperate.
She was real.
I tried to say her name, but nothing came out. My throat was too dry. My lips barely moved.
Then I saw her face shift—pain, rage, something deeper. And she held me tighter. Like letting go wasn’t an option.
The light outside hit my eyes like a slap, too bright, too sudden. I blinked, vision swimming, but then—
Valeria.
Her face hovered above mine, lips moving, voice low. I couldn’t make out the words. But I knew that look. That sharp, protective fire in her eyes. It was the same way she looked at me before we burned Leo’s world to the ground.
She took me from Claire, and I let her. I couldn’t hold myself up anymore.
But I saw them.
Claire. Valeria. The crew. Their shapes. Their shadows. Their sounds.
They came for me.
After all this time, after everything I thought I’d lost—they found me.
And for the first time in weeks, I stopped fighting sleep.
Because I wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.
Claire’s POV
I turned to Miguel, my voice flat, controlled, but loaded with something darker.
“Take Antonio back to the warehouse,” I said. “Tie him up exactly the way he had Vera.”
Miguel didn’t flinch. He nodded once, then motioned to the two men still dragging Antonio. The bastard was barely conscious—whimpering more than talking now. Good.
Let him rot.
I turned toward Valeria. Our eyes met—no words needed.
We moved together to the car.
She opened the back door, and I slid in first, gently pulling Vera in with me. Her head rested on my shoulder, her breathing shallow, but steady.
Valeria got in the front, already dialing.
“Emi,” she said the moment the call connected. Her voice cracked slightly, only for a second. “We found her. We’re coming home. Your house. Get a doctor—now.” Then she hung up without waiting for a response.
The car started moving.
I wrapped both arms around Vera, pulling her in close, my lips brushing the top of her head as I whispered into her hair.
“You’re safe now. I’ve got you, okay? We’re going home.”
She didn’t respond. Her eyes were barely open.
But I kept talking anyway.
“They didn’t break you. You’re still here. Still with me. And I’m not letting go, Vera. Not now. Not ever.”
Her hand shifted weakly, barely a twitch against my chest.
That was enough to shatter something in me.
I leaned closer, pressing my forehead to hers.
I whispered. “You’re going to be okay. I swear it.”
And as the car sped toward the only place that felt like safety, I held her like the whole world depended on it.
Because to me—it did.
The drive felt endless.
Every second I wasn’t looking at her, I was checking her pulse with my fingers, or watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Just to make sure. Just to be sure she was still with me.
She didn’t speak. Barely moved. But her head rested against me like she trusted I’d hold her up. Like she knew she could let go now.
I tightened the grip of Vera’s jacket around her shoulders. She was still cold. Burning up and shivering at once—her body stuck between fever and shock.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, again and again, like a mantra. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. No one’s ever going to touch you again.”
Valeria didn’t say a word the whole ride. She kept her eyes on the road, one hand clenched on the wheel, the other wiping under her nose in silence when she thought I wasn’t looking.
When Emilia’s house came into view, something in me cracked.
Because we’d made it.
We were bringing her home.
As the car slowed to a stop, the front door flew open. Emilia stood there barefoot, a robe clutched around her body, panic etched deep into her face. A man stood behind her—mid-thirties, carrying a medical bag.
The moment we opened the door, Emilia rushed forward.
“I called the best trauma doc in the city,” she said, voice trembling as her eyes locked on Vera. “He’ll help her.”
Valeria helped me lift Vera gently, and the doctor moved in to guide us all inside. The warmth of the house hit like a wall, but Vera didn’t stir. Her head lolled against my shoulder, her breath ragged.
“Where?” I asked.
“Bed, now,” the doctor said, already pulling out gloves.
We carried her into the living room. Laid her down. I knelt beside her and refused to move.
Even as the doctor started working.
Even when Valeria told me to get water. Food. Rest.
I didn’t leave her side.
Because she’d waited for me.
Now it was my turn to stay.
The doctor worked fast, murmuring things to himself, checking her vitals, cutting through the bloody fabric of her shirt to reach the wound beneath her ribs. I could hear Valeria pacing behind me, sharp and tense, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Vera.
She didn’t flinch when he touched her.
Didn’t make a sound.
She just laid there, barely breathing, like her body hadn’t figured out it was safe yet.
I sat on the floor beside the couch, one hand holding hers, the other pressed lightly against her thigh, grounding us both.
Emilia moved silently through the room, bringing bandages, saline, towels. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t speak. But every so often, I’d feel her fingers press lightly on my shoulder—just a small touch. A reminder I wasn’t alone.
The doctor exhaled heavily after a few minutes, still working but slower now.
The doctor finished without fanfare.
He covered her carefully, adjusted the IV, and stood up with a kind of reverent silence I didn’t expect. His hands were stained with her blood, but he treated her like she was something fragile and sacred.
“She needs rest,” he said softly. “And someone with her. Fever’s coming down, but she needs to rest.”
I nodded. My voice wasn’t ready yet.
He packed his things. Emilia saw him out.
And then we were alone.
The room felt hollow without the sound of orders being barked, guns being drawn, or doors being kicked open. The quiet almost made it worse. Like now that the chaos had passed, all we had left was what it cost.
Valeria sat on the arm of the couch, staring at the floor like she was still in another place. I didn’t interrupt her. She looked like if she spoke, she might break.
Vera stirred beside me—a soft sound, a twitch of her fingers.
I leaned in fast. “I’m here,” I said, voice barely above a breath. “It’s me. You’re safe.”
Her eyes opened just a little. Glazed. Heavy. But she found me.
Tears stung mine instantly.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
I reached for her hand and brought it to my lips, holding it there like a prayer. My forehead dropped to the edge of the couch, resting against her side.
And for the first time since the night she disappeared—I let myself cry.
Not loud. Not sharp.
Just soft.
Painful.
Real.
Because she was here.
Because we still had a chance.
Because I loved her so much, it hurt more than any bullet ever could.