Chapter 24
The moment I hear my wife over the line, I’m already running. I don’t remember grabbing my keys. I don’t remember getting into the car. I don’t remember blowing through the warehouse gate. I only know one thing:
Elena is in danger.
I slam my foot on the gas, weaving through traffic with reckless precision. I can still hear her voice—shaking, terrified—over and over in my head.
“I’m scared.” “There are gunshots.” “Alessandro—”
My hands shake around the wheel. I never shake. Not even under fire. Not even facing death. But for her? I’m unraveling. I take a corner too fast, tires screaming. I hit the highway like a bullet.
My phone rings in my lap.
Dante.
I hit speaker with a shaking thumb.
“Where are you?” Dante barks.
“On the way,” I grind out. My voice is barely a voice anymore. “She’s—Dante, I can’t—” The words choke. For the first time in my life, I can’t get them out.
Dante goes silent. Then, quietly—deadly serious: “She’ll make it, Sandro.”
I swallow hard, chest tightening so viciously I want to punch something. “I can’t lose her,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I—Dante, I can’t—lose—her.”
“She’s strong.” His voice hardens. “She married into our family. She’s ours. She’ll hold on. Rocco’s with her—he won’t let go.”
I slam my fist against the steering wheel. “This is my fault,” I snarl. “She was with me. My responsibility. My—”
“Enough,” Dante cuts in sharply. “I’m on my way.
You will get there first.” There is so much unsaid between that breath and his next words.
Knowing I'll be the one to help Rocco and my wife.
“You get there,” he says quietly. “You bring her out.” Another breath.
“And then we will burn whoever did this.”
The call ends. I push the car faster.
The moment I turn onto the street, I see lights—flashing, chaotic. People running. Smoke rising from metal. The SUV is upside down, crumpled like a crushed can, glass exploding across the pavement. Gunshots have stopped. But the silence is worse.
I slam the car into park and leap out, sprinting toward the wreckage.
My heart is in my throat. My chest is on fire.
My hands are clenched so tight they ache.
Then—I see him. Rocco. He’s leaning against the overturned SUV, one hand braced on the metal, the other gripping his gun.
His shirt is soaked in blood. His arm is covered in it—fresh, smeared, dripping.
My blood runs cold. I slow as I reach him, because I don’t see her.
I don’t fucking see her. “Where—” My voice fails. “Where is she?”
Rocco’s chest rises and falls hard. He nods toward the shattered passenger door, his voice raw from shouting. “She wouldn’t come out without you.”
Everything in me fractures. I stumble the last step to the SUV, dropping to my knees, reaching for the dark opening.
“Elena,” I choke out. “Dove—I’m here.” And for the first time in my life—I pray.
“Dove—come here. Come to me.” I crouch down and reach into the twisted metal, hands shaking as I sweep aside glass and debris.
A soft whimper answers me. “Elena,” I breathe, throat tearing.
“I’ve got you. I’m right here.” Her hand appears first—small, trembling, covered in dust. Then her face.
Blood streaks down the side of her forehead, dripping into her lashes.
My vision goes red. I don’t remember how I get her out—only that a second later, she’s in my arms, weight pressed to my chest as I lift her out of the wreckage.
Her head lolls against me, and I nearly fall to my knees. "Dio, no—no, no, no.” I press my cheek to her hair. “Stay with me, Dove. Please.” Behind me, I hear tires skid.
Dante. He runs toward us, breath ragged, scanning her with sharp, assessing eyes. “Alessandro—she needs a hospital—”
But I’m already moving. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I don’t acknowledge anything but the broken sound of her trying to inhale. I start running. Past Rocco. Past the flashing lights. Past the world. Toward my car.
“Alessandro!” Dante shouts, he tries to stop Rocco as he stumbles toward me, blood dripping from his arm.
“I’m fine,” Rocco snarls, ripping away. “Let me go.”
He sprints after me, nearly collapsing once, catching himself on the hood of my car before ripping open the back door.
I climb into the seat, pulling Elena into my lap, cradling her against me like she’s made of glass.
Rocco hesitates for half a breath—just long enough for Dante to appear at the open door.
“She’ll make it,” Dante says firmly, meeting my eyes. “You get her there. I’ll handle the rest.”“Drive,” I bark. Words unspoken.“Drive,” I bark.Revenge promised.
Rocco slams the door shut, rounds the front of the car and jumps into the driver's seat.
“Drive,” I bark. The tires scream. We lurch forward. I hold Elena tighter as her head falls back against my arm.
“Dove,” I whisper, brushing hair from her face. Her skin is too pale. Her breathing too shallow. Her forehead too wet with blood. She winces when I press my palm to her wound. “I’m sorry—I know—just stay with me.” My voice breaks on the last word. “Fucking drive faster.” I shout.
She blinks slowly, eyes glassy, unfocused. Her lips move. “A…Alessandro…”
“Yes,” I choke out. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe, Dove.”
Her hand lifts weakly, trembling as she reaches toward my face. Her fingertips trace my cheek. Soft. Barely there.
“Don’t… yell at Rocco,” she whispers. “He’s… my friend.”
Rocco swears loudly from the front seat, his voice cracking. “Fuck,” he growls, knuckles white on the wheel.
I grip her tighter, inhaling shakily as she tries to smile at me. “My… hurricane of a husband…”
“Dio, Elena, don’t—don’t talk like—”
“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I… I—” Her face pinches with sudden pain. Then her eyes roll back. And her body goes limp.
“ELENA!” The scream rips out of me. Raw. Animal. Shredded from the deepest part of my soul. “DRIVE FASTER!” I roar. “ROCCO—FASTER!”
Rocco slams his foot down, the engine howling as we tear through the streets, but it’s not fast enough. Nothing is fast enough.
“Dove—wake up. Wake up—wake up—” I press my forehead to hers, my tears falling into her hair, my entire world threatening to rip apart in my arms. “Don’t you leave me,” I beg, voice fractured and broken. “Don’t you fucking leave me.”
The car races down the street. And everything I am—every piece of me—hangs on the rise and fall of her breath.
The moment the car skids to a stop in front of the ER doors, I throw the back door open and pull Elena into my arms. Her head lolls against my shoulder—too limp, too still—and I swear something inside my chest tears open.
“HELP!” I roar, barreling through the sliding doors. “Someone get over here—NOW!”
Nurses rush forward, a gurney appearing like someone conjured it. Hands reach for her. I don’t let go.
“Sir—we need to take her—”
“You touch her when I say you can touch her,” I snarl, clutching her tighter.
“She’s bleeding from the head—she needs immediate scan—please—just let us—” one of the nurses say. Their words blur together—medical jargon, urgency, fear from them, fury from me.
Finally, a doctor shoves forward, eyes sharp, authoritative. “We can’t help her unless you put her down.”
I freeze. Not because I trust him. Not because I believe him. But because Elena’s breath stutters—a soft, broken hitch that nearly brings me to my knees. I lower her onto the gurney with shaking hands.
“I’m right here, Dove,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”
They start wheeling her away. Pushing too fast. Turning a corner.
And then—She disappears behind double doors.
My world goes silent. Then it explodes. I slam my fist into the wall so hard the plaster cracks.
Pain shoots up my arm—but it’s nothing compared to the fucking agony tearing through my chest.
“Alessandro!” Rocco grabs me from behind as I rear back for another hit. “You can’t go in there!”
“They took her,” I grit out, shoving against him. “They took her from me!”
“They’re helping her,” he snaps, tightening his hold despite the blood still dripping from his arm. “You did your part. Let them do theirs.”
I shove off the wall, chest heaving, vision blurring with rage. “I should’ve been there,” I choke. “I should’ve—”
“Boss.” Rocco steps in front of me, grabbing my shoulders.
“Look at me.” I do. And I see it—the fury in his eyes, the grief, the promise of violence simmering just below the surface.
“We’re going to find the men who did this,” he says low, voice shaking.
“And I’m going to put every single one of them in the ground. ”
My jaw clenches until my teeth ache. “No,” I whisper. “They’re mine.”
Rocco nods once. “You’re goddamn right they are.”
My breathing steadies. My rage does not. I straighten, rolling my shoulders back as the mask falls into place—the one I inherited from my father, forged by fear, sharpened by loyalty. The Underboss. The man every monster in this city fears at night.
“Rocco,” I say quietly, dangerously. “Listen to me.” He steps closer. “We’re going to kill every single man involved in this. Every last one.” The hospital lights hum above us. The hallway smells like bleach and fear.
And Rocco grins—a feral, bloody smile. “With pleasure, Boss.”