Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
I lie on a plush chaise as Dr. Romano examines me. His hands are cool and professional as he checks my vitals and inspects me for injuries.
"Any dizziness? Nausea?" he asks, shining a light in my eyes.
"No," I reply, though my stomach feels hollow. "I haven't eaten in... I don't even know how long."
He nods, making a note on his tablet. "Your blood pressure is a bit low, which is consistent with stress and lack of nutrition. Otherwise, physically you're fine." He glances up at me. "I'll have someone bring you something to eat. I recommend rest, fluids and nutrition."
"Thank you," I say, already standing up. My mind is elsewhere—in a clinic room across town where Noah might be fighting for his life.
Dr. Romano moves toward Jessica, who sits nervously on the bed. I touch her shoulder reassuringly before slipping out of the room.
Alessio waits in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His posture might seem relaxed but his eyes remain alert, scanning the corridor continuously.
"Dr. Romano says I'm fine," I tell him, my voice low and urgent. "Just need food. Can you take me to Noah when he's done with Jessica?"
Alessio studies my face for a moment then gives a single nod. "I'll keep my word."
Relief washes through me. "Thank you."
I return to the room just as Dr. Romano is finishing his examination of Jessica. My sister looks small and vulnerable sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
"Your sister is physically unharmed," Dr. Romano tells me as he packs up his equipment. "Like you, she needs proper nutrition and rest. I've prescribed a mild sedative in case she has trouble sleeping." He hands me a small bottle of pills.
"Thank you, doctor," I say, taking the medication.
Dr. Romano gives us both a reassuring nod before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind him.
When we're finally alone Jessica looks up at me, her eyes filled with questions and fear.
I sit next to her on the bed, taking her hands in mine. They're cold so I rub them gently between my palms.
"You need to stay strong now, Jess," I say softly. "I know this is all terrifying and confusing but we're safe here."
Jessica glances around the opulent room with its silk curtains and antique furniture. "Safe with the mafia?" she says, raising an eyebrow.
I sigh. "They're... complicated. But they've been kind to me. To us. They're protecting us now."
Jessica's eyes suddenly light up with unexpected amusement. "It's like that show I watched. You know, 365 Days ?" She leans closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And Alessio is seriously hot. Like, movie-star hot."
I stare at her in disbelief before a laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me. It feels strange, almost wrong to laugh after everything that's happened but I can't help it.
"You're unbelievable," I say, shaking my head. "We've been kidnapped, held prisoner, half starved, and you're checking out the guys?"
Jessica shrugs, a hint of her usual spirit returning. "What? Just because we're in danger doesn't mean I can't appreciate the view."
I laugh again, feeling some of the tension drain from my shoulders. This is my sister—resilient, inappropriate, and somehow able to find lightness in the darkest situations. It's one of the things I've always loved about her.
"Only you, Jess," I say, squeezing her hand. "Only you."
A soft knock interrupts our moment of lightness. Jessica and I exchange glances, and I instinctively move slightly in front of her.
"Come in," I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.
The door opens to reveal a plump, older woman with gray hair pulled back in a neat bun. She carries a large tray loaded with food—sandwiches, fruit and what smells like homemade soup.
"Pardon the intrusion, signorine ," she says with a warm smile. "I'm Ginerva." She sets the tray down on a small table near the window. "Doctor said you might be hungry after your ordeal."
The smell of the food makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. I haven't eaten since... I can't even remember.
"Thank you, Ginerva," I say, genuinely grateful. "That's very kind."
She fusses with the arrangement of the dishes. "It's nothing special, just some simple food to get your strength back. The soup is cook's specialty—chicken with pastina. Very good for healing."
"It smells wonderful," Jessica says, already eyeing the tray.
Ginerva gives us a motherly nod. "If you need anything else just ring the bell beside the bed. Someone will come right away."
After she leaves I take a sandwich and bite into it. The simple combination of bread, cheese and ham tastes like the most exquisite meal I've ever had. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring it.
"I need to go," I say suddenly, setting down the half-eaten sandwich. "I need to see Noah."
Jessica looks up from her soup. "Evelyn, you barely ate anything. And you heard what the doctor said?—"
"I can't just sit here while he's..." I can't finish the sentence. The image of Noah bleeding on that concrete floor flashes through my mind.
Jessica studies my face for a long moment. "You care about him, don't you? Even after everything."
I don't answer directly. "Alessio promised to take me to the clinic."
My sister sighs, then reaches across to squeeze my hand. "Be careful, okay? I just got you back. I don't want to lose you again."
I stand in the doorway, torn between staying with Jessica and rushing to Noah's side. That picture of his blood flowing from his body into the stone floor won't leave my mind.
"I'll be back soon," I promise, kissing Jessica's forehead. "Try to rest."
Alessio waits for me in the hallway, his expression grim but professional. He leads me through the mansion's winding corridors and out to a sleek black SUV parked in the circular driveway.
Once we're inside the car Alessio starts the engine and pulls away from the estate. The gates close behind us with an ominous clang.
"What about Michael?" I ask, breaking the heavy silence. "Did you find him? Is he okay?"
Alessio's grip tightens on the steering wheel and he keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "We haven't found him yet."
My stomach drops. "What do you mean? Wasn't he there? In Ivan's house?"
"No." Alessio shakes his head. "We searched every room. There was no sign of him."
I press my hands against my face, trying to process this information. "But Ivan had him. Jessica said they were both taken."
"Your sister confirmed she saw him initially," Alessio says, his voice careful and measured. "But they were separated early on. We have men looking for him now."
"This is my fault," I whisper, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. "All of this is because of me."
"No," Alessio says firmly. "This is Ivan's doing. And Ivan is dead now."
The words should comfort me but they don't. Michael is still missing. Noah is fighting for his life. And Jessica... Jessica has been traumatized because of my choices.
"How bad is it?" I ask, changing the subject. "Noah's injury?"
Alessio's face remains impassive. "The bullet hit him in the chest. That's all I know."
I close my eyes, remembering the blood spreading across Noah's shirt, the way his body crumpled to the floor. I'd been so angry with him, blamed him for everything, and now he might die because he came to save me.
The clinic's antiseptic smell hits me as soon as we walk through the automatic doors. Alessio leads me through the bustling E.R. toward a private waiting area. My heart hammers harder against my ribs with each step.
Matteo sits alone in the corner, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. His shirt is stained with what I know is Noah's blood. When he looks up his eyes are hollow, haunted.
"How is he?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"In surgery." Matteo runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "The bullet... it entered close to his heart. They took him straight to the operating room."
I sink into the chair beside him, my legs suddenly unable to support me. "Is he going to make it?"
"He has to," Matteo says, his voice cracking slightly. "The stubborn bastard is too mean to die."
Despite everything, a small, sad smile tugs at my lips. It fades quickly as guilt crashes over me in waves.
"Matteo, I'm so sorry." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't run?—"
"Stop." Matteo raises his hand. There's no anger in his expression, just exhaustion. "You went to save your sister. I would have done the same thing."
"But he got shot because of me."
Matteo shakes his head. "No, he got shot because Ivan is—was—a psychopath. And because Noah would rather take a bullet than see someone he cares about get hurt." He looks at me directly. "Noah is like a brother to me. We've been through hell together. And I know him well enough to say he'd make the same choice again."
"I didn't think anyone would get hurt," I say. "I thought if I just gave Ivan what he wanted?—"
"That's not how men like Ivan work," Matteo says quietly. "They take what they want, then they take more."
A doctor in scrubs approaches us and we both stand immediately.
"He's still in surgery," she says before we can ask. "It's going to be a while longer. The bullet caused significant damage but we're doing everything we can."
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling that won't seem to subside. The waiting room feels simultaneously too small and too vast—sterile walls closing in while the space between me and any certainty stretches endlessly out of reach.
"You look like hell," Matteo says, his voice gentler than his words. "Can I get you anything? Coffee maybe?"
"Coffee would be good." I nod, suddenly aware of how dry my throat feels. "Thank you."
Matteo stands, giving my shoulder a brief squeeze before disappearing down the corridor. Alessio mutters something about making calls and steps outside, phone already pressed to his ear.
And just like that, I'm alone.
The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. Each second that passes is another second Noah spends on that operating table, fighting for his life because of me.
I close my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing, but instead of darkness I see Noah. Not bleeding and broken on a concrete floor, but strong and powerful above me, pinning me. The memory comes unbidden—his body moving over mine, muscles tensing with each thrust. The way his tattoos seemed to ripple across his skin in the dim light of his bedroom. How his eyes never left mine, dark and intense, as if he could see straight through to my soul.
I remember the weight of him, solid and real. The safety I felt in his arms despite the situation. The heat of his skin scalding mine. The way his hands could be so gentle one moment and so commanding the next.
A flush creeps up my neck as I recall how perfectly we fit together, how he seemed to know exactly what I needed before I did. How he made me feel things I'd never felt before—not just physically, but emotionally. Like I mattered. Like I was seen.
And now he might die because he came for me.
I press my palms against my eyes, willing the tears not to fall. How did everything get so tangled? How did I go from hating this man to feeling this vacancy at the thought of losing him?