55
Luna
It’s been five hours and still no news.
Every time the OR doors swing open, I freeze. But it’s always just another nurse, another clipboard, another moment of this endless waiting.
The squeak of wheels breaks through the waiting room murmur. A nurse in pale blue scrubs pushes a medical equipment cart toward me with the kind of grace that seems out of place against the sterile hospital backdrop.
“Luna Romano?”
Her voice carries that practiced medical tone. “The ER nurse asked me to check your vitals.” She pats the monitoring equipment. “Just to make sure you’re still okay to be out of bed.”
I swallow a knot and nod. “Alright.”
The nurse leads me to the farthest corner of the room, watching me like a hawk. I try to keep my walk as steady as possible, praying she won’t make me return to bed.
She sits me down on one of the blue plastic chairs, my back to the rest of the room.
“A little privacy,” she smiles. This close, I notice details that catch like thorns—blonde hair pulled back so severely it must hurt, high cheekbones, striking blue eyes. She has the kind of beauty that belongs on magazine covers.
She puts a probe on my fingertip and then wraps the blood pressure cuff around my uninjured arm.
“I’m Kat,” she says under her breath.
At first, I simply nod. And then recognition slams into me and I rear back, my eyes flaring as I meet her knowing gaze.
Kat.
At the Black Hills, Cade told Scar to take Kat and go somewhere.
Kat works with Cade.
And Scar.
“What the hell—”
“Breathe, Luna,” she adjusts the cuff. A crack appears in her perfect posture as she glances over her shoulder. “They can’t know who I am, but I had to see you.”
“How did you know where he was taken, or even make it past security?” I hiss.
She shoots me an insulted look, and then as if remembering why she’s here, sighs. “I’m sorry. I . . .” She clears her throat. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
The look on her face isn’t empathy, though. It’s regret.
“What are you sorry for?”
She shrugs as she pretends to copy out the figures on the monitor. “I should have seen it coming. Actually, I did see it coming. I just . . . God, I was stupid.”
My brows fly up. “You knew Scar was going to hurt Cade?”
“ No.” She studies me for a beat, like one might a lab specimen, then takes a breath. “Not Cade. You.”
At my shock, she explains. “Scar called last night . . . he went on about you and Cade: how Cade looks at you, speaks to you, worships you . . .” She swallows hard. “I managed to talk him off the ledge last night. But this morning, I couldn’t reach him, so I called Cade.”
Now the silent call makes sense. “You called Nico, pretending to be me.”
She presses a button, and the cuff tightens around my arm again, matching the pressure in my chest. “When I heard you on the phone,” she shudders, “I knew the worst had happened. I just . . . I’m glad the rescue team showed up quickly.”
She doesn’t seem particularly glad. Actually, she looks more pissed than anything. Because it was Cade who got stabbed instead of me?
Kat studies me again for long moments as if debating her next words.
“I knew Cade was self-destructing, but—”
I rear back. “Self-destructing? That’s what you call falling in love?”
Kat meets my gaze head-on. “In his line of work, yes.”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “Look. I figured Cade wasn’t a government agent. It takes a much darker mind to employ people like Scar and me, both of whom are supposed to be dead.”
“You know about his other—”
“Private work?” Kat tilts her head. “Oh, absolutely. That kind of life double life doesn’t leave room for error. And in the last few months, Cade’s been like a drunk man walking a tightrope. Because of you.”
Last few months? “Excuse me?”
She glances toward Papa, something conflicted crossing her face. “He should’ve killed your father three months ago. I’d gathered all the intel—routines, blueprints, family . . . it was all planned. Except Cade kept canceling.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Said he needed more time to 'process' the hit. He wanted more info about Romano’s family. Meaning you. He wanted to know what you liked to wear, eat, what you did in school, blood type . . .
She looks skyward—as if still annoyed by the memory. “Such utterly irrelevant details. I’ve never seen him so . . . fixated on someone who wasn’t a mark. Of course, I kept the most interesting bits to myself.”
I don’t need to ask what she knows. Or care beyond the warmth spreading in my chest. “Cade had been watching me?”
Kat lets out a derisive snort. “Like I said, self-destructing. When I heard you showed up in Enigma . . . I knew he’d never be able to resist taking you. The real problem was what happened after.”
She exhales, her voice softening. “Something broke in him. He suddenly couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t compartmentalize or detach. It was beautiful and heartbreaking and I didn’t have the heart to tell Scar.”
“Why did you not want Scar to know?”
“Because he would’ve stopped it. If Scar knew just how obsessed Cade was, he would’ve gotten rid of you. It’s what he does.”
“You mean, kill me?”
She starts packing up. “You have to understand—Scar’s brain worked differently. Give Cade two problems, he’d get rid of the bigger one and let the other one die naturally. Give Scar the same, and he’d clear both problems and the person who created them.”
Kat’s voice drops even lower. “But I never imagined Scar would . . .” She breaks off. “I still can’t understand why he’d try to kill the only person he’s ever loved.”
I can.
The truth hits me square in the chest.
I goaded him. Fanned his obsession into a flame. I pushed him until he saw red. I told him to face me like a man. I showed him he could never, ever have Cade.
He hated me, and yet he couldn’t touch me. Not without going through Cade—which was what he did.
Kat turns to go, then pauses. “Cade knows where to find me—if he survives. Tell him I’ll always be his asset.”
Hell no, you’re not, Nurse Ratched. Not if I have anything to say about it,
I flash her a weak smile, and then, she’s wheeling the cart away, blending perfectly with the backdrop.
The hours creep by. Six . . . seven . . . Tensions escalate until it becomes a palpable thing in the room.
Everyone’s still here—even Papa hasn’t left to handle something “urgent,” which speaks volumes about how serious he is about impressing Nico.
Kat left hours ago, but her words surround me like a shroud. The thought that Cade had been fixated on me long before we met —should feel invasive. Instead, it fills me with a strange warmth. Something about me had reached past his brutal walls.
Sophie returns from another coffee run and replaces the third cold, untouched cup in my hand with a hot one while I stare at the OR doors, willing them to open.
Phoenix stands with a cluster of Druids, his face tight with worry. He’s having to step out every five minutes for a smoke.
Nico paces near the windows, phone pressed to his ear, voice too low to hear. He’s shed his suit, and I notice his rolled-back sleeve is stained with blood. When did that happen?
Dante is back in the corner, holding Addy, his pregnant wife. His cheek rests on her head, his eyes closed, while her face is buried in his chest. They appear to be standing still until I notice the rhythmic motion under his jacket. I realize with surprise that Addy is rubbing his back as if keeping him from unraveling. This huge, ruthless mobster is being held by his wife.
I look around the room, overwhelmed by just how important Cade is to all these people. He’s not just a leader, son, and brother; he’s the glue that holds this unlikely alliance together. He’s a man who’s given everything for others, never asking for anything in return except maybe a small slice of happiness.
The thought brings a fresh sheen of tears.
Eight hours in, the room cracks.
“He has to make it. My brother has to make it.” Sophie’s voice sounds wrong as she presses her fist to her mouth.
The sound of her sobs breaks something in the room. One of the Druids turns to the wall, shoulders shaking. Another whispers what might be a prayer.
By the ninth hour, my hands won’t stop shaking. All I can think is that I didn’t say yes. He gave me everything, and I was too afraid to say yes.
Fin ally, the OR doors swing open. This time it’s the nemesis we’ve been dreading.
The tall, dark-haired surgeon emerges in blue scrubs, his space rocket surgical cap still on. Exhaustion is etched in every line of his face. The room goes deathly quiet.
“Miss Romano?”
I stand on legs that barely hold me, my heart thundering so hard my chest hurts. “Yes?”
His tired eyes find mine. One look at him and I know—he’s not about to deliver good news wrapped in medic-speak. This is something worse.
The room goes still, breaths held as we wait for the blow to fall.
“The surgery was . . .” He stops and swallows. Then takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. The gesture is so like Cade that a small sound escapes me, and I fold my arms around myself.
“Mr. Quinn presented with catastrophic injuries.” His tone is carefully neutral, but the words land like hammers. “The knife completely destroyed his spleen and cut into several major blood vessels. We had to remove the spleen, part of his left kidney, and repair a punctured lung.
I’m nodding as if my head understands what my heart doesn’t.
“He crashed twice on the table.” The words steal what little air I had left.
The room flinches collectively. Sophie gasps, the sound breaking through the suffocating quiet.
The surgeon holds up a hand—as if trying to offer some lifeline of hope. “But through what I can only describe as sheer stubbornness, Mr. Quinn stabilized. He mad e it through surgery.”
“He’s alive?” My voice is raw, trembling.
The surgeon’s expression softens just enough. “He’s alive. He’s in critical condition, but he’s stable.”
My knees buckle, and the floor rushes up at me, but somehow I don’t hit it. Because Phoenix’s muscled arm wraps around me.
But the surgeon isn’t finished. “However.” That one word brings silence crashing back. “The next forty-eight hours are critical. He lost a dangerous amount of blood. There’s the risk of infection, organ failure . . .” He looks around the room, meeting our eyes one by one. “I need you to understand—he’s not out of danger. Far from it.”
“When can I see him?” My voice doesn’t sound like mine.
His eyes soften when they land on me. “Not until tomorrow evening at the earliest depending on how fast he recovers. He needs time to stabilize, and we need to monitor him closely for complications.”
“Callum.” Nico steps forward and takes his hand, somehow looking regal even with blood on his sleeve. “I owe you one.”
The surgeon returns Nico’s handshake, then his gaze sweeps over our strange assembly one last time. “I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard to live. Whatever you all mean to him . . . don’t give up on him now.”
He dips his head respectfully at Nico, then disappears through those heavy doors, leaving us in a strange limbo between relief and terror. He’s alive. But those words— crashed twice on the table —echo in my head and I can’t stop shaking.
Sophie breaks first. Raw, animal sounds of relief and fear tangled together. Nico catches her before she hits the floor.
“Twice,” she keeps saying. “He died twice, Nico. My brother died twice.”
Phoenix makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, then pulls me tighter against him.
“ A Reaper Druid is like a homing pigeon,” he says gruffly into my hair. “They always return home, no matter what. You’re Caden’s home, Luna. You’re the one he was fighting to come back to.”
The room disappears, and I sob like a child. Until my throat feels raw. Until every thought coalesces into one single truth: there’s something I have to do.
“I’m getting tested.”
“What?” Phoenix pulls back, staring at me like I’ve just told him I plan to climb Everest barefoot.
“It’s testing for a condition I might have,” I explain, the words spilling out in a rush. “My mother had it and it’s . . . a big deal if I’ve got it.”
“And you have to do it now?” Phoenix’s eyes rake over me, taking in my tangled hair, the bandaged arm, the mismatched hospital gowns I threw on in a hurry, one gaping open at the back, the other draped over the first like a badly fitted jacket. My stockinged feet are crammed into ward-issued rabbit slippers that squeak against the floor. I look ridiculous.
But I couldn’t be more determined. “Yes, right now.”
Sophie’s voice is gentle through her tears. “Luna, you’ve been through enough today. Take a breath, please.”
“Where will you even get this… test done?” Phoenix asks, his brows knitting in confusion.
“Luna.” Papa rises slowly from his chair in the corner, his usual stoic mask cracked by a glimmer of concern. “ Stellina, we don’t need you to do that. Not anymore.”
“I’m not doing it for you, Papa.” I snap. “I’m doing it for the man I love. He died twice today and both times fought to come back to me. And I’ve been too scared to face a simple blood test? He deserves better than that.”
Pap a studies me for a long moment, then sighs heavily. “If that’s what you want . . .” His hands spread in a gesture of acceptance. “Well, we’re in a hospital. They must have a genetics department.”
There’s something in his expression—so subtle I missed it before. But I see it now—the gleam warming his eyes at my potential diagnosis: a fifty percent chance that power would shift back to him if he has to tell the family I’m sick.
His hand drops to the small of my back, and he starts guiding me out of the room. “I’ll take you—”
I stop walking and put my hand on his arm. “Actually, Papa. You will not.”
He blinks, thrown off rhythm. “Stellina?”
I move into his space, breathing in that familiar cigar scent as I wrap my arms around him. Then I step back and lift my chin.
“I appreciate you coming to see that Cade and I are okay. But you should head back to Chicago.”
He stiffens at my tone, but I don’t—can’t—care.
“Now, Papa.” I force more steel into my voice. “Go back and tell the family—both in Chicago and Sicily—that Cade and I’ve made a complete recovery.”
His face is a mask of disbelief. “You can’t possibly handle this alone, Luna.”
“I’m not alone, Papa.” I throw an arm wide around the room. “I’ve got family.”
“Luna makes an excellent point,” Nico adds from across the room.
Papa’s gaze flicks to Nico, and his shoulders go rigid as the implications sink in. For a moment, I see the battle in his eyes—pride warring with politics, paternal instinct clashing with survival. Then his face smooths into that mask I know so well. He leans forward and kisses both my cheeks.
“ Very well, stellina. ”
The word carries a different weight now. He gives me a slight nod—the same one I’ve seen Clemenza give him.
He walks out, his spine straight, but his steps are slightly too quick. My heart pounds against my ribs at the reality of what I’ve just done. I’ve dismissed my own father. Pulled rank on the man who taught me power moves over breakfast.
Nico moves to my side. “He’ll adjust. They all do, eventually.”
I nod absently.
“Luna?” Sophie’s voice breaks through my daze. She and Addy stand ready by the door, offering support without pressure. “We don’t know what this genetics test is about, but can we come with you?”
The look on her face is a flicker of what I see in Cade’s. Even Addy whom I’ve never met before today, also has that . . . look. So do Nico and Dante.
I realize with a tightness in my chest that Cade was right. These people really are my family.
I nod, grateful beyond words.
We head out together, and suddenly, I no longer feel the crushing loneliness of having a secret I can’t trust anyone with.
I’m going to face my demons surrounded by people who love me.