17. Rocco #2
My wife steps into the hall and takes in the room. The bodies. The blood. Matteo against the wall. Me standing in front of him, bleeding from my side. No gun pointed at Matteo. Only the knife wound meant for him leaking into my shirt.
Her face changes. Not relief. Not only. Something bigger. Something that looks like the first crack in a wall built out of pain.
“Rocco,” she says.
My name. Not a warning, not a plea, and nothing as simple as forgiveness. Just my name.
I take one step toward her. The room tilts. Annoying. I stop.
“Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head.
“The baby?”
“I don’t know. I think—I don’t know.”
Fear takes her voice apart. Every violent part of me shifts outward.
“Bastian,” I say. “Hospital route. Now.”
Serena’s eyes sharpen. There she is. Even terrified, she hears the order forming.
“Rocco.”
I stop. One word. Again. Learning is apparently repetition under stress.
“Yes,” I say.
Her mouth trembles.
“No storming.”
I nod once.
“No storming.”
Lewis looks at me like he’d like that in writing. Later.
Serena’s eyes move to Matteo. He’s sliding down the wall despite trying not to. Blood is pooling under his sleeve. Her face breaks.
“Matteo.”
And there it is. The pain under my ribs. Jealousy, yes. But under it now, something else. Gratitude. I hate how clean it feels.
She reaches for him. I want to stop her. I do not. She kneels beside him.
“You’re bleeding.”
Matteo tries to smile. It’s a terrible attempt.
“So is your husband.”
“Do not make jokes while leaking blood.”
Lucia appears behind Serena and points the toilet brush at Matteo.
“Exactly. Also, everyone’s buying me a new door.”
“Done,” I say.
“Hospital,” Lewis says, voice tight.
He’s looking at my side. I look down. There’s more blood than I expected.
Serena sees it too.
“Rocco.”
I lift my hand.
“Not deep.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
Fair.
Matteo shifts, grimacing.
“Take her first.”
The words come out strained. I turn to him. He means it. Of course he means it. He’s sitting in blood, one arm half useless, and his first thought is still Serena.
I hate him less in that second. Not entirely. But less.
“We take all of you,” I say. “Serena, Matteo, me.”
Lucia lifts her hand. “Excuse me, I was also attacked.”
“Four,” I correct.
“Thank you.”
Serena lets out a tiny laugh. It breaks into something close to a sob.
I want to touch her. I do not.
There has been blood on my hands for a long time. Tonight it’s just visible.
Bastian comes in through the broken doorway.
“Rear is clear. Rafe’s car gone. One man alive enough to talk.”
“Good.”
He looks at Matteo, then at me.
“Ambulance?”
“Private team,” I say.
Serena’s head snaps up. Right. No storming. I breathe. It hurts.
“Unless Serena wants public emergency.”
Everyone looks at her. Too many eyes. She shrinks under all our waiting. I hate myself immediately.
“No,” I say.
They look back at me.
“Lucia,” I say. “You choose. You know what Serena prefers. Private team can be downstairs in six minutes. Public ambulance, eight to ten.”
Lucia blinks. Then her face steadies.
“Private team. Less noise. No sirens if possible.”
“Yes?” I ask Serena.
She nods.
“Yes.”
Good. There. Not perfect. Not enough. But one choice not taken from her.
“You heard her,” I tell Bastian.
“Done.”
Matteo’s head drops back against the wall. His face is gray. Serena presses a dish towel to his arm.
Lucia makes a strangled sound. “That’s my Highland cow towel.”
“Lucia,” Serena snaps.
“I’m coping.”
Matteo winces. “Sorry about the door.”
Lucia points at him. “Do not apologize while bleeding. It makes me like you and I resent that.”
The room almost breathes. Just once.
Then Matteo’s eyes find mine. There’s still tension there. Of course there is. He loves my wife. I nearly destroyed her. We’re not going to become friends because I caught a knife.
But something has changed. Serena feels it too. She keeps looking between us like she doesn’t trust what she sees. Fair. I barely trust it myself.
I walk to Matteo and crouch in front of him. My side screams. I ignore it.
“If you threaten me while I’m bleeding, I’ll be unimpressed.”
“You kept her safe,” I say. “When I didn’t.”
Serena goes still beside him. I force myself to look at Matteo, not her. Matteo’s throat works.
“Yes.”
No softening it. No making me feel better. He gives me the truth like a blade handle-first. I take it.
“I owe you,” I say.
Serena makes a sound. Small. Broken.
Matteo looks at me for a long second.
Then he says, “Start by keeping them alive.”
Them. Serena and the baby. Not himself. Again. God damn him.
“I will,” I say.
For the first time in days, the words don’t sound like control. They sound like a vow I haven’t earned yet.
The medical team arrives six minutes later. No sirens. No uniforms inside, just dark coats and trauma bags.
Lucia looks at me like she’s annoyed I listened properly. Good. Annoyed is better than terrified.
They take Matteo first because he’s bleeding the fastest. He argues. Obviously. Serena tells him to shut up. He shuts up.
I pretend not to notice how fast. Then I fail at pretending.
Serena sees me see it. Her chin lifts, defensive before I say a word. I say nothing.
That’s the whole victory. Small. Pathetic. Mine.
When they put Matteo on the stretcher, he grips the edge with his good hand and looks at Serena.
“Go with Lucia.”
“I’m going with you.”
His eyes flick to me. Not asking permission. Checking threat. I step back.
“Ride with him,” I tell Serena.
Her eyes come to mine. Surprise. Pain. Something softer I don’t deserve to name.
“You’re bleeding too,” she says.
“I’ll be in the second car.”
“Rocco.”
“I will be in the second car,” I repeat. “Not behind. Beside. You can see me.”
Her mouth trembles.
“No storming.”
“No storming.”
Lucia wipes at her face with the back of her hand. “I hate all of you.”
“Fair,” Lewis says.
Lucia looks at him.
“You too.”
“Also fair.”
They take Matteo down first. Serena follows with Lucia, holding the rail because the stairwell is slick with rain and blood and broken wood. I follow behind. Not in front. Not dragging. Behind.
My side throbs with every step. Good. Let it.
At the bottom, rain blows into the open doorway.
The street is full of black cars and quiet men trying to look like scenery.
Drivers, guards, two soldiers working the perimeter.
They are bad at it. In an hour this whole block will be scrubbed clean, the bodies gone, a story bought and paid for. That’s the part the city never sees.
Serena pauses before getting into the medical car. She turns back to me. For one second, all the noise disappears. Rafe. Claudia. Vittorio. The blood. The lie. All of it falls back.
It’s only my wife looking at me in the rain. Not forgiving me. Not choosing me. But seeing me.
“You saved him,” she says.
The words are almost swallowed by rain. I hear them anyway.
I look at Matteo being loaded into the car. Then back at Serena.
“He saved you first.”
Her face changes. The medical worker calls her name.
She gets in beside Matteo. I do not stop her. I do not ask her to ride with me. I do not make my wound the center of the street.
I stand in the rain until the door shuts. Lewis appears at my side with a hand pressed to his own bleeding brow.
“You need stitches.”
“So does everyone.”
“Yours are leaking onto your shoe.”
I look down. He’s right.
“These shoes were ugly anyway.”
“They cost more than my first car.”
“Your first car was criminally unsafe.”
“So is your marriage.”
I almost laugh. It hurts.
“Get in the car.”
He opens the second car door. I get in and watch the medical vehicle pull ahead slowly through the rain.
Serena is inside with Matteo. My wife’s in another car with the man who loves her. And for the first time, I understand that protecting her means letting that be true without making her pay for it.
I press my hand to the wound in my side and keep my eyes on her taillights.
Tonight, I chose. Not enough. But real.