Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SIENNA
The doctors abandon Alessandro instantly, thoroughly terrified by the lethal threat he just delivered. They rush toward me like a flock of panicked birds, frantically wheeling my gurney down the pristine, white hallway of the Gallo family's private wing and into a secure, luxury examination suite.
Right behind them are Alessandro and Valerio. Alessandro is leaning heavily against the doorframe, his face pale from blood loss, but his dark eyes are pinned on me like a hawk watching its prey.
I want so badly to scream at the medical staff to turn around and check on him first. He's the one with a bullet hole in his shoulder, for God's sake.
But looking at the tight, unyielding set of his jaw, I know better.
The quicker I sit still and let them examine me, the quicker these doctors will be allowed to help him.
The lead physician gently presses his fingers against my right side, right where Luca's man kicked me. I wince slightly, the skin already turning a deep, angry purple.
"Does it hurt here, Mrs. Gallo?" the doctor asks, his voice trembling slightly.
"Are you fucking blind?!" Alessandro roars from the doorway, stepping forward and looming over the bed. "Of course it hurts! You're pressing on it like you're kneading dough! Look at her ribs—if you break anything else trying to find a fracture, I’ll take your hands off."
"Alessandro, please, let them work," I breathe, trying to catch his eye to calm him down.
"You’ll be the death of me, Sienna," he snaps, though his hand reaches out, his thumb rough but surprisingly gentle as it brushes against my cheek, checking for any hidden bruises.
He turns back to the doctor, his voice a venomous hiss.
"Is she bleeding internally? Does she need surgery?
Give me an answer before I lose my patience. "
"W-we need to do an ultrasound and an X-ray to be absolutely certain, Don," the doctor stammers, quickly pulling his hands back.
Am I a terrible person for completely liking his attitude right now?
He is being absolutely nasty, threatening the lives of highly trained medical professionals, but through all the terrifying bravado, I can see the raw, unfiltered fear swimming in his dark eyes.
He isn't just angry because I disobeyed him. He’s scared for me.
He is completely terrified of the thought of losing me.
His reaction... it proves he cares for me. Truly cares.
The realization makes me feel suddenly, strangely light, despite the throbbing ache in my ribs and the chaos surrounding us. Even though Alessandro is being completely terrifying with the doctors and nurses, I can't help but find the gesture incredibly sweet.
Even with a bullet in his body, his absolute, non-negotiable priority is making sure I am safe before he allows a single soul to treat him.
I watch him bark another order at Valerio to speed up the radiology lab, my heart swelling with a deep, fierce warmth.
My dark, brutal husband is completely wrapped around my finger, whether he wants to admit it or not.
Half an hour later, after a flurry of panicked ultrasounds, X-rays, and physical checks, the lead doctor finally turns to Alessandro with a visible sigh of relief.
He certifies that I am completely fine. Aside from a nasty, deep bruise that will be sore for a few weeks, my ribs are perfectly intact, and there is absolutely no internal damage.
They give me a dose of painkillers, but otherwise, I am cleared.
Only then does Alessandro finally let the medical team check him.
I watch him like a hawk as they cut away his bloody shirt.
Thankfully, the wound isn’t as bad as it looked.
The bullet isn't embedded in his shoulder; it was only a deep, violent graze that tore through the flesh but missed the bone and major arteries.
It doesn't even require stitches. The doctors quickly clean the wound, apply a heavy layer of antiseptic, and wrap it securely in a clean, white bandage.
Once Valerio and the doctors are certain his wound is entirely non-life-threatening, Alessandro refuses to stay in the hospital a second longer. We leave the private wing and get right back into the SUV to return home.
The silence inside the car is heavy, thick with the lingering adrenaline of the night. Alessandro stares out the window for a long time, his jaw clenched tightly.
"I am still really mad at you, Sienna," he says suddenly, his voice low, rough, and scraping through the quiet cabin. "You put your life on the line. You broke your promise."
I shift closer to him on the leather seat, looking up at his sharp profile. "I’m sorry, Alessandro. I really am. But I only came in there because I heard the gunfire and I was terrified for you. I couldn't just sit in the dark and wait to find out if you were dead."
Alessandro lets out a long, ragged groan, the last of his furious defenses finally crumbling.
He reaches out with his uninjured arm, wrapping it securely around my waist, and pulls me flush against his chest. He hugs me incredibly tight, as if trying to physically ground himself in the fact that I'm still here, whole and breathing.
He tilts my chin up, his dark eyes burning with an intense, overwhelming emotion, and then he kisses me. It’s a deep, breathless, possessive kiss that tastes of relief, hunger, and a silent confession he isn't quite ready to put into words yet.
Alessandro holds me all the way home.
The moment we walk through the front door, the absolute last thing I expect to see is waiting for me in the grand foyer. My sisters are standing there, their faces pale with worry until they see me walk in.
A happy gasp tears from my throat, and I completely forget about my aching ribs as I launch myself forward, throwing my arms around them.
I briefly wonder how on earth they managed to get here so quickly, but as I catch sight of Alessandro standing by the door with a faint, exhausted smirk playing on his lips, the truth hits me.
He arranged this. He knew exactly what I needed after tonight.
My heart swells so fast it aches. I am so incredibly happy.
Camilla, Daniela, Rosalia, and Eleonora surround me the absolute second I touch them. It becomes a frantic chaos of hands and voices as they instantly check my face, touch my ribs, and inspect my hands, demanding to know what happened and why I look like I just escaped a war zone.
"I'm fine, I swear! It's just a little scratch, a tiny bruise," I try to say, attempting to make the entire situation sound a hundred times smaller than it actually was.
But they know me far too well.
"A tiny bruise? Sienna, you look like you got run over by a sports car!" Camilla scolds, her eyes wide as she carefully avoids pressing too hard on my side.
"We almost had a heart attack when Valerio called," Daniela chimes in, her voice shaking slightly despite her stern expression.
Rosalia pushes the others aside, placing her hands firmly on her hips.
"Sienna, look at me," she commands, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.
"You need to always, always be careful. Do you understand me?
You are not invincible, and you cannot keep giving us these scares.
We love you too much to watch you get hurt because you forgot to use your head. "
I swallow the lump in my throat, looking at the raw terror masked as anger on my older sisters' faces. "I know. I'm sorry. I promise I'll be more careful."
Eleonora hugs me again. “Rosalia is right, Sienna! We love you so much, and the thought of receiving a different kind of phone call tonight..." She cuts herself off, swallowing hard as tears blink in her eyes.
Behind Rosalia’s back, Camilla and Daniela exchange a look, and a sudden, bright burst of giggles breaks the heavy tension in the room.
"I mean, yeah, it’s completely terrifying and you almost died," Camilla whispers loudly, a proud grin spreading across her face. "But honestly? Sienna is a total badass."
"Girls, stop encouraging her!" Rosalia snaps, rounding on them, though the rigid tension in her shoulders finally begins to bleed away.
By the time we finish talking, crying, and laughing, it is well past midnight. Alessandro graciously gives us space the entire time, retreating to another part of the house until they are ready to go.
Usually, saying goodbye to them after a night like this would break my heart a little. And it does. But as I hug them one last time at the front door, a strange restlessness settles in my chest. I already miss him. I want him near me, despite how chaotic the night was.
The moment the car carrying them pulls down the driveway, I turn back into the house. Alessandro is waiting in the hallway, his face unreadable, his shirt slightly open at the collar, the edge of the clean white bandage on his shoulder visible beneath it.
“You should sleep,” he says quietly.
“So should you.”
Neither of us moves for a second. Then, without thinking too much about it, I reach for his hand. He looks down at our joined fingers, then leads me upstairs to his room.
Nothing happens between us.
Not like that.
We are both too exhausted, too bruised by the night, too aware of everything we almost lost. Alessandro lies beside me carefully, keeping to his uninjured side, but after a few minutes of staring into the dark, I shift closer.
“Is this okay?” I whisper.
His arm comes around me immediately. “Yes.”
So I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart until the terror of the night finally loosens its grip on me. For the first time since the warehouse, I feel safe enough to close my eyes.
And I sleep.
The next morning, I wake up alone.
For a moment, panic rushes through me, sharp and sudden. But then I hear a dull, rhythmic sound coming from somewhere below. A heavy thud. Then another.
I get dressed quickly and follow the noise through the villa until I reach a large training room at the back of the house.
Alessandro is inside.
He is shirtless, his injured shoulder wrapped tightly, sweat gleaming over his chest as he strikes a heavy bag with brutal precision. Even wounded, he looks terrifyingly controlled. Powerful. Beautiful in a way that makes my breath catch.
He stops the second he sees me in the doorway.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he says.
I lean against the doorframe. “So are you.”
His dark eyes track over me, softening just a fraction before his expression closes again. “Did you sleep?”
“Yes,” I say, stepping inside. “Because of you.”
For a beat, neither of us speaks.
Then I look at the bag, at his wrapped shoulder, at the way he is still training like pain means nothing to him. The memory of the warehouse rushes back into my mind. The bullets. The fear. The helplessness.
I never want to feel like that again.
Taking a deep breath, I lift my chin and look him dead in the eye.
“Alessandro, are you willing to teach me how to defend myself?”
He blinks, catching the sudden, dead-serious shift in my tone. Before he can even form an objection, I add, “If you don't want to, it's fine. I can just ask Valerio to do it.”
Alessandro’s entire posture stiffens instantly. His eyes narrow into dangerous, possessive slits.
“No,” he growls, his voice dropping into a dark, commanding register that sends a shiver straight down my spine. “You will not ask Valerio. No one else is going to teach you a goddamn thing. If you are learning how to protect yourself, Sienna, you are learning from me.”
I hide a smile, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. I know exactly how to work this man, whether he likes it or not. His possessive instincts do the heavy lifting for me every single time.
“Fine,” I say smoothly, stepping onto the mat. “Show me.”
He doesn’t waste any time. Alessandro circles me once, studying my stance with sharp, serious eyes.
“You’re not going to overpower most men,” he says. “So don’t try. You use balance, timing, and surprise.”
“Very encouraging.”
His mouth barely twitches. “You asked me to teach you, not flatter you.”
Before I can answer, he steps closer and catches my wrist. Not hard, but firm enough that the memory of last night flashes through me. For one awful second, I freeze.
Alessandro releases me immediately.
My cheeks burn. “Again.”
His eyes search my face. “Sienna—”
“Again,” I repeat, stronger this time.
Something in his expression shifts. Approval, maybe. Pride.
This time, when he grabs my wrist, he shows me how to turn into the hold instead of pulling away. How to twist, step, and break free using his own grip against him. My first attempt is terrible. My second is much better.
Alessandro eyebrows shoot up. "Not bad, dolcezza."
But as the lesson continues, the atmosphere in the room completely shifts. It becomes incredibly tense, thick with an electric current that has nothing to do with firearms.
Alessandro stands close behind me, his chest pressed flush against my back.
His large, warm hands wrap over mine, guiding my fingers, adjusting my grip, and shifting my wrists by fractions of an inch.
Every time he breathes, his chest rises against my shoulder blades, and the heat radiating off his body makes it almost impossible to focus on the target.
The raw attraction builds rapidly beneath the practical nature of the lesson, a heavy, breathless pull dragging at both of us.
My heart hammers against my ribs, and I can hear his breath hitch in his throat when his lips brush against the shell of my ear to whisper corrections.
But neither of us gives in. We keep our eyes on the targets, letting the friction build without crossing the line.
We practice for a long while, until the sharp buzz of Alessandro's phone breaks the silence.
He pulls it out, his brow furrowing as he reads the screen. "Valerio has news," he muttered, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He looks down at me, his eyes dark and lingering on my lips. "We’ll continue this tomorrow."
"Okay," I agree, my voice a little breathless.
We pack up the gear, lock down, and return inside the main house, the unresolved tension from the basement trailing right behind us like a shadow.