Chapter 3 #2
Fee nods, then her expression sharpens. "Yuri, Shane's wife needs to be told what happened, but whoever delivers this news better handle it properly.
She's five months pregnant with their first child.
If someone scares her badly enough to trigger complications, I will personally make their life miserable. "
"Understood completely, Ms. Quinn. I will handle notification personally, with appropriate care for her condition."
Even bleeding and shaken, her first instinct is still to shield the people she cares about.
"Anything else requiring immediate attention?" I ask Yuri.
"Negative. All situations contained. I will contact you with updates as they develop."
"Good work today."
The line goes dead, leaving Fee and me alone in the sterile quiet of the medical room.
I watch Fee's shoulders shake as relief wars with exhaustion in her system. Tears start flowing. Every protective instinct I have screams at me to do something, anything, to take away her pain.
Fee's hands are pressed to her face, trying to muffle the sobs that keep coming. Her entire body trembles with the force of holding everything in.
She looks up at me through wet lashes. I move close to her. When I reach for her, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans on me, letting me wrap my arms around her quivering frame.
She melts against my chest like she was made to fit there. The top of her head tucks perfectly under my chin, and I can smell that sweet scent of roses in her hair.
For a heartbeat, she stays rigid, still trying to hold herself together through sheer will. Then something breaks.
The sobs come harder now, muffled against the fabric of my shirt, but I can feel every shudder that runs through her small frame.
I tighten my arms around her, one hand moving to cradle the back of her head. My fingers thread through the silk of her hair, feeling how soft it is despite everything we've been through.
"You're okay," I murmur against the crown of her head. "Everyone's okay."
Fee shakes her head without lifting it from my chest. "Shane could have died. Cillian could have died. Emma was just doing her job, and she almost got killed because I was there looking for a fucking dress."
"None of this is your fault."
"I'm so tired of people getting hurt because of who I am, what family I belong to."
I stroke her hair, feeling the tension slowly bleeding out of her muscles as she lets herself be held. This is what she needed, not space or distance, but someone strong enough to catch her when she falls.
Fee pulls back just enough to look at me.
"Is he really going to be okay? Shane?"
"Yuri wouldn't lie about it." I brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb, feeling how soft her skin is. "Not about something like this. If Shane were in danger, he'd tell us straight."
"I worry about his wife. She's having her first baby. If something happens to their baby because of me..."
"Nothing is going to happen to the baby. And Yuri will talk to Cillian, make sure the news is handled delicately. Cillian knows Shane's family. He'll make sure she's told the right way."
"Promise me."
The desperation in her voice cuts straight through whatever remaining walls were still up. Fee Quinn has been systematically destroying my defenses for six months, and I've been powerless to stop it.
"I promise you."
Fee closes her eyes and leans back into me, her forehead resting against my chest. Her breathing starts to even out, the panic slowly leaving her system as my words sink in. I can feel the exact moment her body begins to relax, some of the rigid tension melting away.
"I keep thinking about what could have happened," she whispers against my jacket. "If you hadn't shown up when you did. If Cillian hadn't been there to cover me. If Shane had been alone in that alley."
"But none of that happened. You're alive. Shane's going to recover. Cillian will be back to work tomorrow, probably against doctor's orders."
That gets a tiny laugh out of her, muffled against my chest. The sound does something to me that I don't expect. I want to hear it again. I want to be the reason she laughs.
Fee pulls back to look at me again, and I can see she's starting to look more like herself. The panic has faded, replaced by pure exhaustion.
"Thank you," she says softly. "For saving all of us."
I want to keep holding her. Every instinct tells me to stay exactly where we are, with Fee safe in my arms, her breathing finally steady against my chest.
"I need to take care of your foot," I say reluctantly.
Fee nods but doesn't pull away immediately. When she finally does, I already miss the warmth of her against me.
I move to the foot of the medical bed and adjust the controls, raising the upper portion so she can recline comfortably without lying flat. The mechanical hum fills the silence as the bed shifts into position.
"Better?"
"Yeah."
She's being polite, nothing more. That wall she asked for is firmly in place, and I can feel the distance she's trying to maintain. After last night, I deserve it. But I need to find a way back to her, need to get her talking to me again.
"I'll be right back."
I move quickly through the apartment, grabbing the softest blanket I can find from the bedroom closet. When I return, Fee watches me approach with curious eyes.
"The room gets cold," I explain, unfolding the soft throw. "Thought you might be more comfortable."
I drape it carefully around her shoulders, my fingers brushing against her skin as I tuck the edges. She looks exquisite wrapped in the soft fabric, delicate and beautiful.
"There." I smooth the blanket across her lap, letting my hands linger a moment longer than necessary. "Can't take proper care of you if you're not comfortable."
The corner of her mouth curves slightly, not quite a smile yet, but close. Progress.
"Thank you."
I move to the medical cabinet, gathering what I need: antiseptic, fresh gauze, medical tape, and local anesthetic if the cut is worse than I thought.
She watches my every movement, and I keep them deliberate, visible, so she knows exactly what I'm doing. Building trust one careful action at a time.
I pull on medical gloves and return to the foot of the bed. "I'm going to remove this bandage and see how deep the cut actually is." I reach for the edge of the bloodied gauze. "Tell me if anything hurts too much."
I start unwrapping slowly, carefully. Her foot is delicate in my hands, pale skin marred by dried blood and dirt.
"Talk to me," I say, needing to keep her distracted from what I'm doing. I need to hear her voice, to coax her back out from behind that wall. "Tell me about your bracelet."
"Grandmother Quinn was the most superstitious woman in Chicago." Her voice wavers slightly as I peel away the last layer of gauze, but she keeps talking. There's my girl. "She had a saint for everything. Saint Anthony for lost things, Saint Christopher for travel, Saint Jude for hopeless causes."
The cut is deeper than I expected, still bleeding. She'll need stitches. But she's talking to me again, and that's progress.
Fee winces as I clean the wound with antiseptic. "She gave this one to me." Fee's eyes flick to the bracelet on her wrist. "Said we'd all need a saint, being Quinns."
"Smart woman." I reach for the local anesthetic, drawing a small amount into a syringe. "This will sting for a few seconds, then numb the area completely."
Fee nods. I inject the anesthetic around the cut, watching her face for any sign she needs me to stop. She breathes through the sharp sting, jaw clenched but never making a sound.
Brave. Always so damn brave.
"I've seen you guys do this before," she says, watching me prepare the needle and thread. "Stitching each other up after business goes wrong. I'm just glad it's my foot and not somewhere more visible."
"Well, I do prefer working on prettier patients," I say, glancing up at her briefly. "And ones who smell better than Yuri after he's been shot."
That earns me an actual smile, small but genuine.
"So you'll leave me with something to remember you by," she continues, steadier now. "A scar from a wound that you ended up stitching back together."
My hands go still for just a heartbeat. The words hit differently than she probably intended, carrying weight that makes something shift in my stomach.
"Not exactly the romantic gesture I had in mind. And I'm not leaving you, Fee."
I lift my eyes to meet hers. Whatever happens next, whatever complications arise from today or last night, I'm not walking away again.
Fee studies my face like she's trying to decode something written in a language she doesn't quite understand yet.
I recognize that look. She's preparing to interrogate me, gathering her thoughts for the questions I can see forming behind those green eyes. That sharp mind of hers, always working, always analyzing, it's one of the things that draws me to her.
Fee wants the truth, all of it. And I want to give it to her. Want to give her everything she's looking for and more. If honesty is what it takes to earn my way back to her, then she'll have it.
I return my attention to her foot, starting the first stitch. The local anesthetic has done its job, but I still work as gently as possible. Each suture brings the edges of torn skin back together, closing the damage from today's chaos.
"You're different from what I thought you'd be," she says quietly, watching my hands work. "When I first met you, I thought you were just another soldier. Someone who follows orders and doesn't ask questions."
Another stitch. "I do follow orders. Most of the time."
"And today? Am I part of your orders?"
I tie off the third stitch, checking my work. "No, you're not. Today I had better priorities."
I continue working on the fourth stitch, keeping my hands steady despite the weight of her question. I can feel her pulse through the delicate skin of her ankle.
"Watching me today? Was that the priority? You must have been watching me for you to get there so fast."
I tie off the fourth stitch and start preparing the fifth. "Yes. I was watching you."
"Why?"
"Last night, I turned around for you. But as I was walking to the parking area, I saw Shane talking to another man." Fee goes very still. Even her breathing seems to pause. "I decided to do what I do best. Be on guard in case you needed help."
The fifth stitch pulls the wound closed another fraction. "I was ready to kill that bastard if he'd done something to hurt you."
"Do you know who the man is?" I finish the fifth stitch and reach for the thread to tie it off.
"He's an informant. But I don't trust him."
"Why?"
"In this business, informants go with the highest bidder." I start the sixth and final stitch, taking extra care to make it clean. "This particular one needs our protection. I can't say I've seen anything wrong from him, but he's never given me a good feeling either."
"So, you watched me walk around in the parking lot!"
"Yes."
I tie off the final stitch, checking my work one more time. Six neat sutures close the wound completely; the bleeding has finally stopped.
Fee processes this. I look at her studying my face.
"You saw me crying?"
"I did."
"And you still didn't come talk to me!" The accusation in her voice cuts deeper than any blade. I wrap the clean gauze around her foot, securing it with medical tape, buying myself a few seconds to choose my words carefully.
"Did you want me to?" I meet her eyes directly, holding her gaze. "After what I did in that garden?"
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, and I can see the honest answer she's not ready to give.
"I saw you get in the SUV with Shane. You were crying, Fee. Because I let fear make my decisions for me."
She searches my face, her green eyes moving over my features like she's seeing me for the first time. Then her hands come up to cover her mouth, fingertips pressed together like she's praying.
When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more serene.
"I assume you followed us to the hotel last night."
"I went to your floor. Almost knocked on your door but decided that crossing that line uninvited wasn't something a gentleman does."
Fee's eyebrows raise slightly. "You men in the mafia are known to push boundaries, taking without asking."
She's testing me, pushing to see what kind of man I really am beneath the violence and loyalty, whether I'm the type who takes what I want without asking.
I move closer to her, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
"Fee, you deserve my best. Which is why this morning I kept my distance and was waiting for you to exit the boutique to talk to you." My gaze drifts to her lips before returning to her eyes. "But now, we stay together until I kill the bastard who ordered the shooting today."
Fee's eyes widen, but she doesn't pull away. She leans closer.
"And if your orders say otherwise?"
"Then I'll ignore them."
Her hand moves to rest against my chest, palm flat over my heart. The touch burns through the fabric of my shirt, anchoring me to this moment, to her.
"That's dangerous for you."
"Losing you is more dangerous for me than any consequences I'll face.
" I cover her hand with mine, pressing it firmer against my chest so she can feel how hard my heart pounds.
"Someone tried to kill you today, Fee. And I promise you this, until I find them and put a bullet in their head, you don't leave my sight. "