Chapter 32
Dante
Eight fucking seconds.
That’s how long she stares at us after delivering those two words, lips pressed together, eyes flicking between the faces of people who would burn this city to the ground for the boy bleeding in the next room.
“Speak,”
I growl, my voice low and hard enough to cut through stone. “Now.”
The nurse straightens.
“He flatlined for just under thirty seconds, but we managed to resuscitate him.”
For a moment, my pulse stops. She continues.
“The bullet passed dangerously close to his liver. There was significant internal bleeding. He’s in hypovolemic shock. We’ve stabilized him, but the liver has sustained critical damage.”
She glances briefly toward the corridor.
“He’ll survive the night, but he won’t survive the week unless we operate again. He needs a partial liver transplant. A live donor.”
I step forward.
“Then find me one. Do I look like a man who accepts uncertainty?”
She doesn’t flinch, but her tone softens with caution.
“It doesn’t work like that, sir. The donor must be biologically compatible, blood type, matching tissue markers. We’ll begin testing immediate family.”
Beside me, Harlow’s breath hitches. She’s already moving.
“Test me. Right now.”
“I will as well,”
Enzo says without hesitation.
“And me,”
Niccolò adds, stepping forward.
Leonardo nods. “I’ll go.”
Mario is already following the nurse, no words necessary.
Then from behind us, quiet but firm.
“I’m going too.”
Luka says.
He’s pale, but his gaze is steady. Unflinching.
We all turn. I hold his eyes for a long second, then nod.
An hour later, the nurse returns. Her expression is drawn, the clipboard gripped firmly in both hands. She looks directly at me, then at Harlow.
“The best match is… Luka.”
The room falls completely silent.
She continues, steady and clinical.
“His blood type is rare, but compatible. He meets all the criteria, organ size, overall health, crossmatch results. He’s young, strong, and ideal for a split liver donation. If he’s willing, he’s our best option.”
Luka nods once.
“I’ll do it.”
Harlow is across the room before anyone can react, her arms thrown around his shoulders, holding him tightly.
“Thank you,”
she breathes.
“Thank you. Thank you.”
He doesn’t speak at first. Then he looks at her, something quiet and open in his eyes.
“That’s what family does.”
She swallows a sob. I step forward and place a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at me, gaze clear.
“What you’re doing for my son…”
I pause, jaw tight.
“It won’t go unrecognized.”
I see the fear in him, subtle, but unmistakably present, and I don’t fault him for it. So I keep my voice composed, laced with certainty.
“We’ll be here. Waiting for you both.”
He offers a faint smirk, but it never reaches his eyes.
I doubted him to the very last second, and still, he’s laying himself on the table for my son.
They prepare Luka for surgery. The hours that follow are slow. Unforgiving.
Harlow is curled into my side, her head resting against my chest. She trembles less now, but she isn’t calm. Her silence unnerves me more than any scream ever could.
She’s been examined by the nurse, physically fine, aside from the split in her lip and the bruising that will surface across her face. The bastard who laid a hand on her will answer for it. That much is certain.
But as I look at her now, I don’t like what I see.
There’s something in her expression I’ve only seen once before, when I came close to losing her...
Sofia appears at some point, placing a cup of coffee in my hand. It’s terrible, but I drink it anyway.
Elena sits close to Harlow, brushing her fingers gently across her cousin’s hand. No one says much. There’s nothing to say.
The waiting room is full. Everyone is here. Everyone waiting for the same answer.
It feels endless, until, finally, the surgeon walks in. Every head turns.
He stops in front of me and I rise.
“They’re both out of surgery,” he says.
My entire body locks into stillness.
“They’re stable,”
he adds.
“The transplant was successful. There are risks in the coming days, rejection, infection, the standard post operative concerns. But for now, both boys are stable and in recovery.”
The air shifts, almost imperceptibly.
Harlow speaks.
“Can we see them?”
The doctor nods.
“One at a time, for a few minutes. They’re unconscious. Heavily sedated.”
I nod once.
And I swear, I will not take my eyes off her, or those boys, ever again.
Nothing will touch them. Nothing will come close.
That I fucking swear.
And whoever dares cross our path—whoever believes they can harm what’s mine, will die a slow death. Painful in every possible way.