Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
I must’ve dozed off because when the car rolled to a stop, and I opened my good eye, I frowned, taking in my surroundings through the haze of blood loss and exhaustion.
Dim warehouse lights, the faint thud of music from somewhere I couldn’t gauge yet, the smell of steel, rot and open water permeating my nostrils before recognition dawned.
I looked at my brother. “What are we doing here?”
“You’re not going back to your apartment. You’re in no shape to work or take care of yourself and your arrogance will only piss off Rayden at my place.”
“Alessia’s not a nurse.”
“She’s not an idiot either. And you’ll listen to her more than you’ll listen to me.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the strength to.
And maybe a small part of me didn’t mind.
Alessia was family and the only person to test my patience and live.
A sudden blur of dark purple and steel flashed, and I knew I’d now need to rethink that premise.
If anything, Alessia wouldn’t sugarcoat shit and keep anyone from hovering like vultures or treating me like a fragile relic.
“Fine.” I grunted, voice sandpaper. Lorenzo got out and came around to my side, opened the door and leaned in. “I can walk.”
He snorted. “You can barely breathe.” He hauled me upright and my legs buckled. I bit back a groan as white-hot pain shot down my ribs.
“I got you.” Gian stepped up to other side, sliding my arm around his shoulder.
The warehouse door slid open before we reached it. Alessia stood there in leggings and a sports bra, her hair in a messy braid, sweat on her brow from training. When she saw us, she smiled until she noticed me and her face drained of color.
“Remo?” she whispered. Then louder, more furious, terrified. “Remo, what happened to you?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My knees gave out again. She darted forward even though Lorenzo and Gian held me tight.
Her hands shook as she palmed my cheek, but her voice didn’t when she snapped at my brother. “What the hell happened to him?”
“Long story,” he said and I smirked, aware he’d killed people for lesser respect. “Doctor’s on his way.”
She glared at him like she was about two seconds from biting his throat out. “You should’ve taken him to a hospital.”
“And have the whole city know our fierce underboss is compromised?”
If I no one knew, they’d easily call these two a real couple. She clenched her jaw, torn between anger and fear, then she looked at me, eyes wide, tears threatening.
“Come on.” She guided us to the bed she used for post-training naps.
Lorenzo and Gian helped me down, the latter quick to remove my shoes and place my legs on the bed.
I could tell he was kicking himself for not being with me.
My shirt was already soaked with fresh blood, sticking to my skin like a second layer of pain.
Alessia hovered over me, hands trembling as she tried to peel it away.
“I’ve got it,” I muttered.
“No, you don’t,” she retorted.
The door opened again and Dario escorted the doctor to my side.
“What have you gotten yourself into this time, Remo.” Bane, an old, respected man, had been our on-call doctor for the last twelve years and earned the right to give us an earful at times, his tone always fatherly.
“This looks bad,” he muttered, inspecting my wounds.
“It looks worse than it feels,” I replied, watching Dario trying to comfort Gian without making it too obvious while leading him out the door.
“Obviously you’d say that. Pain means nothing to you,” Alessia retorted, standing behind the doctor, wringing her hands, and glared at him every time he touched me as if she expected him to hurt me more.
He cleaned the cuts. Stitched what needed stitching.
Pressed on my ribs until a groan escaped me despite my instincts.
“Three ribs bruised, maybe fractured, the cuts are deep but thankfully didn’t hit any major organs,” he explained to my brother like I was fucking incapacitated.
“He needs rest. No fighting. No work. No stress.” I rolled my eyes and Alessia’s scowl threatened to kill me if I argued.
Bane turned to her. “I’m leaving him in your care. ”
She blinked. “Me?”
“I gathered you’re the only one he’ll listen to. Keep his bandages clean. Make sure he eats. Make sure he sleeps. If he shows signs of fever or can’t breathe properly, call me.”
At her nod, Lorenzo added, “I’ll send more men to keep guard. Don’t let him leave. Tie him down if you must.”
“The fuck,” I mumbled.
“I might,” she replied, blue eyes challenging me.
They both left shortly after, the doctor first, then my brother, who gave Alessia a look that simply meant: if he dies, I’ll kill everyone responsible.
When the door shut, silence settled over us and surprisingly, I welcomed the sleep that pulled me under.
I opened my eyes a barely few minutes later to Alessia kneeling beside the bed, lifting my chin gently to check the swelling under my eye.
“You scared me,” she whispered.
When Lorenzo brought her into our fold it was with the intention of rescuing her from her abusive father. Their marriage was one of convenience and from the get-go, he’d warned her she’d never own his heart, only because it belonged to Rayden who he hadn’t seen in almost nine years at that time.
I was tasked to keep her safe when shit hit the fan and my brother knew they’d come after her. Over the time she’d been in our care and regardless of how hard I was on her, she’d grown close to me.
I sighed. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You always don’t mean to,” she griped, referring to my past injuries. “And it still happens.”
“Comes with the territory, Alessia. What time is it?”
“Time to change your bandages, you were bleeding while you slept for all of fifteen minutes.”
“That’s all, ” I muttered.
Her fingers moved with surprising tenderness as she secured fresh bandages around my ribs.
I hissed when she tightened them. “Sorry,” The cheeky shit grinned.
“Not sorry enough to stop, though.” When she finished, she sat back on her heels, breathing hard like she’d run a marathon.
“Remo,” her voice softened. “Please don’t make me bury you. ”
I didn’t answer, because I couldn’t make that promise. She stood abruptly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and grabbed her gloves. “I need to hit something.”
Resting my head on the extra pillow, I watched her stalk over to the punching bag. She hit it hard. Again, and again. But after a minute, the strikes faltered.
“Don’t lock your wrist like that.”
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she threw over her shoulder.
“I am.”
“You’re coaching.”
“That’s resting.”
She groaned, but this time the sound carried relief. Emotion. That fragile thing she tried to hide under bravado.
“Your stance is off. Show me again.” She rolled her eyes but obeyed, resetting her feet. “Good. Now tighten your core. Punch through, not at.”
She struck again. Stronger. More controlled.
“Better.”
“You’re impossible,” she complained.
“And you’re predictable.”
She snorted then hit the bag again. Sharp, focused, fierce. Agitated, I sat up. Pain crept through my ribs, and I exhaled through my teeth.
Alessia noticed instantly. “Lie down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding again.”
I glanced at the bandages. “It’s nothing.”
Eyes on fire, she crossed her arms. “Lie down or I swear I’ll call the doctor and hold you down while he injects you with morphine.”
I smirked. “You could try.”
“Oh, I would succeed.”
I didn’t doubt it, which annoyed me enough to comply. I stretched out on again, wincing as a sharp jab cut through my side. Alessia moved to kneel beside me, her gaze a hawk-eyed scan underpinned by a mixture of affection and fury.
“What did they do to you?”
My jaw tightened. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
She didn’t push further, stood, and returned to the training mat.
But there was difference in her movements now, harsher, weighted.
As if what happened to me was now fueling her punches, they were aimed at the men who hurt me.
At the world that kept trying to take me from her. At fate and fear perhaps.
I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm of her strikes echo in my bones. Every hit reminded me I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t done. Not yet.
Sleep took me with a slow, dragging pull that started in my limbs and worked inward until even my thoughts felt heavy.
The bed under me was hard and uneven, the warehouse air cool enough to feel fresh, and I heard Alessia, the faint scrape of her shoes on the training mat, an ordinary sound tethering me to the present.
My body ached in a dozen places, the stitched cuts tugging every time I breathed too deeply.
I told myself I would only close my eyes for a minute, just long enough to take the edge off the exhaustion pressing down on me.
When I opened them again, I was somewhere else.
There was no moment of transition, no sense of having traveled.
One blink and the warehouse ceiling was gone.
In its place hung a single light above me, bright and clinical, buzzing faintly.
The air felt warmer here, thick and stale, the kind that clung to the back of your throat.
For a second I simply lay still, confused by the wrongness of it, trying to fit this room into memory.
The chair under me registered next. Solid.
Metal. The seat too wide, the back tall.
My shoulders and legs were pulled tight, resting at angles that didn’t feel natural.
There was pressure at my wrists and ankles, not quite pain, just enough to remind me that moving wasn’t an option. My pulse began to climb.
I knew this place.