Chapter 24
ADRIANA
I wake up alone in Lochlan’s bed.
Our bed.
I smooth a hand over the sheets. They’re cold, which means he's been up for a while.
I stare at the empty space next to me and my chest aches.
We barely spoke when he got back from wherever he went last night.
He said his security job ran late. I said I was tired.
We went to bed on opposite sides of the mattress like strangers sharing a hotel room with a wedge that could rival the Berlin Wall between us.
I accused him of spying on me for his father. I looked him in the eye and asked if everything between us was… is… a lie.
The memory makes me cringe. Eamon played me like a damn fiddle, and I let him. I let that manipulative bastard worm his way into my head and poison everything good that's been growing between Lochlan and me under the most bizarre and unexpected circumstances.
I drag myself out of bed and pad down the hallway. The smell of coffee hits me before I reach the kitchen. Lochlan is standing by the window with a mug in his hands, staring out at the city. Reaper lies at his feet but lifts his head when he sees me.
“Hey,” I say in a low voice.
Lochlan turns around. His face is drawn, like he didn't sleep at all. Dark circles stain the skin under his eyes and there's tension in his jaw that wasn't there yesterday morning.
“Hey.” His voice is flat and guarded, just like mine used to be whenever we talked. It makes my stomach twist into knots.
I walk toward him, stopping a few feet away because I'm not sure if I'm allowed to get closer. “Can we talk?”
He nods and sets his mug on the counter, raking a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “Yeah. We should.”
Silence looms over us, thick and uncomfortable. I hate it. Twenty-four hours ago, we were tangled together on this couch, completely in sync. Now we're standing in the same room like two people who barely know each other.
“I'm sorry.” The words tumble out fast. “About yesterday. About accusing you of working with your father. I know you wouldn't do that. I know you're on my side. I shouldn’t have questioned it.” I press my hand to my chest, trying to ease the tightness there. But it’s a futile attempt.
“Eamon got in my head. He said all the right things to make me doubt myself, doubt you, doubt everything. And I let him. That's on me.”
Lochlan's expression relaxes the slightest bit, but there's something else underneath it. Something I can't quite read. Something I’m not sure he wants me to see.
“It's okay,” he says. “I get it. He's good at what he does.”
But I keep going because he’s obviously still hurt and possibly unconvinced.
“It's not okay. I should have trusted you.
After everything you've done for me, everything we've been through together, I should have known better than to believe anything that came out of his mouth.” I take a step closer. “I'm sorry, Lochlan. Really.”
He reaches out and pulls me into his arms. I sink against his chest. As I breathe in his familiar scent, some of the tension drains from my shoulders. His hand strokes down my back, slow and steady.
“We're good,” he murmurs against my hair. “I promise. We're good.”
But something still feels off. His body is rigid against mine, like he's holding himself back. When I pull away to look at his face, his eyes slide away from mine.
“What's wrong?” I ask, my skin prickling with unease.
“Nothing.” He turns back to the window, picking up his coffee again. “I’m just tired. Didn't sleep much.”
“Lochlan.” I put my hand on his arm. “Talk to me. Something's bothering you. I can see it.”
He's quiet for a long moment. His jaw works like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to say out loud.
My heart rate kicks up because I've never seen him like this.
Even when things were bad, even when the Russians attacked or when Riccardo challenged me, Lochlan was steady.
Solid. The calm in the middle of every shit storm I found myself in the middle of.
I furrow my brows, watching him. Right now, he looks like a man drowning in something he can't escape. And it rattles me to my core.
“I'm just worried,” he finally says. “About the Russians. About you. About all of it.” He turns to face me. My heart clenches at his pained expression. “I don't want anything to happen to you, Adriana. I couldn't handle it if something happened to you because of my family.”
“Nothing's going to happen to me.” I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “We're in this together, remember? Whatever comes next, we handle it together.”
He nods, but the shadows don't leave his eyes. He leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering against my skin.
“Okay,” he says.
I want to push harder. I want to demand that he tell me what's really going on in his head. But my phone buzzes on the counter before I can say anything else.
Luna’s name flashes on the screen. My heart lurches because Luna never calls this early.
Unless… My heart stutters. Oh my God… no.
I stab the Accept button, blood rushing between my ears. “Luna? What is it?”
“Adri.” Her voice shakes. “It's Dad. The hospital just called. He's waking up.”
The world tilts when I hear that. I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself.
“What? Are you sure?”
“Mom's already on her way there. I'm leaving now. Can you meet us?”
“Yes. Of course, I'm coming. I'm leaving right now.” I hang up and turn to Lochlan, my hands trembling, tears stinging my eyes. “It’s my dad. He's waking up from the coma.”
Lochlan's eyes widen. “Holy shit. Let's go.”
The drive to the hospital is a blur of frenzied thoughts.
Lochlan swerves around cars, weaving through traffic while I sit in the passenger seat, twisting my grandmother's ring around and around my finger as questions pepper my mind.
What if it's a false alarm? What if he woke up but slipped back under? What if he doesn't recognize me? What if the damage from the bullet near his spine is worse than they thought?
What if I finally get to talk to my father and he's not really there anymore?
That last one chills me bone-deep.
“Hey.” Lochlan reaches over and takes my hand, his touch a soothing balm to my panic. “Breathe. Whatever happens, I'm right here.”
I nod and squeeze his fingers, holding on like he's the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.
We make it to the hospital in record time. I practically sprint through the lobby toward the elevator bank, Lochlan right beside me. The elevator takes forever to reach the ICU floor, and I'm about to scream when the doors finally slide open.
Luna rushes toward me and throws her arms around my neck when we get off the elevator.
“He opened his eyes,” she says against my ear. “Just for a few seconds, but he opened them. He's really coming back, Adri.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away and pull back to look at her. “Where's Mom?”
“Inside with Vincenzo. The doctors are with him now. They said we can go in one at a time, but we have to be quiet and calm. No overwhelming him with too much stimulation,” she says.
I nod, trying to process everything she's saying. Vincenzo is already here. Of course he is. He's been by my father's side through all of this, supporting my mother, supporting me. I don't know what we would have done without him these past few weeks.
Lochlan puts a hand on my shoulder. “Go inside,” he says, nodding toward the double doors that lead to the patient rooms. “I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
I put my hand over his and smile. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Luna and I head into the ICU. She stays back by the reception desk while I head toward my father’s room. We stop outside just as Dr. Reeves, one of the doctors who has been part of my dad’s care team, steps out into the hallway.
“Ms. DiMicheli?” She smiles, extends her hand, and I shake it, noting how steady her grip is compared to my cold and trembling fingers. “It’s nice to see you. Seems like we have a lot to discuss.”
“Yes,” I say. “How is he? Luna said he opened his eyes. That’s good, right?”
“He did. He's showing signs of emerging from the coma, which is very encouraging.” She pauses, and my heart drops in my chest because I feel like that’s only a small part of the story. I hold my breath, waiting for her to continue.
“But I want to prepare you. This isn't like what you see in movies.
He won't suddenly sit up and start talking.
He still has the tracheostomy tube, so verbal communication isn't possible right now.
His responses may be minimal. A blink, a slight movement of his fingers.
He may recognize you, or he may not. His brain is essentially rebooting after being shut down for weeks, and that's a slow process.”
And there it is. Our new reality, brimming with uncertainty. My throat tightens. “But he will recover? Eventually?”
“It's too early to make any definitive predictions.
The fact that he's coming out of the coma is a positive sign, but there's a long road ahead.
Physical therapy. Cognitive assessments.
Possibly speech therapy once the trach tube is removed.
“She puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Take it one day at a time. Today is a good day. Focus on that.”
I nod because I don't trust my voice not to crack with a sob.
“You can go in and see him now, but keep the visit brief. He tires easily, and too much stimulation could set back his progress.”
“Okay, thank you.” I take a deep breath and walk into my father's room.
The machines are still there. The beeping monitors, the hissing ventilator. Mom sits in the chair next to the bed, clutching my father's hand like she's afraid to let go. Vincenzo stands behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder in silent support.
And Dad.
His eyes are open.
Not fully, though. Just slits of consciousness. But they're open. After weeks of searching his face for any sign of life, any flicker of the man I knew, his eyes are finally open.