"Yes."
"I told you to stay at your house."
"I know what you told me. I also know what I saw." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, leaving probably leaving dirt streaks on my face. "You got shot protecting her. And now you're bleeding and I don't know how to help but I have to try. Because I’m so fucking scared you’re going to die."
The doctor says something else, and Enzo responds without taking his eyes off me. Then he switches to English.
"Dr. Castellano says the bullet went straight through. No major damage, but I'll need stitches and antibiotics. Physical therapy later."
"That's good, right? That it went through?"
"It's better than the alternative."
I watch the doctor work, cleaning and stitching. Enzo doesn't flinch, doesn't make a sound, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his free hand grips the edge of the bed.
"Is there anything I can do?" I ask. "To help? Can I get you something for pain? Surely you have painkillers here somewhere? All I have is aspirin."
The doctor glances at me and says something to Enzo, who almost smiles.
"He says for you to stay out of his way, but you can hold my hand if it makes you feel better."
"Would it make you feel better?"
"Yes."
I take his uninjured hand in both of mine, and feel some of the tension leave his shoulders.
"Madison," he says quietly while the doctor continues working. "What you saw tonight—"
"I know."
"Do you? Do you understand what it means?"
I look at him, really look at him. The man who just killed multiple people to save an innocent woman. The man who took a bullet rather than let harm come to someone under his protection. The man whose hand is warm and steady in mine despite everything.
"It means you're dangerous," I say. "It means you're willing to kill people who threaten what's yours. It means the life you're offering me comes with blood and violence and fear."
He nods slowly. "And?"
"And it also means you'll die before you let anything happen to the people you care about. It means your protection isn't just words—it's real, even when it costs you everything."
The doctor finishes his work and starts packing up his supplies, speaking quietly to Enzo about what I suspect is care instructions.
After he leaves, we sit in silence for a moment. Enzo's shoulder is bandaged and immobilized, and the doctor left pain medications on the bedside table he probably won't take.
"I was terrified," I admit finally. "When I saw you get shot. I thought you might die, and I realized I couldn't live with that."
"Even knowing what I am?"
"Because of what you are." I squeeze his hand. "All of it. The dangerous parts and the protective parts. They're the same thing, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"Then I guess the question is whether I'm brave enough to love all of it."
He turns to look at me fully, and I see something vulnerable in his expression that I've never seen before.
"Are you?"
