“Marchetti.” I clear my throat, trying to pull away from the feeling of the world spinning. “Luca Marchetti. My wife is Giuliana.”
The doctor nods. “Wait here. We’ll update you as soon as we know anything.”
Then they’re pushing through double doors, and she’s gone. Just…gone. Disappeared behind those doors like she might never come back.
I stand there in the middle of the emergency room, covered in her blood, and realize I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand. My hands—Jesus, my hands arecoveredin her blood. Dark and drying now, coating my fingers, under my nails, turning the cuffs of my shirt stiff.
“Come on,” Danny says, gentle but firm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“No.” I wrench away from him, staggering toward the chairs lined against the wall. “I need to be here. When they come out, I need to?—”
“You need to sit down before you collapse,” Danny interrupts, guiding me forcefully into a chair. “I’ll get you some water. Just…stay here.”
He disappears, and I’m left alone with my thoughts and the blood on my hands.
The guilt crashes over me in waves, each one more devastating than the last.
This is my fault. All of it.
If I’d been faster, if I’d moved sooner, I could have shielded her properly. But I was too slow, too caught up in my own rage and grief to react quickly enough.
If I’d told her the truth from the beginning—if I’d admitted that the plan changed, that I fell in love with her, that I couldn’t go through with killing her—she wouldn’t have kept Romano’s secret. We could have dealt with him weeks ago, before it came to this.
If I’d never kidnapped her in the first place, if I’d pursued justice through legitimate means instead of revenge through destruction, she’d be safe at home right now. Alive and whole and untouched by my world’s violence.
Idid this.Ibrought her into this nightmare.Imade her a target by marrying her, by making her visible to my enemies.Iput her in Romano’s crosshairs as surely as if I’d pulled the trigger myself.
And she saved me anyway.
Even knowing what I planned to do to her. Even hating me for the betrayal, for the lies, for everything I’ve put her through, she threw herself between me and a bullet.
She chose to save me.
Why? Why would shedothat? She was supposed to hate me. Shesaidshe could never forgive me, that even surviving tonight wouldn’t change what’s broken between us.
So why would she sacrifice herself for me?
Love you.
Her last words echo in my mind, and the sob that erupts from me is loud enough that several people in the waiting room turn to stare.
I don’t care. Let them fucking look. Let them see what I’ve become—a man covered in his wife’s blood, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in that she’ll survive the wounds I’m responsible for.
Danny returns with water I don’t drink. He sighs but sits beside me in silence, not offering empty platitudes or false hope. Just…being there.
Hours pass. The initial adrenaline fades, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and terror so complete it feels like drowning. My hands have finally stopped shaking, but only because they’ve gone numb. The blood on them has dried completely now, flaking off in small pieces when I flex my fingers.
Her blood. On my hands. Where it belongs.
“She’ll make it,” Danny says quietly, though his voice lacks conviction. “She’s strong.”
“She took a bullet to the chest,” I interrupt, my voice low. “At close range. The odds?—”
“Fuck the odds,” Danny says fiercely, his eyes flashing. “She’s survivedeverythingelse you’ve put her through. She’ll survive this too.”
The accusation in his tone is deserved. I have put her through hell. And now she might die because of it.
I lean forward, pressing my hands to my face, not caring that I’m shedding blood flakes everywhere. Maybe I should wear it. Maybe I should carry this stain forever as a reminder of what my revenge cost.
