My gut tightens. I nod once. “Allright.”
She steps back, reading my face. I keep it neutral. There’s no room for last night right now. I park the thought of Olivia’s expression at my door—hurt, furious, finished—and lock it behind worry for my brother.
I look at the doors leading back again, then the clock, then pace a short line between two columns. Call logs. Security texts. Luca murmurs to Giovanni. Bianca uses a wet napkin to clean the blood off Nico’s hands. He just lets her.
I know the police will be coming in soon to ask questions. The hospital has to report all gunshot wounds. We have to figure out what we’re going to tell them.
The elevator pings and spills a handful of people into the hall. Olivia is among them. Slate blouse, dark pants, hair pulled back. She spots Caterina first, relief and alarm crossing her face in the same breath, then she sees the rest of us. She hesitates half a heartbeat, then comes forward.
“Olivia,” Elena says, stepping in first with the kind of poise and kindness only she manages so well. “Thank you for bringing Cat.”
“Of course,” Olivia says, voice low.
Luca inclines his head. “Thank you.”
“Any update?” she asks, looking at me, then away, then back to Caterina.
“OR,” I say. “They controlled a major bleed. He’s in critical care after this.”
She nods, jaw tight. “Good. I mean—not good, but better than—” She stops, swallows. “I’m sorry.”
Nico gets to his feet. “Thanks for getting her here.”
“Anytime,” Olivia says. She shifts her bag strap on her shoulder. “Can I get anyone water? Coffee?”
Bianca moves. “I’ll help,” she says. “There’s a kiosk downstairs.”
Olivia nods once and looks to Caterina. “You need anything?”
“Just… stay,” Cat says, voice small for the first time. “Please.”
Olivia just nods and, with Bianca, walks to find that kiosk.
Chapter Thirty Five
Olivia
An hour crawls by under the fluorescent light.
I sit on the edge of a vinyl chair, hands wrapped around a paper cup I’m not drinking. The coffee downstairs tasted like cardboard, but it gave me something to hold.
Across from me, Luca sits forward with his elbows on his knees, unmoving. Elena stays beside him, one hand on his back, soothing.
Giovanni paces a narrow line, phone to his ear, voice low. Bianca has a stack of tiny water bottles and keeps pressing them into people’s hands.
Nico’s in a corner chair with a gauze pad taped over his forearm. Turns out, not all the blood was Antonio’s. He’d gotten pretty scraped up, too. His eyes are open but far away.
Two uniforms came up about half an hour ago and asked for Nico by name. He went with them to a side room, accompanied by Roberto. He came back twenty minutes later, jaw locked. They left without speaking to anyone else.He didn’t tell anyone what he said. I don’t know if what he told them was true or not. I don’t know if I want to know.
The TV on the wall runs a loop of weather and headlines without sound. No one looks at it. Every time the OR doors swing, everyone’s head turns. Then we settle again.
Caterina sits next to me. Her knee bounces until she clamps a palm over it to make it stop. When a nurse walks by, Caterina stands like she’s going to speak, then sinks back down with a tight “thanks” when the nurse says she doesn’t have news.
“I hate this part,” she whispers.
“I know.” I don’t, not like this, but I say it anyway.
She nods, staring at the double doors. “He’ll be fine,” she adds, like she’s reminding herself.
