His eyelids flutter.
I lean forward instantly, my chair scraping again. “Ethan.”
His lashes lift slowly, confusion clouding his eyes as awareness returns in uneven waves. He tries to lift his right arm and immediately inhales sharply, pain tightening his face.
“Don’t,” I murmur, my hand sliding to his shoulder to still him.
He blinks up at me, disorientation giving way to recognition. “Ro?”
“I’m here.”
His gaze moves slowly around the room, lingering on the monitor, the IV line, the brace securing his clavicle in place. I watch understanding come back in stages. Each detail pulls him further into memory. His jaw tightens when it all connects.
“I’m fine,” he mutters automatically.
A breath of humor almost escapes me. Almost.
“You’re not fine,” I reply evenly. “You’re fortunate.”
He swallows, his teeth grinding as his hand curls against the blanket. “I messed up.”
“No.”
His eyes flash with frustration. “They got the jump on me. I should’ve seen it coming.” He adjusts slightly against the brace and winces, anger rising faster than the pain. “This wasn’t random, Ro. There were threats. Someone messing with your apartment door. The car accident. Now you’re living somewhere guarded with security like it’s normal. Tell me what’s actually going on.”
I hold his gaze. He’s always known when I’m withholding. A concussion doesn’t dull that instinct.
“It started with a patient,” I tell him quietly. “His name was Alexei. He came into the emergency room and he didn’t make it. Before he died, he gave me information.”
Ethan’s eyes harden despite the haze.
“He uncovered something he wasn’t meant to know,” I continue. “The people he was involved with want to know what he told me. Or they want to make sure it never surfaces. They’re trying to intimidate me. Demonstrate reach.” I pause, choosing the next words carefully. “That’s why Kiren offered protection.”
Anger flares in my chest, hot and immediate. I draw a breath and force it down before it spills into my voice.
Ethan’s jaw clenches. “What people? Who are they?”
I consider softening it, but I don’t.
“They’re connected. Organized. Mafia-adjacent at minimum.”
His eyes darken, anger melting into protection.
“So, they attacked me to get to you.”
“Yes.”
I glance down at my hands, needing a second to break the intensity of his stare.
He exhales slowly through his teeth. “Then you don’t stay alone. Not anywhere. I don’t care how guarded it is.”
“I’m not alone,” I assure him. “I promise.”
He studies me, searching for what I’m not spelling out. After a long moment, he gives a reluctant nod.
“Okay,” he mutters. “But next time someone wants to send you a message, they can come find me standing up.”
“There won’t be a next time,” I answer, brushing my fingers lightly over his hand before stepping back. “Get some rest.”
