I tried to sit up again. Had to see him—
The pain stopped me cold. Paola's hands kept me down.
"Stop. You'll tear your stitches."
"I need to see him."
"You will. But you just woke up. Let the doctors check you first."
"Viktor?"
"FBI custody. But his lawyers are trying to get him released on bail."
"When?"
"Maybe a week. Maybe less."
Fuck. A week and Viktor could be free. While I was laid up, useless.
The monitors beeped faster. Paola squeezed my hand.
"Don't. You need to stay calm."
Dr. Reeves appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Monti. Welcome back. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got shot."
A slight smile. "Accurate assessment." She moved to the bedside, began her examination. Stethoscope cold against my chest. "Deep breath for me."
I inhaled. Pain lanced through my ribs.
"Good. Again." She checked monitors, made notes. "Your lung is healing well. The surgery was successful. But you'll need extensive recovery time."
"How long?"
"Minimum six weeks before you can resume normal activities. Three months before you're fully healed."
Three months. Impossible.
"I'll need to be mobile sooner than that."
"Mr. Monti, if you push too hard too fast, you risk permanent damage. Your lung could collapse again. You could die."
Paola's hand tightened on mine. White-knuckled. Terrified.
"You're going to follow the doctor's orders," she said. Not a request.
I looked at her. Saw the fear underneath the determination. She'd almost lost me.
"Fine," I conceded. For now.
After Dr. Reeves left, Paola and I were finally alone. She sat beside my bed, still holding my hand like she was afraid I'd disappear.
"You scared me." Her voice came out quiet, raw. "When you went down at the pier—when I saw the blood—I thought..."
She couldn't finish. Tears spilled over.
"Hey." I tugged her hand gently. "I'm here. Still alive. Still fighting."
