Piero occupied a private room at the end of the corridor. He was surrounded by monitors and tubes, IVs threading into both arms.
He looked terrible. Pale and bruised, diminished in a way I'd never seen him before.
My chest tightened.
"He's been unconscious since surgery," a nurse explained. "But stable. We expect him to wake in the next few hours."
I wheeled closer. Paola stayed back, giving us space.
"Piero." My voice came out rough. Emotional in a way I rarely allowed. "You better wake up, you bastard. I didn't take a bullet for you just so you could die from a ruptured spleen."
No response. Just the steady beep of monitors.
"I need you, brother. This empire—this family—it doesn't work without you. I don't work without you."
I wasn't good at this. Expressing feelings. Being vulnerable. But almost dying had a way of changing perspectives.
We sat in silence. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. I just watched Piero breathe.
Then his eyes fluttered open.
Unfocused at first. Confused. Then they landed on me. "You look like shit," Piero rasped.
I laughed—instantly regretted it as pain shot through my ribs. "You're one to talk."
"How long was I out?"
"About twelve hours. You had us scared."
His gaze shifted to Paola. "Hey,cognata."
"Hey yourself. Stop trying to die. It's getting old."
A ghost of a smile. Then back to me. "Viktor?"
"FBI custody. For now."
"For now?"
"His lawyers are good. Might get bail."
Piero processed this. Still strategic despite the drugs. "Then we have work to do."
"We have recovery to do," I corrected. "Both of us. The family can function without us for a few weeks."
He studied me. "You're really going to rest? You?"
"Paola's making me."
"Smart woman."
"The smartest."
Silence settled. Then Piero spoke again, voice quieter. "Thank you. For coming for me. For taking that bullet."
"You're my brother. What else was I going to do? You're worth more than the empire."
The admission hung between us. The truth, raw and honest.
