Each word hits like a physical blow. I force myself to stand perfectly still, to absorb the information without reacting.
“We need to perform emergency surgery to relieve the pressure and stop the bleeding,” he continues.
“Do whatever it takes,” I tell him. “Spare no expense. Use the best surgeons, equipment, and everything else. I don’t care what it costs.”
He nods, unsurprised by my response. “I should warn you, this type of injury carries significant risks. Even with successful surgery, there’s a possibility of—”
“What are her chances?” I cut him off, needing the truth without medical cushioning.
His hesitation tells me everything before he speaks. “It’s difficult to say with certainty. The next twenty-four hours will be critical.”
My vision narrows, darkness creeping in at the edges. I might be swaying on my feet. I’m not sure.
“Can I see her? Before the surgery.”
The doctor shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Russo. But there’s no time.” With those words, he leaves. Disappearing behind those cursed fucking doors again.
The minutes crawl by like dying things. A nurse offers me coffee. I don’t respond. Someone suggests I clean up, pointing to the blood on my hands and my clothes. I ignore them until they back away.
I sit. Stand. Pace. Sit again.
My mind cycles through every moment with Alina—from the first time I saw her at the bakery to this morning in our bed on the island. I think about all the things I never told her.
How the simple act of her cooking dinner for me on the island meant more than all the wealth and power I’ve accumulated.
How I’ve never loved anyone the way I love her.
The admission, even in the privacy of my thoughts, hits with the force of a physical blow. I love her. Not just as a possession, not just as my wife, but as the center of a universe I didn’t know existed until she entered it.
If she dies believing I wanted revenge for Andrea…
No. I can’t think that way. She will survive this. She must.
Colin brings me water I don’t drink. Offers food I don’t acknowledge. The waiting room empties and fills with new faces, new anxieties. Still I remain, a statue carved from rage and regret and desperate, clinging hope.
When the surgeon finally appears, still wearing his scrubs, exhaustion etched into every line of his face, my heart stops beating entirely. I stand on legs I can’t feel, preparing myself for news that might destroy me as surely as any bullet.
Chapter 44
Raffaele
“She made it through surgery.”
Five simple words that rebuild my world from ashes. The surgeon stands before me, still in blood-spattered scrubs, his face etched with the weariness of a man who’s just battled death and won.
I want to grab him, to demand every detail, to know exactly what happened behind those operating room doors, but I force myself to remain still, to listen as he continues.
“We successfully evacuated the hematoma and stopped the bleeding. Her vitals are stable. The next twenty-four hours will be critical, but I’m cautiously optimistic.”
I exhale for what feels like the first time in hours. “When can I see her?”
“She’s in recovery now. Once we move her to the ICU, you can—”
“I need to see her immediately.” It’s not a request.
The surgeon studies me, clearly weighing hospital protocol against the barely contained violence in my voice. He makes the wise choice. “I’ll have a nurse take you to her as soon as she’s settled.”
Colin steps forward. “I’ll handle everything else, boss. You focus on Mrs. Brewer-Russo.”
