I nod, reaching for her elbow to support her as we begin the slow journey through the hospital corridors. Every step is measured, her movements still hesitant after two weeks of recovery. The doctors say her balance may take time to fully return, another effect of the trauma her brain endured.
“You don’t need to rush,” I murmur when I feel her trying to accelerate her pace. “We have time.”
Her lips press together in that stubborn way I’ve come to recognize. “I’m not an invalid, Raffaele.”
“No,” I agree. “You’re a warrior. But even warriors need time to heal.”
This earns me a small smile, a flash of the woman who stood her ground against Andrea Russo and survived.
We continue through the sterile white maze of corridors, past nursing stations and waiting areas where other patients and families glance at us before quickly looking away. Whether they recognize me or simply sense the danger I carry doesn’t matter—what matters is that they keep their distance.
When we reach the hospital entrance, Alina pauses before the automatic doors slide open to reveal the bright Caribbean day beyond. She turns to me, her face half-shadowed beneath the brim of her hat.
“Take me home, husband.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, sending heat and possession surging through my veins. Home. Husband. Two words that meant nothing to me before her, now carrying the weight of everything I never knew I wanted.
My hand tightens on her elbow, not enough to hurt, just enough to convey that I’ve heard her. That I’ll give her exactly what she needs.
“Yes,” I say simply, guiding her through the doors into the waiting SUV, where Colin has already opened the rear door for us.
The drive to the marina passes in comfortable silence. I watch Alina from the corner of my eye, noting how she tilts her face toward the window, drinking in the island scenery she’s barely seen since the accident.
Her fingers absently trace the edge of her cast, a nervous habit she’s developed during recovery. I place my hand over hers, stilling the motion, linking our fingers together instead.
The marina comes into view, sparkling blue water dotted with vessels of varying sizes. But one stands out; a gleaming whitesuperyacht that dwarfs everything else in the harbor. I feel Alina straighten beside me as she spots it.
“Is that—”
“Ours for the journey,” I confirm, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice. “TheArtemis. One hundred twenty feet of luxury and medical-grade comfort.”
Colin pulls the SUV to a stop at the marina entrance, where four of my security team stand at attention, their eyes constantly scanning our surroundings.
They move into formation as we approach—two ahead, two behind—creating a protective barrier around us as we walk toward the dock.
“Colin secured the entire marina for our departure,” I murmur to Alina. “No civilians within a hundred yards until we’re safely aboard.”
She glances at me, her expression unreadable behind the dark glasses. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes,” I answer without elaboration. After what happened with Andrea, I’m taking no chances with her safety. Not ever again.
The yacht looms larger as we approach, its sleek lines and imposing presence drawing Alina’s gaze upward. Three decks of pristine white elegance topped with state-of-the-art communications equipment and radar.
The crew stands at attention on the main deck, professionally attired in crisp white uniforms.
“May I?” I ask, gesturing to the boarding ramp.
She nods, understanding my intention. Despite her protests about being treated as an invalid, the narrow gangway presents a challenge for someone still struggling with balance.
I lift her easily into my arms, cradling her against my chest as I carry her aboard. Her good arm wraps around my neck, her face turning into my shoulder momentarily in a gesture of trust that makes my chest tighten.
The yacht’s captain greets us with a respectful nod. “Welcome aboardTheArtemis, Mr. and Mrs. Brewer-Russo. We’re ready to depart at your command.”
“Give us five minutes,” I tell him, setting Alina carefully on her feet but keeping a steadying hand at her waist.
I guide her toward the four people waiting near the main salon entrance—four women in conservative attire, their demeanors professional and attentive.
“Alina, this is your medical team for the journey,” I say. “Dr. Ramirez is a neurologist. Dr. Chen specializes in trauma recovery. Nurses Williams and Gómez will alternate shifts to ensure you have twenty-four-hour care.”
