Hour eight.
The red light went out.
I shot to my feet the instant the doors opened. Two nurses wheeled out a gurney. I saw his face—gray-white, completely bloodless. Tubes everywhere. IVs in his hand. Oxygen in his nose. Thick bandages around his abdomen with faint red seepage at the edges.
Enzo's eyes were closed. He was so still he didn't look alive.
Enzo Falcone. The Don who ruled New York. The man who made the entire underworld tremble. The man I'd once hated to my core and loved to my core—now lying on a hospital gurney, fragile enough to die at any moment.
They wheeled Enzo into a private room. Luca finally relaxed slightly—he seemed to have business to handle. He posted guards at the door, told me "Call if you need anything," and left.
The door closed.
Just me, Enzo, Emily—who the nanny had brought over—and the beeping of the heart monitor.
I put Emily in the crib beside the bed. She was still asleep, mouth slightly open, breathing steady. Then I walked to Enzo's bedside.
I looked at his face. I'd looked at it countless times. But never like this. Never this afraid. Because right now, there was no trace of life in that face. It was pale to the point of translucence. His lips were gray-purple. The veins showed through his eyelids.
I pressed my forehead to the back of his hand. Tears fell onto the sheets, soaking dark spots into the fabric.
"I forgive you."
As those words left my mouth, I felt a strange lightness. All the things I'd been clutching—the anger, the resentment, the fear, the distrust—fell away the moment I spoke.
All my stubbornness had come from thinking he didn't really love me. That I was just a toy to him.
But he'd shown me his love in his own way. In the most painful way possible.
"You hear me, Enzo? I forgive you. I love you. Emily and I can't lose you. So you wake up."
The heart monitor beeped steadily. No change. No response.
"I'll do anything. Just wake up." My fingers tightened around his hand. "We've already wasted so much time. The church, the villa, the flower shop—all those days we spent tormenting each other, pushing each other away. All wasted. I don't want to waste any more. Not even one day."
Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto the back of his hand.
"You promised me you'd come back alive. You said so. You've broken so many promises—you don't get to break this one. Enzo Falcone! Wake up!"
Only the monitor answered me. I bit down hard, tears pouring out, until I finally lost the strength to hold myself up and collapsed to the floor.
"Deal."
My head snapped up.
Enzo's eyes had opened a crack. His dark pupils looked dull in the harsh light, but he was looking at me. The corner of his mouth curved up—barely, weakly—but it was definitely a smile.
I stared at his face for three full seconds, making sure I wasn't dreaming.
"When did you wake up?" My voice came out high and shaky. "When did you come to? How much did you hear? Why didn't you say something? Why did you just let me cry?"
"Just now." Enzo's voice was so weak it sounded like he was using his last bit of strength to speak. Each word separated by a labored breath. "Woke up and heard you talking. Wanted to hear you say those things so badly. For a second, I thought I was in heaven."
He paused. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed with difficulty.
"But heaven probably doesn't hurt this much."
"You asshole." I wiped my face with the back of my hand. "You damn bastard. You almost died, and the first thing you do when you wake up is mess with me? How twisted are you?"
