Enzo weakly lifted the hand full of IV lines. His fingers trembled as they touched my face. His fingertips were cold—cold enough that touching my feverish cheek felt strangely soothing. He used his thumbto wipe away a tear at the corner of my eye, the gesture so gentle it barely had any pressure.
"Stop crying." His voice was so quiet the monitor almost drowned it out.
I didn't argue back. We'd have endless time to fight. But right now I had something more important to do.
I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.
I poured everything into that kiss—all the emotion, all the times I'd said I love you. He didn't have the strength to match my intensity, but his lips moved slightly. Responding.
From the crib beside us, Emily let out a sleepy mumble, like she was dreaming.
Her sound made me pull back from Enzo's lips. I glanced down at her, then turned back to him. His gaze moved from my face to Emily's direction, then back again.
"Emily okay?"
"She's fine. We're both fine."
Enzo closed his eyes, a relieved smile crossing his face.
"Good."
I wanted to say something else, but Enzo's eyes had already closed. He'd fallen asleep again. It nearly startled me, but the curve on the heart monitor stayed steady. His chest rose and fell slowly—each breath shallow, but at least he was breathing.
I dragged the chair to his bedside and sat down. One hand held his. The other rested on the crib railing. My fingers touched the edge of Emily's swaddling blanket, feeling the slight rise and fall as she breathed.
Left hand—Enzo. Right hand—Emily.
They were still here with me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Enzo
Pain.
That's the first thing I felt every morning. The wound in my abdomen was like something alive, burning from the inside out. Every breath tugged at the healing tissue, bringing cold sweat to my forehead. The gunshot wound in my left shoulder wasn't as bad, but it wasn't much better either. Lifting my arm above shoulder height sent searing pain through me.
But these wounds weren't completely useless. Besides the pain, they brought me Chloe.
She was there every day.
Chloe stayed by my bedside. She barely left the room. Luca's people brought her meals, and she slept curled up in that damn chair. I'd told her countless times to go rest. Her answer was always the same: shut up and heal.
Not many people talked to me like that, but her sharp tongue made me happy.
Recovery dragged on forever. The first two weeks, I couldn't even roll over. The slightest movement sent black spots across my vision.
I'd seen the wound once when the nurse changed my dressing. Ascar over ten centimeters long, running across the left side of my abdomen. The surrounding skin was purple and swollen, brutal-looking. Every time Chloe saw it, her lips pressed tight and she'd turn away. When she turned back after the dressing was done, her eyes were always red.
She was still that kind, gentle Chloe, even if her temper was worse than before. But that only made me like her more.
I kept wanting to dig deeper with her. Things like, "Hey, have you really forgiven me? Are we good now?"
But Chloe never gave me a straight answer. I figured Miss Stubborn needed time to face the fact that we still loved each other.
God, who could deny it?
And I had plenty of time to wait for her to come around. I hadn't been this idle in years.
