Always Mina.
Silas Cross and the Lucanias will have to be strong enough on their own. A petty part of me reasons that if they’re not, they don’t deserve to survive.
The afternoon light shifts and fades. Nurses come and go, checking Leon’s vitals, adjusting his IV. They move quietly, professionally, nodding when I hold my finger to my lips and gesture at Mina.
Mina stirs around five o’clock. It’s a gradual thing. A shift in her breathing, a small sound in the back of her throat, a furrowing of her brow. She’s dreaming, I realize. And from the way her hands have started to tremble, it’s not a pleasant dream.
“Don’t— Don’t take…Please—”
I rise from my chair and cross to her, crouching beside the armchair.
“Mina.” I keep my voice soft and gentle. The voice I might use to soothe a frightened animal. “Mina, wake up.”
Her eyes fly open and she seizes my shoulders. “Don’t take him!”
For a moment she stares at me without recognition, her body tensed to flee, her breath coming fast and shallow. The monster from her nightmare is crouching right in front of her.
The nightmare fades. She sees Leon, still sleeping peacefully, and some of the tension drains out of her.
“Cristiano.” She sits up, pushing her hair out of her face. “How long was I—” She stops, her eyes going wide. “The test. The blood test. Did they—”
“I’m a match.”
I watch the emotions flicker over her face. Confusion, then disbelief, then a hope so raw it almost hurts to look at.
“You’re sure?” she asks, her voice high and tight.
I take her face in my hands.
“I’m sure. Blood type, tissue markers, everything. The surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes fill with tears, desperate, terrified, and relieved all at once.
“Oh God.” Her voice breaks. “Oh God, Cristiano.”
She’s crying now, tears streaming down her face, her whole body shaking with the force of it. The terror of the past week finally has an outlet.
“He’s going to be okay,” I tell her. “Do you understand? Leon is going to be okay.”
She nods, but she can’t stop crying. Can’t stop shaking.
“I thought—” She gasps for breath. “I thought you were going to say no. When you found out, I thought—”
“I know what you thought.”
She flinches slightly, but I don’t let go of her face. My thumbs brush away her tears, one after another, even as new ones fall.
“You thought I was going to refuse,” I say quietly. “You thought I was going to punish you by letting our son die.”
She doesn’t deny it.
“Mina.” I tilt her face up, forcing her to meet my eyes. “I’m not my father.”
“I know,” she whispers.
But I can see in her eyes that she doesn’t really believe me.
Or is it that she’s afraid I’m something far worse than he ever was?
