Iwake with a sharp inhale, like I’ve been ripped out of a nightmare and hurled into a world of pain.
The ache in my chest is instant and excruciating like someone’s sitting on my ribs, pressing down with unbearable weight. My head spins as I blink up at the sterile white ceiling, the smell of antiseptic flooding my nose.
It takes me a second to piece it all together—where I am, why my body feels like it’s been smashed to pieces. But then it comes rushing back in a wave of red-hot fury and agonizing dread.
Max.
The gunshot.
Mia.
My pulse spikes, echoed by a nearby heart monitor.
I need to move, to find her, to protect her. But when I try to sit up, pain rips through me like a lightning bolt, forcing me back down with a groan.
“Easy there, Leon,” Isabella’s voice cuts through the panic, hoarse but familiar.
I turn my head, finding her sitting in a chair by the bed. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days, dressed in a hoodie that definitely doesn’t belong to her.
“Where’s Mia?”
My sister’s eyes scan my face, my body—lingering on my chest—before she sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in a gesture that’s so reminiscent of Teo I almost do a double-take.
“Safe,” Isabella says quickly, firmly. “She wasn’t hurt in the attack.”
I stare at her hunched form momentarily as I roll her words through my mind. Trying to decide if it’s enough to offer me some relief.
It’s not
“Where is she?” I try again.
Isabella hesitates. It’s a small moment, one that I doubt anyone else would notice unless they’d known her from birth.
But before she can answer, the door opens, and a doctor walks in—a middle-aged man with sharp eyes,
“You’re awake,” he says, glancing at a clipboard before looking at me. “That’s a good start.”
“What happened?” I growl, frustration bubbling over.
“You were incredibly lucky,” the doctor says, setting the clipboard down.
“The bullet hit your chest, but it struck a rib at an angle, deflecting it away from your heart and major arteries. It punctured a lung, but we were able to stabilize you quickly enough to prevent permanent damage. You underwent surgery to repair the lung and stop the bleeding.”
I exhale sharply, trying to process his words. The memory of the shot, the staggering blow to the chest, flashes through my mind.
I clench my fists to ward off the memory. “How long have I been out?”
“Three days,” Isabella says quietly. “We’ve been taking shifts watching over you.”
“Three days,” I mutter, the weight of it settling on my bruising chest. “And Mia?”
“She’s alive,” Isabella says, starting to sound irritated. “I told you this.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “No, you said she was safe.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
The doctor clears his throat. “You need to rest, Mr. Moretti. Your body’s been through a major trauma, and pushing yourself too soon could cause complications. The lung will take weeks to fully heal.”
