Chapter 15 - Fractured Armor
The private clinic situated beneath the sub-basement of the Rossi estate was quiet except for the rhythmic beep of a cardiac monitor and the hiss of an automated oxygen concentrator. Twenty-four hours had passed since the bloodbath at the Plaza. The federal authorities had moved swiftly, taking custody of Dominic Castiglione and unsealing a massive multi-state indictment that dismantled Chicago's remaining syndicates. Luca had spent five hours in emergency surgery to extract the slug from his shoulder and repair damaged arterial tissue.
I sat in a high-backed leather armchair beside his hospital bed, refusing to leave the room even when Marcus brought clean clothes and sandwiches. I wore an oversized wool sweater belonging to Luca, pulling the sleeves over my hands as I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. His skin was pale, his dark stubble prominent against his hollow cheeks, but the steady beep of the heart monitor anchored my fraying nerves.
Around midnight, his eyelids fluttered open. His dark eyes were clouded with anesthesia and pain, but the moment they focused on me, the tension in his rigid shoulders visibly softened.
"Elena," he croaked, his voice like gravel.
I immediately poured a glass of water from the bedside pitcher, holding the straw to his dry lips. He took two swallows before sinking back into the pillows, his gaze sweeping over my face.
"You didn't go to sleep," he murmured, his uninjured right hand lifting weakly to catch my fingers. "You've been sitting there all night."
"I told you once before," I whispered, pressing his calloused hand against my cheek, feeling the steady pulse beneath his wrist. "I don't leave people who bleed for me."
Luca closed his eyes for a long moment, a sharp breath escaping his lips. "You killed a man on that roof to protect me. That wasn't supposed to be your life. You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to build clinics and live in the light, far away from the blood and the iron."
"Luca, look at me," I commanded softly.
He opened his eyes, searching my face with deep, agonizing guilt.
"I didn't pull that trigger because I wanted to enter your underworld," I said, leaning closer until my forehead rested against his temple. "I pulled that trigger because you are my family now. For five years, I watched my mother suffer while men like Dominic Castiglione made millions off fraudulent insurance policies and extortion. You gave me justice. You gave me back my dignity. If protecting you makes my hands dirty, then I will carry that weight with you. We are in this together."
A lone tear slipped from the corner of his eye, vanishing into his dark hairline—the first time I had ever seen a crack in the impenetrable armor of the most feared boss in New York. He raised his hand, curling his fingers into the nape of my neck, pulling me down until his lips met mine in a slow, aching kiss that tasted of saline and medicine, but carried the fierce devotion of a man who had finally found his soul.
"When I get out of this bed," Luca vowed against my lips, "we finish the transition. No more syndicates. No more council meetings. I will liquidate every illegal port terminal and convert the entire Rossi enterprise into a clean shipping fleet. We walk into the light together, Elena. Even if I have to burn the rest of the underworld to ash to make sure nobody follows us."
May you like
Before I could answer, the door swung open, and Marcus entered with a sealed manila folder under his arm. His face was unusually grim.
"Boss," Marcus said quietly. "We have a problem. Don Salvatore Moretti didn't die in prison today. He escaped from the federal transport van twenty minutes ago during his hospital transfer."
