Chapter 18 Ren
Ren
A nurse approaches carefully, her voice low. “She’s in surgery. It was a clean shot, but she lost a lot of blood.”
I nod as if I already knew that. As if the sight of her bleeding out in my arms is not replaying in my head over and over again.
“How long?” I ask.
“An hour. Maybe more.”
She leaves me there with that answer.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes for a moment. My chest feels tight, my jaw clenched so hard it aches. I think of the way Amelia looked at me before they took her away. The way she tried to joke. The way she refused to let go of my shirt.
She is stubborn. Strong. Annoying in the way only people you care about can be.
She is not allowed to die tonight.
Footsteps echo down the hallway. One of my men approaches, keeping his voice low. “The Russians are finished. Those who didn’t die ran. Police are securing the scene.”
“Good,” I say. “Find out who ordered it.”
He nods and leaves.
I push off the wall and walk back toward the doors, stopping just short of touching them. I do not pray. I have never believed in it. But I find myself standing there anyway, staring at the small red light above the door, silently demanding that she survives.
If she wakes up, I will tell her none of this mattered. I will joke. I will pretend this did not scare me.
If she does not, Verona will learn exactly how far I am willing to go.
And this time, I will not stop.
The minutes stretch longer than they should. Every time the doors stay shut, my chest tightens a little more. I sit, then stand, then pace again, unable to settle. Hospitals are worse than battlefields. At least in a fight, you can do something.
Here, all I can do is wait.
Matteo leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching me like he always does. He does not ask questions right away. He never does. He knows me too well for that.
“You’re wearing a hole in the floor,” he says eventually. “At this rate, the building will collapse before the doctors finish.”
I stop pacing and look at him. “You always talk too much.”
He shrugs. “And you always pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”
I do not answer. There is no point. He already knows.
He straightens and walks closer, lowering his voice. “She’s strong. I’ve seen tougher men go down faster and complain more.”
“That is not comforting,” I reply.
“I wasn’t trying to be comforting,” he says. “I was trying to keep you from breaking something.”
I huff out a short breath. “Too late.”
Matteo studies my face for a moment, then nods slowly. “You care.”
I glare at him. “Don’t start.”
“You don’t carry people like that,” he pauses then continues calmly. “Actually, I've never seen you carry anyone like that, not even Sophia. Even when she passed out, you told one of the men to pick her up. You risked a war with the Russians to protect her. You don’t threaten medics. And you definitely don’t look like you’re one bad second away from murder unless it matters.”
I look back at the doors. “She was shot protecting her men. She didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward like it was nothing.”
Matteo is quiet for a moment. “Sounds like her.”
I nod once. “She is disciplined. Stubborn. She drives me insane. And she still did not deserve that.”
“No,” he agrees. “She didn’t.”
A nurse walks past us quickly. My head snaps up, heart racing, but she does not stop. Matteo notices.
“You look like hell,” he says.
“Feel worse.”
He smirks faintly. “Good. At least that proves you’re human.”
“I am not in the mood.”
“I know,” he replies. “That’s why I’m here.”
We fall into silence again. My thoughts drift back to the warehouse. The smell of smoke. The sound of gunfire. The way Amelia’s body went limp for just a second before she forced herself to stay conscious. I clench my fists, feeling the dried blood crack against my skin.
“I should have seen it,” I mutter.
Matteo looks at me sharply. “Seen what?”
“The sniper. The angle. The timing. I should have anticipated it.”
He shakes his head. “No. You were focused on keeping everyone alive. Including her. You did nothing wrong.”
“Feels like I did.”
“That’s guilt,” he says. “It lies.”
I scoff. “Since when are you wise?”
He smiles thinly. “Since I’ve watched you fall apart in slow motion.”
I glance at him. “You enjoying this?”
“Not particularly,” he answers. “But I trust you more when you’re honest with yourself.”
Footsteps echo again. This time, a doctor approaches. My pulse spikes.
“Is she—”
“She’s still in surgery,” the doctor interrupts gently. “The bullet caused internal damage. They’re working on it.”
“How bad?” I ask.
He hesitates, then answers carefully. “She’s stable for now. But it’s not over yet.”
That is not the reassurance I want, but it is all I get.
When he leaves, Matteo exhales slowly. “Still breathing is good.”
“Barely,” I say.
“She’s fighting,” he insists. “That's what matters.”
I sink into a chair and rub my face, exhaustion finally catching up with me. I think about how close she was when she whispered my name earlier. About how easily she trusted me, even knowing who I am.
“I did not plan for this,” I admit quietly.
Matteo raises an eyebrow. “You never plan for feelings.”
“I do not have feelings,” I snap automatically.
He chuckles. “Right. And I am the Pope.”
I shake my head, staring at the floor. “She complicates things.”
“She changes things,” he corrects.
That thought settles heavily in my chest. Because he is right. Everything feels different now. The war. The rivalry. The city. The stakes.
If she survives, nothing goes back to the way it was.
If she does not, nothing stays standing.
I look back at the closed doors, jaw tightening. “She will wake up.”
Matteo follows my gaze. “She will.”
But neither of us says when.
And neither of us moves.
Because until those doors open, time belongs to no one.
Matteo breaks the silence first.
“You need to be careful,” he says, voice low but firm. “Whatever you think you feel for her, it ends badly.”
I do not look at him. My eyes stay on the doors.
“There is nothing to be careful about,” I reply. “You are imagining things.”
He exhales slowly, like a man preparing for a fight he already knows he will lose. “She is military. Not just trained. Conditioned. Her job is to hunt people like you.”
“That is dramatic,” I say.
“It is reality,” he counters. “She is trained to catch killers. To put them down. You are a killer.”
I turn to face him then. My stare is sharp. Warning clear.
“And when she finds out who you really are,” Matteo continues, unbothered, “she will hate you. Not just for what you are, but for the lie. For the fact that her enemy stood beside her. Watched her bleed. Held her hand. Slept under her command.”
I step closer. “Enough.”
“She will see it as betrayal,” he says calmly. “And betrayal is the one thing she will never forgive.”
I clench my jaw. “You talk as if this is some love story.”
“I talk like someone who has watched you destroy everything you touch,” he replies. “Including yourself.”
I scoff. “I feel nothing for her.”
Matteo raises an eyebrow.
“I care for her on a mutual level,” I continue. “She is my captain. I was with her when she was shot. Staying here is the right thing to do. Nothing more.”
“And joining the military?” he asks.
I answer instantly. “Information. Access. Strategy. I needed to know their plans.”
“Of course,” he says.
“That is the only reason,” I insist.
Matteo shrugs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I glare at him. He smiles faintly, unfazed.
Footsteps approach. One of my men stops a few feet away and waits. I nod once, giving permission.
“Sir,” he says quietly. “We traced the order.”
My muscles tense. “Speak.”
“The raid was authorized by General Marco Russo,” he reports. “He received a tip and wanted to catch the Russians off guard. He assigned Captain Russo and her unit to execute it.”
The words sink in slowly. Too slowly.
I blink once. “Where is he?”
The man hesitates. “He is not coming to the hospital.”
My head snaps up. “Why.”
“He said if she does not make it, he will be notified. If she does, then good for her.”
For a moment, I hear nothing. No voices. No machines. No movement.
Something inside me snaps.
My hand slams into the wall hard enough to crack plaster. The sound echoes down the corridor. People turn. Nurses freeze. Matteo steps closer instantly, ready.
“That bastard,” I growl.
My chest burns. Rage surges hot and fast, uncontrollable. I pace once, then twice, fists clenched so tight my hands shake.
He sent her in knowing the risk. Used her like a piece on a board. And he cannot even bother to stand outside the doors while she fights for her life.
“He does not deserve her,” I say through my teeth.
Matteo watches me closely. “Careful.”
“Careful of what,” I snap. “My feelings?”
“Of your temper,” he replies. “You are slipping.”
“I am furious,” I correct him. “There is a difference.”
He sighs. “You are angry because she was used. You are angry because she was hurt. And you are angry because her own father does not care.”
I turn away. “This conversation is over.”
Matteo lets it go, but I can feel his eyes on my back.
I look at the doors again. Still closed. Still silent.
“She would never forgive me,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
“No,” Matteo agrees quietly. “She wouldn’t.”
That truth sits heavy in my chest. Because for the first time, the thought of her hating me feels unbearable.
And that is how I know Matteo is right.
But I will never say it out loud.
“There’s one more thing.”
The words stop me mid step.
I turn slowly, my patience already thin. “Say it.”
The man straightens, suddenly uneasy. “Her brother will be back from the States later today.”
I blink. Once.
“Brother?” I ask, eyebrows lifting before I can stop myself.
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
That is new.
Matteo shifts beside me. “Older or younger?”
“Older,” the man answers quickly. “The General’s first child. First son.”
He hesitates. That pause tells me more than his words ever could.
“And?” I snap. “Spill.”
The man swallows. “From the intel I gathered, he’s known to be ruthless. Wicked. Very effective. He is not like the Captain.”
That does not surprise me.
“And?” Matteo presses.
“He’s coming to take over,” the man continues. “Temporary command, at least. He will be in charge of tracking down and destroying mafia organizations.”
The words settle into the room like smoke.
Slow. Thick. Suffocating.
My jaw tightens. I stare at nothing, already putting pieces together faster than I like.
“You may leave,” I say.
The man nods, relief clear on his face, and walks away quickly.
The moment he is gone, Matteo exhales. “That is unfortunate.”
“That is an understatement,” I reply.
I drag a hand down my face and pace once, then twice. My mind works fast, too fast. Verona. The military. The timing. Amelia on a hospital bed. A brother flying in to replace her.
“Let me guess,” Matteo says calmly. “He hates criminals. Lives for the hunt. Probably believes fear is a tool.”
“And blood is a solution,” I add.
Matteo glances at me. “You sound familiar.”
I shoot him a look. “Do not start.”
He smirks. “You see the irony though.”
“I see a problem,” I say flatly.
I stop pacing and lean against the wall. The hospital suddenly feels too small. Too exposed.
“He comes in as the hero,” Matteo continues. “The dutiful son. The righteous soldier. And he cleans house.”
“He will not just target the Russians,” I say. “He will want everything. Every network. Every shadow.”
“And eventually,” Matteo adds, “he will find you.”
I do not answer.
Because that part is obvious.
My gaze drifts back to the closed doors. Amelia is behind them. Unconscious. Bleeding hours ago. Fighting for her life while her father sharpens another weapon.
Her brother.
“He sends her into a raid without backup,” I mutter. “Then replaces her with a monster.”
Matteo studies my face. “You sound angry on her behalf.”
“I am angry at incompetence,” I reply. “And cruelty.”
“Call it whatever you want,” he says. “It still sounds personal.”
I straighten. “Do not confuse concern with weakness.”
“Do not confuse denial with control,” he shoots back.
I glare at him, but he does not look away.
“Listen to yourself,” Matteo continues. “You joined the military for intel. You planned to walk away clean. Now you are standing in a hospital ready to tear the world apart because a woman is hurt.”
“She is my captain,” I snap. “She trusted me. I was under her command.”
“And you are not used to that,” he says quietly.
That lands harder than it should.
I look away.
“The brother,” I say, changing the subject. “What else do we know.”
Matteo thinks. “If the reports are accurate, he does not negotiate. He does not compromise. And he does not forgive.”
“Perfect,” I mutter.
“He will dig,” Matteo adds. “Into her unit. Her missions. Her failures.”
“And her successes,” I say.
“And the men around her,” he finishes.
I feel that familiar cold focus settle in my chest. The calm that comes before violence. Before planning. Before war.
“He cannot be allowed near her,” I say.
Matteo stiffens. “Ren.”
“She is vulnerable,” I continue. “She wakes up to find her position gone. Her command stripped. Her brother in charge. And questions waiting.”
“That is not our decision,” Matteo warns.
“Everything is our decision,” I reply.
Silence stretches between us.
“You are thinking about eliminating him,” Matteo says carefully.
“I am thinking about contingencies,” I answer.
He sighs. “He is not a mob boss. He is military. Killing him changes everything.”
“So does letting him live,” I counter.
Matteo watches me closely. “This is exactly what I warned you about.”
I scoff. “This has nothing to do with feelings.”
“You are lying,” he says simply.
I step toward him. “Be careful.”
“Or what,” he asks. “You will kill me too?”
I stop inches away. My voice drops. “Do not test me tonight.”
Matteo holds my gaze, unflinching. “You are already compromised.”
I turn away again. I cannot argue with that. Not honestly.
A nurse walks past, glancing at us nervously. I force myself to breathe.
“She hasn't woken up yet,” Matteo says quietly. “That might be a blessing, I guess.”
I nod. “She doesn't need this now.”
“And when she does wake up?”
I picture it. Her eyes opening. Confusion. Pain. Questions.
Her brother standing at the foot of her bed instead of her father.
The world shifting under her feet.
“When she wakes up,” I say slowly, “everything changes.”
Matteo nods. “For her.”
“And for us,” I add.
I look at the doors again. Still closed.
“You will not touch him yet,” Matteo says. “Promise me that.”
I hesitate.
“Ren.”
“I won't touch him,” I say finally. “Unless he gives me a reason.”
Matteo snorts softly. “You always find a reason.”
Of course, I don't deny it.
Because if her brother comes for my world, I will not hide neither will I cower.
And if he comes for her, he will learn exactly that he isn't the only monster in the city and that there are monsters that feast on other monsters.