Chapter 40: CHAPTER 40 — POV LILIANNA

Pain was a strange thing.

It didn’t hit all at once.

It seeped in — soft at first, like a warning whisper — and then suddenly surged, violent and full-bodied, dragging you under.

The moment the bullet tore through my shoulder, everything went soundless.

Silent.

Weightless.

Bright white.

I didn’t hear Matteo roar my name.

I didn’t hear the gunfire.

I didn’t hear Petrov’s men scattering like rats.

I only heard my heartbeat — loud, sluggish, echoing like drums underwater.

And then slowly… painfully… the world snapped back into place.

My knees hit the concrete dock with a wet slap. Rain soaked through my clothes, mixing with blood. My vision blurred, then doubled. The crate beside me tilted sideways.

Footsteps thundered.

“LILI—!” Matteo’s voice broke wild through the chaos.

I tried to stand.

I couldn’t.

My arm hung uselessly at my side, warm liquid trickling down in steady taps against the ground. My fingers twitched. My breath hitched.

Someone grabbed me — rough, fast — and for half a second I tensed, ready to fight.

Then his scent hit me.

Matteo.

He dropped beside me, hands on my face, eyes blown wide and feral.

“Stay awake.” His voice cracked. “Lilianna, look at me. LOOK AT ME.”

I managed a pained smile. “I’m not… going anywhere.”

The lie tasted like copper.

His hands moved to my shoulder, applying pressure, and I screamed — sharp, involuntary, ripped straight from my lungs.

He flinched as if he had been shot. “I’m sorry. I know. I know. Just—don’t close your eyes.”

“Petrov…” I managed through clenched teeth. “He’s here. He’s somewhere—”

“He’s running.” Matteo’s jaw clenched. “Arman bought him enough time.”

The betrayal stung worse than the bullet.

Arman.

The man who once toasted to peace.

The man who claimed neutrality.

The man who visited Callum with gifts last Christmas.

Snakes had more honor.

Matteo slid one arm under my knees, the other behind my back, lifting me with a gentleness that didn’t match the fire raging in his body.

Blood from my shoulder smeared across his vest. I felt the tremble in his arms — rage, fear, adrenaline.

He pressed his forehead to mine for half a second. A breath. A grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I swear to God, I’ve got you.”

And then we were moving.

—

The docks behind us were hell.

Explosions echoed.

Men screamed into radios.

Costello and Genovese soldiers dragged bodies behind crates, returning fire in brutal, synchronized bursts.

Petrov’s convoy peeled away toward the far gate — black SUVs like fleeing shadows.

Louis chased one down, engine squealing as he rammed into it head-on.

But it was all noise behind me.

Matteo carried me through the labyrinth of shipping containers like his life depended on every step — and maybe it did.

Rain plastered his hair to his forehead. Blood streaked down his cheek from a cut he hadn’t even noticed. His breathing was harsh, uneven. His grip around me tightened with every flinch I made.

“Keep your eyes open,” he kept muttering. “Talk to me. Say anything.”

My head lolled against his chest. “I’m… fine.”

“Don’t lie to me right now, amore. Not now.”

Lightning flashed above us, illuminating the carnage.

A Petrov gunman emerged from between two containers — raising his rifle.

“MATTEO!” I gasped.

He didn’t hesitate. He pivoted, twisting his body to shield me completely as he fired a single, perfect shot over his shoulder.

The gunman dropped.

Matteo didn’t even check if he stayed down. He just kept moving.

“Do you understand,” he rasped, voice cracking as fear seeped through the fury, “that if you died tonight—”

“Not dying,” I whispered. “Disappointing for you, I know.”

His chest shook with a broken laugh that was more a sob. “Don’t. Don’t you dare—”

Another wave of dizziness hit me like a crashing tide.

My eyelids drooped. Heavy. So heavy.

“Lilianna?” His voice sharpened. “HEY. No sleeping.”

“It’s not sleeping,” I muttered. “Just… resting my eyes.”

“NO.” His shout was raw. “Stay WITH me.”

His panic cut through the haze like a blade.

I forced my eyes open.

His face above me was a portrait of devastation — jaw clenched, throat tight, breath shaking as if every inhale burned.

“Talk,” he demanded. “Tell me something. Anything.”

I licked my dry lips. “We… never finished the argument… about you stealing the covers.”

He huffed a strangled laugh. “I’ll buy you an entire blanket factory. Just stay awake.”

—

We reached the far edge of the docks.

A black SUV skidded to a stop in front of us — Louis at the wheel, door flung open.

“Hurry!” Louis yelled. “Petrov’s men are regrouping! We need to move now!”

Matteo climbed in with me, cradling my head, keeping pressure on the wound with one hand.

Louis floored the gas. Tires screamed, water sprayed, and the docks disappeared behind us.

“Where?” Louis demanded. “Hospital? Safehouse?”

“Hospitals are a death sentence,” Matteo snapped. “My penthouse. Medical staff is already on standby.”

“It’s twenty minutes away—”

“Then drive like you want to live.”

—

I drifted in and out.

Voices faded. Rain streaked against the windows. Streetlights flickered in long, golden blurs. My body felt suspended — floating somewhere between pain, fear, and a strange, sharp clarity.

I realized something.

I wasn’t scared of dying.

I was scared of leaving.

Leaving Matteo.

Leaving Callum.

Leaving this world before I fixed the damage I’d caused… before I protected the child who deserved better than the blood I’d tried to shield him from.

“Hey,” Matteo whispered, brushing hair from my face. “Stay with me. Stay with me, amore. I’m right here.”

His thumb stroked my cheek. Soft. Trembling. Terrified.

“I need you,” he said, voice cracking. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

My heart clenched. Pain radiated through my chest. But I lifted my hand — weak, shaking — and pressed it to his face.

“You… already said it.”

His breath stuttered.

I saw it — the moment everything in him shattered.

“Lilianna…”

He leaned forward until his forehead pressed to mine, his breath warm against my lips.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered. “And I swear to God, if you ever scare me like that again—”

“I’ll try… not to… get shot?”

He laughed — a broken, painful sound — and kissed my forehead, my cheeks, the corners of my mouth, everywhere except my lips, as if kissing me properly would make me disappear.

Louis shouted from the front, “We’re almost there!”

Matteo’s hands tightened on me.

“You hold on,” he whispered fiercely. “You hold on, and I’ll handle Petrov. I’ll burn his entire empire to ash.”

His voice dropped to a vow.

“Nobody touches what’s mine.”

My eyes fluttered shut again — not from sleep, but from sheer exhaustion. My body was begging to shut down. My breathing grew shallow.

Matteo shook me gently. “HEY. No. Open your eyes.”

I tried.

I couldn’t.

The world faded.

His voice grew distant.

“Lilianna— Lilianna, don’t— NO— OPEN your eyes— I said look at me— LILI—”

Then everything went black.

—

When consciousness finally returned, it wasn’t in one moment.

It came piece by piece.

First, the scent of crisp linens.

Medical-grade disinfectant.

Then the warm weight of a blanket over my legs.

A faint beeping.

Pain — dull, throbbing, wrapped in cotton.

Then… a voice.

Low. Familiar. Frantic beneath the surface.

“—won’t leave her side. Not for a fucking minute. If she wakes up and I’m not here—”

Matteo.

That voice pulled me from the dark like a thread.

I forced my eyes open.

Soft light filled the room. His room. His penthouse bedroom, transformed into a medical suite. Machines, monitors, IV lines.

And Matteo sitting beside me — elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

His usually perfect hair disheveled. Eyes red. Jaw tight with sleepless desperation.

He sensed the movement.

His head snapped up.

His breath froze.

“Lilianna?”

I managed a weak smile. “You… look terrible.”

He choked out a laugh that turned into a broken sound as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to my hand.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he whispered. “I thought—”

His voice broke.

He lifted his head — and his eyes, God, his eyes — full of love and fury and fear all at once.

“You’re alive,” he said, breathless relief pouring out of him. “Thank God, you’re alive.”

I swallowed, voice rough. “Matteo… Petrov—”

“Petrov can wait,” he said, taking my face in his hands. “You come first.”

A pause.

Intense. Heavy.

Then, quietly:

“You always have.”

My chest tightened.

“Callum?” I whispered.

“Safe. Sleeping upstairs. Asking for you.”

Tears pricked my eyes.

Matteo wiped them with his thumb.

“You rest,” he murmured. “Heal. I’ll kill Petrov. I’ll tear the Syndicate apart if I have to. Nobody touches my family.”

He kissed my forehead — soft, reverent.

And for the first time since the war began…

I let myself fall asleep in his arms.

Safe.

Protected.

His.