Chapter 26 Ren
Ren
I lean closer to Matteo and speak quietly so no one passing by can hear us. I explain the plan in a steady voice, outlining the timing and what I need from him. I don't give him every detail. I keep the most important parts to myself. He doesn't need to know everything yet. He only needs to know where to stand, when to move, and what to do if something goes wrong.
As I speak, his expression changes. The confidence drains from his face and unease settles in its place. By the time I finish, he looks genuinely uncomfortable.
“You’re kidding me,” he murmurs, glancing toward the clinic entrance as if Amelia might somehow hear us from inside. “If she finds out, she’ll shoot me in the head. She’ll shoot us both in the head.”
I grin at him. There is a teasing look in my eyes even though the situation is serious. “Don’t tell me the great Matteo is afraid of the Captain.”
“Shut up,” he says without any heat.
He rubs the back of his neck and shifts his weight. “You know how she is. She hates being cornered. She hates people deciding things for her.”
“I know exactly how she is,” I reply. “That is why this will work.”
He studies me carefully. “You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am sure.”
He exhales slowly. “This is risky.”
“Everything about her staying here is risky,” I say. “At least this way we are the ones moving the pieces.”
He looks back at the building again. The lights in her room are still on. “If this blows up in our faces, she will never forgive us.”
“She does not have to forgive me,” I answer. “She just has to stay alive. I fold my arms and study him. “You're afraid.”
“I’m realistic,” he mutters. “She already doesn’t like people interfering. If you pull this stunt, she will bury us.”
“She won’t,” I say calmly.
He gives me a long look. “You sound very sure.”
“I am.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You’re gambling a lot.”
“I know.”
He lets out a breath. “And you’re dragging me down with you.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply dryly.
A faint smile appears on his face despite himself, but it fades almost immediately.
“You really think this is the only way?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.
He studies my face carefully, searching for any sign of doubt. He doesn't find one.
“Fine,” he says at last. “Tell me exactly when.”
I lean slightly closer and explain the timing again. I go over the entry point, the distraction, and the small window we have before anyone notices something is off. I keep my voice low and steady, and I remain aware of our surroundings, scanning the perimeter out of habit.
He listens closely now. The sarcasm is gone. So are the jokes. He focuses on every word.
“And if she resists?” he asks quietly.
“She will,” I reply. “We plan for that.”
“And if she pulls a gun?”
I allow myself a faint smile. “Then you duck.”
He rubs his face with both hands and sighs. “I cannot believe I’m agreeing to this.”
"You actually don't have a choice."
Before he can respond, a sharp emergency tone cuts through the night air. It comes from inside the clinic. The sound is urgent and unmistakable.
Matteo and I look at each other for half a second, and then we are already moving.
We push through the entrance and head down the corridor at a fast pace. Nurses rush past us. A cart rattles over the floor tiles. Someone calls out instructions from farther down the hall.
My chest tightens as we turn the corner toward Amelia’s room.
Doctors are running in and out of it. One of them wheels in emergency equipment. A nurse stands by the doorway, pale and shaken.
My heart drops hard in my chest.
I move forward without thinking and grab the arm of a doctor who is stepping out. My hand clamps down around his sleeve.
“What the fuck is happening?” I demand.
My voice is low and controlled, but there is nothing calm about it.
The doctor looks startled and tries to pull his arm free. “The patient went into shock,” he stammers.
“What do you mean shock?” I say, tightening my grip. “She was fine when I left her. She was asleep.”
“Yes, but it appears her IV was tampered with,” he replies quickly. “We are trying to stabilize her now. I need to get back in there. Every second matters.”
My expression darkens. “Tampered with?”
“Yes,” he says, clearly frightened now. “Someone interfered with the line. Please let me go.”
For a second I consider dragging him back inside and demanding more answers, but I release him instead. He pulls away and hurries back into the room, rubbing his arm.
I stand there in the hallway, staring at the open door. My pulse pounds in my ears.
“Someone tried to kill her,” I say quietly to Matteo.
He swallows hard. “This was not an accident.”
“No,” I agree.
I step closer to the doorway. I can see Amelia on the bed. She is pale. Too pale. A doctor is adjusting the IV line while another checks the monitor. The steady beeping fills the room.
A nurse blocks my path. “You cannot come in.”
I look at her until she steps aside without another word. I do not go further. I stay near the entrance and watch.
The doctors move quickly but with purpose. One of them gives instructions. Another prepares medication. I watch every movement, every expression.
She was stable. She was resting. I left for a few minutes and someone used that window.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
After several long minutes, one of the doctors steps out again. His face is serious but less tense than before.
“She is stabilizing,” he says. “We flushed the line and corrected the reaction. She will need constant monitoring.”
“What was in it?” I ask.
“We are running tests. It was not part of her prescribed treatment.”
I nod once. “You will have someone outside her door at all times.”
“We already notified security.”
“Your security is not enough,” I reply. “I will handle it.”
He hesitates, then nods and walks away.
Matteo stands beside me, silent.
“This changes everything,” he says quietly.
“Yes,” I answer.
The plan I told him moments ago is no longer optional. It is urgent. Someone made a move tonight. Someone thought they could finish what they started.
I look at him. “We move sooner.”
He nods immediately this time. There is no sarcasm left in him now. No teasing. Only focus.
I turn my attention back to Amelia’s door. The machines continue their steady rhythm. Doctors move in controlled motions around her bed.
I should have stayed. That thought keeps pushing forward, but I force it down. Regret will not help her. Action will.
Whoever touched that IV line had access. They knew where she was. They knew she was vulnerable.
I stare at the doorway and make a silent promise.
Whoever did this will regret it.
The doctor walks away and I remain where I am, staring at the door to her room. The corridor is still busy, but the panic has shifted into controlled urgency. Nurses move quickly but with discipline. Equipment is wheeled back into storage. Orders are given in low voices. The crisis is not over, but it is contained for now.
I don't move.
Matteo stands beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. He does not speak for several seconds. He knows better than to speak when I am thinking.
I watch the security guard who finally arrives at the end of the hallway. He looks confused. He was not here when the alarm went off. He adjusts his belt and speaks to one of the nurses, nodding too much. He should have already been stationed here. That detail settles heavily in my mind.
“This was clean,” I say quietly.
Matteo glances at me. “Clean?”
“Whoever did it knew what they were doing. No loud scene. No struggle. Just a quiet adjustment to an IV line.”
He exhales through his nose. “You think it was someone inside.”
“I know it was someone inside. They wouldn't have had access if they weren't.”
There is no anger in my voice now. Only certainty.
I step forward and finally enter her room fully. No one stops me this time. The doctors are finishing up. One of them checks her pulse again. Another adjusts the monitor.
Amelia lies still on the bed. Her skin is pale but there is color returning slowly. Her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. The machine beside her beeps at a stable pace.
I move to the side of the bed and look down at her. There is a faint crease between her brows, even in unconsciousness. She never looks completely at peace.
One of the doctors turns to me. “She is stable for now. We caught it before it progressed too far.”
“For now?” I ask.
He nods. “We will keep her under observation. We are increasing security on this floor.”
“You should have had security on this floor already,” I reply.
He doesn't argue. He doesn't even try to defend himself. He simply nods and leaves the room with the others.
Matteo steps inside and closes the door halfway behind him. The room grows quieter. The hallway noise fades into the background.
I pull a chair closer to the bed and sit down. I rest my forearms on my knees and look at her.
“She was alone for less than ten minutes,” Matteo says softly.
“That is more than enough time,” I answer.
He walks toward the IV stand and examines the line carefully, as if he might see something the doctors missed. His hands hover near it but he does not touch it.
“You think this was meant to look like a complication?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“And if they had not caught it?”
I look at him. “Then we would be planning a funeral.”
He goes silent after that.
I study her face again. There is a faint mark near her wrist where the line was adjusted. It could pass as routine handling. It could pass as nothing. That is what makes it dangerous.
Someone walked in here. Someone stood exactly where I am standing now. Someone leaned over her while she was asleep and altered something that could have stopped her heart.
The thought makes my jaw tighten.
“I want names,” I say.
Matteo looks at me. “Of who had access?”
“Everyone who entered this room in the last hour. Nurses. Doctors. Cleaning staff. Security.”
“That is a long list.”
“Then we shorten it.”
He nods. “I will start asking questions.”
“Not openly,” I warn him. “Quietly. I do not want whoever did this to know we are onto them.”
He understands immediately. “You think they will try again.”
“Yes.”
I reach out and gently take Amelia’s hand. Her fingers are cool but not cold. I hold them carefully, mindful of the IV line.
“You scared everyone tonight,” I murmur under my breath.
Matteo pretends not to hear that.
Her eyelids flutter slightly. I sit up straighter. Matteo moves closer.
After a few seconds, her eyes open slowly. They are unfocused at first. Then they sharpen.
She looks at the ceiling, then at the machines, then at me.
“What happened?” she asks, her voice hoarse.
I keep my expression steady. “You had a reaction. The doctors handled it.”
Her gaze narrows slightly. She studies my face. She always knows when I am holding something back.
“A reaction,” she repeats.
“Yes.”
She shifts slightly in the bed and winces. “That is vague.”
“You went into shock,” I say calmly. “They stabilized you.”
Her eyes flick briefly to Matteo, then back to me. “And you look like you are about to break someone’s neck.”
“I always look like that,” I reply.
A faint ghost of a smile touches her lips before it fades. She closes her eyes for a second, gathering strength.
“Who?” she asks quietly.
Matteo and I exchange a glance.
“We are looking into it,” I answer.
Her eyes open again immediately. “Looking into what?”
I hold her gaze. There is no point in lying completely. “Your IV line was interfered with.”
The room grows very still.
She processes that information quickly. I see it in her eyes. Shock. Anger. Calculation.
“So it was not a reaction,” she says.
“No.”
Her fingers tighten weakly around mine. “Someone tried to kill me.”
“Yes.”
There is no fear in her expression. Only fury.
“Who was on duty?” she asks.
“You should be resting,” I say.
“Do not tell me what I should be doing,” she replies sharply, even in her condition.
Matteo clears his throat. “We are handling it.”
Her gaze snaps to him. “Handling it how?”
“That is not your concern right now,” I say.
“It is absolutely my concern,” she fires back.
Her strength is returning with every word. That is a good sign medically, but it complicates everything else.
“You need to focus on recovering,” I tell her.
“And you need to stop underestimating me,” she replies.
There it is. The fire.
I lean closer so she does not have to strain her voice. “Listen to me carefully. Someone made a move tonight. That means this place is no longer safe for you.”
She studies my face again. “It was never safe.”
“That is exactly my point.”
Her jaw tightens. “You are planning something.”
I do not answer immediately.
Matteo looks between us like he is watching a match that could explode at any second.
“Ren,” she says quietly, and there is a warning in her tone.
“I am making sure this does not happen again,” I say.
She holds my gaze for a long moment. Then she leans back slightly against the pillow.
“If you do something reckless,” she says, “I will personally make sure you regret it.”
I almost smile. “You will have to catch me first.”
Her eyes narrow, but there is a faint spark there. She is alive. She is fighting. That is what matters.
Matteo steps closer to the door. “I will start checking the logs,” he says.
“Quietly,” I remind him.
He nods and leaves the room.
I remain seated beside her bed. I don't release her hand.
“You left,” she says suddenly, her voice softer now.
“For a few minutes.”
“And that is when it happened.”
“Yes.”
She looks at me, not accusing, just stating a fact.
Guilt tries to settle in my chest again, but I push it aside. I won't let it distract me.
“It will not happen again,” I say firmly.
Her eyes hold mine. “That sounds like a promise.”
“It is.”
She studies me for a moment longer, then finally closes her eyes. Her breathing evens out again.
I sit there and watch the monitor, memorizing the rhythm of it.
Someone thought they could reach her in a hospital bed. Someone thought she was vulnerable.
They miscalculated.
I look toward the door where Matteo disappeared. The plan we discussed earlier is no longer a question of timing. It is a necessity.
They made the first move.
Now it is my turn.