The one’s still standing

The one’s still standing
Enzo’s POV

I had not slept.

I was sitting in the chair by the wall, boots still on, weapon resting against my leg, eyes fixed on the closed door across the hall. Aria’s door. I had been watching it for hours, listening to every small sound inside the safehouse, every footstep outside, every breath of silence in between.

Then I heard it.

A soft movement. Fabric shifting. A sound so small it could have meant nothing.

It meant everything.

I was on my feet before anyone called my name.

I pushed the door open slowly.

Aria was awake.

She was sitting up in bed, knees pulled close, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold her body together. Her eyes were open but empty. Too still. Too distant. Like she was looking through the room instead of at it.

She did not speak.

I crossed the space between us and sat on the edge of the bed.

The moment the mattress dipped, she turned and folded into me. No hesitation. No words. Just instinct.

Her body curled tight against my chest. Her face pressed into my shoulder. Her hands fisted into my shirt like she was afraid I would disappear if she let go.

I wrapped both arms around her and held her hard.

One hand stayed firm between her shoulder blades, steady and grounding. The other cradled the back of her head. I felt how cold she was. How badly she was shaking.

I did not rush her.

I did not ask her anything.

I just stayed.

The door opened again.

I looked up as Matteo stepped inside.

He moved quietly, like sound itself might break something. He looked older than he had the night before. Like the fire had carved years into his face. His shoulders were heavy. His eyes were sharp but tired in a way that went deep.

He stopped when he saw her in my arms.

For a moment, he did nothing.

Then he crossed the room and knelt in front of her.

She did not move away.

He lifted one hand and brushed her hair back gently, careful, like she might shatter under his touch. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“You are safe,” he said quietly.

That was all.

No promises. No lies.

Then he stood and turned to me.

“I am going back,” he said.

I nodded.

“I need to see it myself,” he continued. “I cannot wait for reports. I need to know.”

I understood exactly what he meant.

“You will have support,” I said.

He nodded once and left to organize movement.

I stayed with her.

My comms buzzed softly against my chest as updates came in. Men were being called back in. Units redirected. Search teams rebuilt from what was left. The perimeter widened mile by mile.

No one had slept.

No one complained.

This was not an operation anymore. This was personal.

A voice came through my earpiece, low and tight.

“We found him.”

I closed my eyes for a second.

“The Russian boss,” the voice continued. “Barely alive when we reached him. Burns. Crush injuries. Only his face was intact.”

I said nothing.

“He did not make it.”

The words landed heavy but clean. One thread cut. One chapter closed.

Another stayed wide open.

“Any sign of Nathan?” I asked.

A pause.

“No body. No signal. No trace.”

My jaw tightened.

Nathan was gone.

The man who sold her out. The man who handed her to them. The man who smiled while doing it.

He would pay.

“Keep looking,” I said. “Do not stop.”

The line went dead.

My thoughts drifted before I could stop them.

Dante.

His voice. Sharp. Calm. Always one step ahead. His last command ringing in my head like it was still echoing through smoke and fire.

Hold the line.

The weight of not knowing pressed down on my chest until it hurt to breathe.

Then I felt it.

A soft sniffle.

Aria.

The sound pulled me back instantly.

I lowered my head and pressed my cheek to her hair. I rubbed slow circles against her scalp. My grip tightened just enough for her to feel it.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured. “You’re not alone.”

She did not answer.

She stayed pressed against me, breathing shallow, fragile, real.

Suddenly her body tensed.

She pulled away fast, barely making it off the bed before she staggered toward the bathroom.

I followed her instantly.

She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and threw up hard.

Her whole body shook. Tears streamed down her face as she gagged and cried at the same time. The sound tore straight through me.

I knelt beside her and pulled her hair back, holding it gently out of the way. My other hand stayed firm on her shoulder, anchoring her.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Breathe. Slow. I’ve got you.”

She clutched at my sleeve like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“I know,” I murmured again. “I know.”

When it finally passed, she slumped against me, weak and trembling.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her there on the cold bathroom floor.

Outside the room, men moved with purpose. Voices low. Boots steady.

The hunt was still on.

Dante was still missing.

Nathan was still free.

The war was not over.

But in that moment, I held on to the one thing still breathing in my arms.

And I did not let go.