Chapter 39: Fractured Distance
The plea slipped out softer than I intended, almost a whisper, but it burned in my chest. I thought of Raymond’s suspicion, of Jennie’s worried eyes. They didn’t deserve to be pulled into this darkness. Not because of me. Not because of him.
For a moment, silence stretched between us. His chest rose and fell, each breath rattling, shallow. But his eyes never left mine. They were unreadable, stormy, searching.
Then he chuckled weakly, though the sound ended in a cough that painted the gauze darker with blood. His grip on my wrist trembled, but he didn’t let go.
“Still trying to protect the world from me, piccola infermiera?” he murmured, the Italian lilt sliding into his voice. His words were a blade disguised as velvet. “You don’t understand… I’m already inside your life. And I don’t let go.”
The steady beep-beep of the heart monitor quickened, almost in time with mine.
I shook my head, forcing back the sting of tears. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to drag me back into your shadows.”
Something flickered in his gaze then, pain, frustration, maybe even something dangerously close to vulnerability. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the steel of a man who never allowed weakness.
“You should be more afraid of who put me on this table,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, strained. “Not of me.”
I froze, the meaning sliding cold into my veins.
Who shot him?
The question I hadn’t dared to ask clawed its way back into my mind, heavier now that he had thrown it into the air.
My lips parted, but before I could speak, the door creaked again. The shadow of his guard filled the frame, silent, watchful. His presence was a warning, a reminder that this room wasn’t truly private.
Lorenzo’s grip tightened just slightly, pulling me closer, his voice dropping low enough that only I could hear.
“You asked why I’m still in your life,” he whispered, breath ragged against the air between us. His eyes seared into mine, unrelenting. “Because fate has already decided, Isla. And fate doesn’t care what you want.”
The words settled like a storm breaking over me.
I staggered back a step, but his hand refused to release me.
And in that moment, I realized with chilling clarity…
This wasn’t a reunion.
It was the beginning of a war I wasn’t ready for.
His hand was still around my wrist, hot and unyielding, though his strength wavered with every labored breath. My pulse thundered in my ears, echoing the frantic beeping of the monitor.
“Lorenzo…” I started, my voice thin, unsteady.
His lips parted, a faint smirk breaking through the pallor of his face. “You see?” His voice was hoarse, strained, but carried that same steel I remembered. “Even bleeding out, I’m still the one keeping you here.”
My throat tightened. I wanted to rip my hand away, to tear myself free from the invisible thread that bound us. Instead, I whispered the words that had been gnawing at me since the moment they wheeled him through those hospital doors.
“Who shot you?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it, raw and desperate.
His gaze darkened, and for a moment, he was utterly still, like a predator deciding whether or not to reveal the hunt. His jaw flexed, a muscle twitching against pale skin slick with sweat.
“That’s the right question,” he murmured, voice low. “Not why I’m here. Not why I want you. But who put the bullet in me.”
I swallowed hard, dread rising like a tide. “Then tell me.”
A shadow flickered in his eyes, sharp and lethal, and when he spoke, his voice was colder than the antiseptic air around us.
“Petrov.”
The name cracked through the silence like a whip.
My heart lurched. I had heard whispers of the Petrov name even outside these walls, a family that left nothing but violence in their wake. And yet, hearing Lorenzo say it, bleeding and half-broken but still seething with fury, made the name feel heavier, darker, like a death sentence.
“He won’t stop until I’m gone,” Lorenzo said, his grip tightening weakly on my wrist. “You know him right?.”
His eyes burned into mine, and my stomach twisted at the unspoken truth.
“What? No!.”
The blood drained from my face. My knees felt weak, the edges of my vision blurring. “No… no, that’s not…”
“Yes,” he cut me off, his voice rasping but sure. “That night at the lake, you tied yourself to me. You saved me. And Petrov will use that. He’ll use you.”
“I don’t know who petrov is”
I stumbled back, but his hand still tethered me to him. “I never asked for this,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I just wanted to help you, just once. I didn’t know who you were.”
His lips twitched again, the shadow of a grim smile. “Doesn’t matter. You know now.”
The room felt smaller, the hum of the machines louder, the scent of blood sharper. My breath came uneven, shallow.
Behind us, the guard cleared his throat quietly, as though reminding us both that time, and danger, was closing in.
Lorenzo finally loosened his grip, his hand falling back to his side, fingers trembling. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, but when they opened again, they blazed with a familiar fire.
“You begged me to stay away from your friends,” he said, his voice rough, softer now but no less heavy. “I’ll honor that. But you? You’re already in this, Isla.”
My chest constricted, my body frozen in place.
The words felt final. Unshakable.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, beneath the fear and dread, something else stirred, something I didn’t dare name.
Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, Lorenzo’s hand slipped toward his jacket. My pulse spiked, thinking he was reaching for a weapon. But instead, he pulled out a silver case and slid a cigarette between his lips.
The sharp scratch of a lighter cut through the silence.
“Are you serious?” I hissed, heat rushing into my face.
Before he could even light it, I struck the shoulder where the bullet had torn into him. He winced, jaw tightening in pain. The cigarette tumbled from his lips, and I snatched it away, crushing it in my palm.
“That really hurts,” he muttered, his tone half a growl, half amusement. His eyes glimmered with that dangerous mix of pain and defiance that made my stomach twist.
“Good,” I snapped, glaring at him. “Maybe it’ll remind you you’re not invincible.”
Instead of arguing, he reached again into his bloodstained jacket. This time he pulled out something thinner, an old, creased photograph. He held it out to me with trembling fingers.
“Then explain this,” he said.
I took it cautiously, my heart thudding as I unfolded the worn edges. My breath caught in my throat.
It was me.
Me, standing outside a supermarket, head tilted slightly, a plastic bag in one hand. And next to me.
A tall man, his sharp features unmistakable even in the grainy picture.
“That’s you and Petrov,” Lorenzo said, his voice quiet but cutting. “Care to explain why the most dangerous man in this city was standing at your side?”
My chest tightened, the blood in my veins running cold.
My fingers shook around the photo. “What do you mean that was him?” My voice cracked, panic threading through it. “How could I have crossed paths with someone like him?”
A year ago. I forced my mind back, back to long nights when I was still piecing myself together, right after I learned who Lorenzo really was. Right after I made the choice to leave the shadows behind.
And yet here was proof, proof I had brushed against another monster without even realizing it.
“He just… showed up,” I stammered, shaking my head as if I could force the memory into focus. “I can’t even recall exactly what he said. Something, something dangerous. He told me going outside on my own at night wasn’t safe, something like that. I think…”
My voice trailed off, weak, uncertain. The truth was, I barely remembered the encounter. I’d buried it, dismissed it. But now, seeing his face pressed next to mine on glossy paper, I realized how close the danger had been all along.
Lorenzo’s gaze didn’t waver. His jaw was tight, his breath shallow with pain, but his eyes burned with something deeper than fury, something like fear.
“You crossed paths with Petrov without even knowing ,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “I believe you.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yes”
His eyes softened, burning through the pain. “Isla… even now, all I can think about is kissing you.”