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The hospital smelled sterile—like bleach and something heavier, something tragic. Kadie hated it instantly.

Her boots squeaked against the gleaming floor tiles as a nurse guided her down the long corridor. The walls were a cold gray, but the silence was louder—filled with machines humming, faint murmurs from behind drawn curtains, and the slow, dragging weight of uncertainty.

“In here,” the nurse said, pushing open a door.

Kadie stepped in and stopped breathing.

Vincenzo LaRosa lay on the bed like a shadow of the man she remembered. His chest rose and fell beneath a thin hospital sheet, slow and mechanical, guided by the ventilator at his side. An IV trailed into his arm, his knuckles bruised. There was a white bandage on his left shoulder where the bullet had gone in. His dark hair was damp with sweat, strands plastered to his forehead.

But it was still him.

Kadie approached quietly, her steps faltering. Her hands trembled at her sides. She hadn’t realized how cold they were until now.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she reached his side. “It’s me.”

He didn’t stir. Only the steady rhythm of the heart monitor responded, each beep a cruel reminder that time hadn’t stopped—but he had.

“I should’ve been there faster,” she murmured. “I should’ve dragged you out of that damn raid before Antonio got the jump on you. You were so close.”

Her hand hovered over his, unsure whether to touch him, afraid he might vanish.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“You saved my son,” she said. “Even if it was just for a second. You had him in your arms, didn’t you?”

Still nothing.

A quiet knock sounded at the door.

Kadie wiped her face quickly as a doctor stepped in, flanked by a nurse.

“He’s stable,” the doctor said gently, flipping through a chart. “But it was a deep tissue wound near the clavicle. The bullet missed major arteries, but he lost a lot of blood. We had to put him into an induced coma for surgery. The next twenty-four hours are critical.”

Kadie nodded, barely hearing anything beyond “coma” and “critical.”

“If his vitals remain steady,” the doctor continued, “we’ll begin reducing sedation gradually. He may regain consciousness in the next day or two. It’s up to his body now.”

“Can I stay?” she asked.

The nurse glanced at the doctor, who gave a small nod. “Yes. But only one visitor at a time. We’ll have someone check in every hour.”

They stepped out, closing the door behind them.

Kadie sank into the chair beside his bed. The silence returned—thick, almost sacred.

She reached for his hand this time, letting her fingers curl gently around his.

“Enzo’s not safe,” she whispered. “Antonio took him again. Just when we thought we had him...”

Her voice broke.

“And I know you’ll love this part, but I’m not going after him. Not yet. Pedro stopped me. He said I needed to be here. And for once… for once, I listened. Because you might open your eyes, and I want to be the first face you see. I need you to wake up, Vincenzo. Because if you don’t… I don’t think I’ll survive this.”

She closed her eyes and pressed his hand to her forehead, letting silent tears fall freely now.

“You’ve always been so damn stubborn,” she whispered. “So prove me right again. Fight. Please.”

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours.

The machine kept beeping.

His chest kept rising and falling.

And Kadie stayed there—the last shield between life and death, waiting for the man who’d risked everything to bring their son home.

The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only proof that Vincenzo was still with her.

Kadie sat at the edge of the hospital bed, her hand wrapped tightly around his. His fingers were cold. Not lifeless—no, the doctors said he’d make it—but cold enough to scare her. She’d spent too many hours watching the monitor, counting every breath, every blink of green that confirmed the man she loved hadn’t disappeared into the dark.

And in all that time, she hadn’t received a single message. Not one update. Not one clue about Enzo.

Not even from Antonio.

That silence gnawed at her worse than the sight of blood had.

She brushed a trembling hand across Vincenzo’s forehead. His skin felt dry, slightly clammy. They said the bullet missed his heart by a miracle. That the blood loss had nearly cost him everything. But they didn’t mention what it had cost her—the light fading from his eyes when Antonio shot him… and took Enzo.

Her son was gone again.

And Antonio hadn’t even gloated.

He hadn’t sent her a threat. A warning. A twisted photograph.

Not hearing from him should have felt like a relief, but instead it cracked open a new terror. What was he waiting for?

“Please,” she whispered. “Please wake up. I don’t know what to do without you.”

The monitor continued its steady rhythm. No change. No reaction.

Behind her, the door opened slowly.

Camilla stepped in, quiet and tired, carrying a bag that held fresh clothes and two cups of coffee. Pedro followed close behind, ever watchful. His eyes went straight to Vincenzo, assessing his vitals like a soldier scanning the battlefield.

“He looks the same,” Camilla murmured. “Stable. That’s something.”

Kadie didn’t move. “I haven’t heard anything. Nothing. He’s not toying with me. He’s not calling. It’s been over a day. Why hasn’t Antonio reached out?”

Pedro spoke for the first time. “Because he knows silence is worse.”

Kadie’s jaw clenched. “Or he’s planning something. And I’m sitting here—helpless.”

“You’re not helpless,” Camilla said gently. “You’re being human.”

Kadie finally looked away from Vincenzo. Her eyes were glassy, rimmed with red. “He has my son, Cam. I don’t even know if Enzo’s alive right now.”

Camilla knelt beside her, placing one hand over hers. “You can’t lose it. Not yet. You need your strength for when Vincenzo wakes up—and for whatever comes next.”

Kadie let out a shaky breath. “He was right there. He saw him. He almost had him. And then Antonio—”

Her voice broke.

Pedro took a step forward, folding his arms. “You’ll get him back. I promise you that. We’re already combing every known property Antonio’s connected to. He slipped through this time, but he can’t keep hiding forever.”

“That’s not good enough,” Kadie snapped. “We need to find him now. Every hour that passes, Antonio could be moving Enzo again. Or worse.”

Camilla squeezed her hand tighter. “I know. But you haven’t slept. You’re running on fumes. And if you keep burning like this, you’ll be no use to Enzo—or to Vincenzo.”

Kadie’s hands trembled. Her chest felt tight. “I just want to know he’s alive. I don’t even need to hear Antonio’s voice—I just want a sign. A clue. Something.”

Silence fell again.

The monitors beeped. Machines hummed. And the weight in the room grew heavier.

“Just one hour,” Camilla said softly. “One hour of rest. We’ll watch him. We’ll keep the phones on. If there’s anything—a call, a sighting, even a whisper—we’ll wake you.”

Kadie looked down at Vincenzo again, her thumb brushing lightly over his wrist. She didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to move. But her eyes were already burning from exhaustion. Her limbs felt too heavy.

Slowly, painfully, she stood.

“If he wakes up—”

“We’ll come running,” Pedro said firmly.

With one last look at Vincenzo, Kadie stepped out of the ICU, each step away from him feeling like a betrayal. Her thoughts spun wildly. Antonio’s silence wasn’t peace—it was the ticking of a bomb she couldn’t find.

She didn’t know when it would go off.

Only that it would.

And that her son was sitting too close to the blast.