Chapter 31 Between Life And Death

Chapter 31 Between Life And Death
Lorenzo's POV

The doctor arrived in eighteen minutes.

I counted every second.

Eighteen minutes of watching Marcella's still body. Eighteen minutes of my hands soaked in her blood, pressing against a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. Eighteen minutes of praying to a God I hadn't believed in since my mother died.

The doctor was young, nervous, and clearly not used to treating gunshot wounds in the middle of a crime scene. But his hands were steady as he knelt beside me.

"Move," he ordered in heavily accented English.

I didn't want to. Didn't want to stop touching her, stop being the thing keeping her alive.

"Mister, I cannot help if you do not move."

Vito's hand gripped my shoulder. "Boss. Let him work."

I forced myself to step back, my hands shaking. Covered in her blood.

The doctor cut away her shirt, exposing the wound. High on her chest, just below her collarbone. The bullet had gone through, he said. That was good. But there was internal bleeding. That was bad.

He worked quickly, packing the wound, starting an IV, and injecting something that would help with the blood loss.

"She needs a hospital," he said. "Surgery. I can stabilize her, but she will die without proper care."

"Then get her to a hospital."

"The police will be here soon. If I don't take her, they will arrest you."

"I don't care. Save her."

The doctor nodded and barked orders to his assistant, whom I hadn't even noticed arrive. Together they lifted Marcella onto a stretcher.

She didn't wake. Didn't move. Just lay there pale and still, like she was already dead.

"I'm coming with her," I said.

"Boss, that's not a good idea," Vito protested. "The police will be here soon, we need to clear out the evidence before they get here."

"I don't care." I half yelled at him.

"You should. Marcella would want you free. Not in a Moroccan prison."

I looked at Vito, this man who'd been loyal to me for eight years. Who'd never once questioned my orders.

"If she dies, nothing else matters."

His expression softened. "She won't die. She's stronger than you think."

I wanted to believe him. But I'd seen too much death to trust in strength alone.

The doctor's assistant was already carrying the stretcher down the stairs. I followed, my legs barely working.

I climbed in beside Marcella, taking her hand. It was cold. Too cold.

"Stay with me," I whispered. "Please. Just stay with me."

The ambulance lurched forward, sirens wailing.

The doctor worked the entire ride, checking her vitals, adjusting the IV, muttering to himself in Arabic.

"Is she going to make it?" I asked.

He didn't answer right away. When he finally looked at me, his expression was grim.

"The next six hours are critical. If she survives surgery, her chances improve. But, you must understand. The bullet was close to major arteries. There may be damage we cannot see."

"What does that mean?"

"It means even if she survives, there may be complications. Nerve damage. Loss of mobility in her arm. Chronic pain."

I stared down at her pale face. "She's alive. That's all that matters."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "For now."

\---

The hospital was small but modern. Private, the doctor explained. Owned by a man who owed him favors.

They took Marcella straight to surgery. I tried to follow, but two nurses blocked my path.

"You cannot go in," one said in broken English. "You must wait."

"That's my wife."

"I understand. But you will be in the way. Please. Sit. We will update you."

Vito appeared beside me, his face grim. "Come on. Let them work."

He guided me to a small waiting area. Four plastic chairs, fluorescent lights, and the smell of antiseptic burning my nose.

I sank into a chair and put my head in my hands.

My shirt was gone. I was covered in dried blood. Marcella's blood.

"Here." Vito held out a clean shirt. "Put this on. You look like you killed someone."

"I did. I killed Cesare."

He sat beside me. "The men are cleaning the villa. Removing evidence. By morning, there will be nothing connecting us to what happened there."

"And Giovanni?"

"Gone. Disappeared like the rat he is. We're searching, but he had a head start."

Rage, hot and vicious, surged through me. "He's the reason she got shot. He caused all this mess, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands."

"Don't. Don't go down that path. What happened, happened. Now we focus on what's next."

"What's next? Giovanni is in the wind. Marcella is dying. What the hell is next?"

"We wait. We will see if she survives surgery. Then we hunt Giovanni. And when we find him, we make him pay."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to rage and break something. But Vito was right. All I could do now was wait.

So I waited.

\---

The hours crawled by.

One hour became two. Two became four.

Vito sat beside me the entire time, silent and solid. The other men filtered in and out, bringing coffee I didn't drink, food I couldn't eat.

Every time footsteps approached, my heart would stop. Waiting for a doctor to tell me she was gone. That I'd lost her.

But no one came.

Finally, after five hours that felt like five years, the surgeon appeared. He looked like he aged within the five hours, tired, his scrubs splattered with blood.

Marcella's blood.

I stood so fast that the chair fell backward.

"How is she?"

"Alive," he said, and I felt my knees nearly give out. "The surgery went well. We repaired the damage to her lung, stopped the internal bleeding. She is stable."

"Can I see her?"

"Soon. She is in recovery now. Still unconscious from the anesthesia." He pulled off his surgical cap. "She is very lucky, Mister. A few centimeters to the right, and the bullet would have hit her heart. She would have died instantly."

A few centimeters. The difference between life and death.

"When will she wake up?"

"That is difficult to say. The trauma to her body was severe. Her body needs time to heal. It could be hours. It could be days."

"Days?" The word felt like a punch.

"Yes. But do not lose hope. She is young, strong. Her chances are good." He paused. "However, you should know there may be complications."

"What kind of complications?"

"The bullet damaged nerves near her shoulder. She may have limited mobility in her right arm. Physical therapy can help, but full recovery is not guaranteed."

I thought of Marcella. Of the way she moved, confident and fierce. Of the knife she'd wielded with such precision.

Would she ever be able to do that again?

"Please Doc, I need to see her now?"

The surgeon nodded. "Follow me."

\---

The recovery room was small and dim. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring her vitals. An IV dripped clear fluid into her arm.

She lay in the hospital bed, so small and pale she barely looked real.

Her chest rose and fell steadily. Alive. She was alive.

I moved to her side and took her hand. It was still cold, but warmer than before.

"I'm here," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

No response. Just the steady beep of the heart monitor.

I pulled a chair close and sat, never letting go of her hand.

"You scared me," I continued, my voice rough. "I thought I'd lost you. Thought I'd have to live the rest of my life knowing I'd failed to protect you."

The machines beeped their steady rhythm.

"But you're still here. Still fighting. Because that's who you are. A fighter." I brought her hand to my lips. "So you keep fighting, amore. You come back to me. And when you do, we're going to finish what we started. We're going to build that future. The clean one. The legitimate one."

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to our joined hands.

"I love you. More than I thought I could love anyone. You changed me, Marcella. Made me want to be better. Made me believe I could be better."

A tear slid down my cheek, then another.

"So please. Please wake up. I can't do this without you."

The door opened behind me. Vito.

"There's news," he said quietly.

I didn't look away from Marcella. "What?"

"Giovanni was spotted at the airport. Private terminal. He's trying to flee the country."

"Then stop him."

"You can't leave. Not now. She needs you."

"She's unconscious. She doesn't even know I'm here."

"You don't know that. They say people can hear, even when they're under. If you leave now, if something happens..." He trailed off.

I looked at Marcella's pale face. At the tubes and wires keeping her alive.

Vito was right. I couldn't leave. Not while she was like this.

"Then you go," I said. "Take everyone. Find Giovanni and bring him to me. Alive. I want to be the one to end him."

"Understood." Vito paused at the door. "She's going to make it, boss. She's too stubborn to die."

"I hope you're right."

After he left, I turned back to Marcella.

"Did you hear that, amore? We're going to get him. Giovanni is going to pay for what he did. To you. To your family. To us."

I settled back in the chair, exhaustion finally catching up to me.

But I didn't let go of her hand.

I wouldn't. Not until she woke up.

Not until I knew for certain she was going to survive.