Chapter 59 Code Blue
"Don't close your eyes, stay with me, CEDRIC!"
Gianni's hands were slick with blood. So much blood. It pooled on the Persian rug beneath them, spreading like spilled wine. Dark and wrong.
Cedric's eyes fluttered. "Worth it... you're worth it..."
"No, no, no." Gianni pressed his palm against the wound. Blood welled between his fingers. "Don't talk. Save your strength. The ambulance is coming, just hold on..."
"Always... protecting me..."
"Shut up. Just shut up and breathe."
Cedric's lips curved in a faint smile. Then his eyes rolled back.
"CEDRIC!"
The doors burst open.
Paramedics flooded in. A woman with short blonde hair and sharp eyes took one look and snapped into motion.
"Male, mid-twenties, gunshot wound to the left lung, post-surgical, stitches torn open." She knelt beside them. "Sir, I need you to move back."
"I'm not leaving him."
"Sir..."
"I said I'm not fucking leaving him!"
Her partner, a tall Black man with gentle hands, touched Gianni's shoulder. "Let us work. You want him to live? Let us work."
Gianni moved back. His hands shook. Covered in Cedric's blood.
They lifted Cedric onto the gurney. His head lolled to the side. So pale. Like all the life had drained out of him.
"BP's dropping. 80 over 50."
"Start a line. Two of saline, wide open."
They wheeled him out. Gianni followed.
The ambulance doors stood open. Red and blue lights painted the estate in harsh colors.
"You family?" the blonde paramedic asked.
"Yes."
She looked at him. Really looked. At the blood on his hands. The desperation in his eyes.
"Get in."
\---
The ambulance smelled like antiseptic and fear.
Cedric lay strapped to the gurney. An oxygen mask over his face. IV lines running into both arms.
The monitor beeped. Steady but weak.
Gianni sat in the jump seat. Hands clenched between his knees. Watching every rise and fall of Cedric's chest.
"How long since the original surgery?" the blonde paramedic asked. Her name tag read: K. MORRISON.
"Six days."
"Jesus." She adjusted the IV drip. "What the hell was he thinking, leaving the hospital?"
"He was thinking of me." Gianni's voice cracked. "He came for me."
Morrison glanced at him. Her expression softened slightly.
The monitor's beep changed pitch.
Dropped.
Slowed.
"Brady down to 40."
Morrison's partner, J. CHEN on his name tag, leaned over Cedric. "Respiratory rate's dropping. He's not getting enough oxygen."
"Bag him."
Chen squeezed the ambu bag. Once. Twice. Three times.
The monitor kept slowing.
Beep.
Beep.
Beeeeeep.
Flatline.
"He's coding!" Morrison grabbed the defibrillator. "Charging to 200. Clear!"
Cedric's body jerked.
Nothing.
The monitor stayed flat.
"Again. Clear!"
Another shock. Another jerk.
Still nothing.
Gianni lunged forward. "Don't you dare die on me! Don't you fucking dare!"
Chen caught him. Held him back. "Let them work."
"CEDRIC!"
Morrison's hands moved with practiced efficiency. Chest compressions. Hard and fast. Counting under her breath.
"Come on, kid. Come back."
Thirty compressions. Two breaths.
"Charging again. 300. Clear!"
Third shock.
Cedric's back arched off the gurney.
The monitor beeped.
Once.
Twice.
Weak. Thready. But there.
"Got him." Morrison didn't stop moving. "Sinus rhythm. BP's climbing. 90 over 60."
Chen squeezed the bag again. "Respiratory rate improving."
Gianni's knees gave out.
Chen caught him. Lowered him back into the seat.
"He's alive," Chen said quietly. "But he's not out of the woods yet."
The ambulance doors opened.
They were at the hospital.
\---
Everything became a blur of fluorescent lights and urgent voices.
Cedric was wheeled through automatic doors. Into the ER. Surrounded by doctors in scrubs and nurses with efficient hands.
"Gunshot wound, post-op day six, torn sutures, coded once in transit..."
The words washed over Gianni.
Someone tried to stop him from following.
He pushed past.
"Sir, you can't..."
"Try to stop me."
A hand caught his arm. Firm. Authoritative.
Dr. Hassan. The same surgeon who'd operated on Cedric the first time. Tall. Indian. With kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"Mr. Falcone. Let us work."
"I need to be with him."
"You need to let us save his life." Hassan's voice was gentle but unyielding. "Go to the waiting room. I'll come find you as soon as I know something."
Gianni wanted to argue. Wanted to fight.
But Cedric's voice echoed in his head. Promise me. No more running.
He went to the waiting room.
\---
The chairs were hard plastic. Uncomfortable. Designed to make people leave.
Gianni sat. Stared at his hands.
They were still covered in blood.
The door opened.
Linda rushed in. Face pale. Eyes wild.
"Where is he? What happened? They called and said he collapsed and I..."
She saw Gianni.
Saw the blood.
"You." Her voice went cold. Hard. "You did this."
"Mrs. Santos..."
"Don't." She crossed the room. Stood over him. "I asked you to leave him alone. I begged you. And you couldn't do it. You couldn't let him go."
"He came to me."
"Because you made him! Because you spent a long time manipulating him and destroying his life and making yourself the only thing he had left!" Her voice rose. Other people in the waiting room looked over. "My son is dying because of you."
"I know."
The simple admission stopped her.
"I know," Gianni repeated. His voice was empty. "Everything you're saying is true. I destroyed his life. I manipulated him. I shot him. And now he's in there fighting for his life because he loves me and I..."
He couldn't finish.
Linda sank into the chair beside him.
They sat in silence.
Minutes crawled past.
An hour.
Two.
The door finally opened.
Dr. Hassan emerged. Still in his scrubs. Mask pulled down around his neck. Looking exhausted.
Gianni and Linda both stood.
"He's stable," Hassan said. "Barely. We had to re-open the surgical site. Repair the torn sutures. He lost a lot of blood. But he's alive."
Linda's knees buckled. Gianni caught her.
"Can we see him?" Linda asked.
"Soon. He's in recovery now." Hassan looked at Gianni. His expression was grave. "Mr. Falcone, I need to be very clear with you. Mr. Santos's body is giving out. The trauma from the initial gunshot. The surgery. Now this. He can't survive another incident like this."
"I understand."
"I don't think you do." Hassan stepped closer. "If you love him…and I believe you do…you need to keep him calm and safe. No more stress. No more drama. Or the next time, we won't be able to bring him back."