Luca’s POV
The blood won’t stop.
No matter how much pressure I applied, no matter how tightly I held her, it just wouldn’t stop.
“Stay with me, Cara,” I begged, my voice raw and trembling as the car sped down the road. “You hear me? You stay with me.”
Her head lolled slightly, her breaths shallow, her body still. My chest tightened as I pressed my forehead against hers, whispering promises I wasn’t sure I could keep and apologizing for failing her. Because I’d failed her. I had.
The car screeched to a halt outside the hospital. My men pulled open the door and I practically jumped out with her in my arms, shouting for the doctors.
“She’s been shot!” I yelled, my voice breaking. “She’s losing too much blood!”
The paramedics rushed forward, prying her from my arms. Her warmth left me, replaced by the unbearable cold of her absence.
I followed as they wheeled her inside, shouting orders and questions I couldn’t answer. My hands and clothes were stained with her blood, the deep red seeping into the lines of my skin.
One of the nurses stopped me before I could follow her into surgery. “Sir, you need to wait here.”
“No,” I growled, pushing past her. “I need to be with her.”
“You can’t,” she insisted, her tone firm but not unkind. “We’ll do everything we can, but you need to let us work.”
“Let me in-”
“Salvatore,” a voice muttered, commanding my attention.
I whirled around to face Alexei who looked worse for wear. His impeccable suit was askew, suit jacket missing, empty leather harness strapped to his chest. That annoying smugness that usually accompanied the young pakhan was currently missing.
I would have given anything to see him like this, exactly in this state… But at this cost? At the cost of Cara’s life?
“Let us trust that the doctors know what they are doing,” he said simply, his gaze unfocused.
My body trembled with rage and helplessness, but I didn’t fight him.
Instead, I collapsed into one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area, my head in my hands.
Hours passed, though it felt like days.
Dominic arrived at some point, his expression grim as he knelt in front of me. “I’ve handled the cleanup,” he said quietly.
“How the hell did Diego rise from the fucking dead? I killed that bastard a long time ago.”
“I can only think of one person that would know the answer to that,” Dominic hissed, a judgemental gaze skewering the young pakhan.
My gaze flicked to the bastard again. “If I lose her, this war becomes personal and I won’t stop until I have your head in my hands.”
I stood up and left the waiting area, Dominic following closely behind me. “You know he couldn’t have done it without men from our side. I intend to fish them out and hand them over to you.”
“Good,” I muttered, my voice hollow. “I need you to handle everything else until I return.”
He nodded, not asking for clarification. Dominic knew me well enough to understand what I meant-I couldn’t focus on the family, on the business, on anything but her. Nothing else mattered to me right now.
“Luca,” he started hesitantly, his voice softer now. “You also need to eat something. You won’t be any good to her if-”
“I’m fine, Dominic,” I snapped, cutting him off. “You can leave now.”
Dominic hesitated, but he obeyed, leaving me alone with the unbearable silence of the now empty waiting room.
It’s good the bastard knew what was good for him. If he had any self preservation, he’d be half way across the world by now… Although that hadn’t stop me when he took Cara, it sure as hell wouldn’t stop me if I lost her.
When the surgeon finally came out, I stood frantically.
“She’s alive,” the doctor said, and my knees nearly gave out. But then he added, “We managed to remove the bullet, but she lost a lot of blood. She’s in a coma now. The next twenty four hours are critical. All we can do is wait and hope for the best.”
Hope?
What kind of man relied on hope?
I nodded stiffly, my throat too tight to speak, and followed the nurse who led me to the critical care unit.
The sight of her from where I was standing outside the window nearly brought me to my knees.
She looked so small, so fragile, lying there with tubes and monitors surrounding her. Her skin was pale, her lips slightly parted as the ventilator did the work her body couldn’t.
She looked so cold, so lifeless, so unlike the fiery woman I knew. Fucking Diego. He was dead and yet I wanted to wake him I and kill him again for doing this to my angel.
“Cara,” I whispered from where I stood, my voice breaking. “Please. You have to wake up. You have…” I trailed off, my chest heaving as tears blurred my vision.
The days that followed blurred together.
I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I barely moved from that window, afraid that if I looked away for even a second, she’d slip away from me, but I’d needed to shower because I knew I couldn’t touch her with my bloodied hands if the time ever came when I could touch my bambina. And then days later when she was moved out of the critical care unit into a private ward, I followed silently, my heart heavy with every step. The nurses wheeled her bed down the sterile, too-bright hallway, and I trailed behind them like a shadow, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
I didn’t even know what to feel anymore. Relief that she’d survived what they said was the difficult part? Dread that she might never wake up? It all mixed together into a hollow ache in my chest that refused to go away.
When we reached the private ward, they settled her into the bed, arranging the wires and monitors with clinical efficiency. The room was quieter here, felt less imposing, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Nothing would make me feel better if she didn’t wake up.
Once the nurses left, I sank into the chair beside her bed, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. My eyes stayed fixed on her face, so pale and still. It didn’t feel real. Cara was never still. She was always moving, always alive in a way that made everything around her seem brighter.
But now…
The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only indication that she was still here, still fighting.
I reached out, my fingers brushing against hers where they lay limp on the blanket. Her skin was cool to the touch, and I swallowed hard, my throat tight.
“I’m right here, Cara,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m not going anywhere. Just…just come back to me.”
The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only reply I received. I sat by her side, clutching her hand as though it were the only thing keeping me grounded. Days blurred together, nurses coming and going, the hum of machines filling the quiet. The rhythmic beeping was a cruel reminder of how fragile life truly was.
On the rare nights when exhaustion pulled me into a restless sleep, I dreamed of her. In those dreams she was always awake, her golden hair bright as she smiled at me. It always felt so vivid, so real, that for a fleeting moment I’d almost believe that I had finally woken from this nightmare.
But then I would open my eyes, the hospital room snapping back into focus, and the ache in my chest would return tenfold.
And like every other night before this one, I reached for her hand again, threading my fingers through hers as I whispered the same plea I had every night. “Please, Cara. Come back to me. Please…”