POV: Sofia
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The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.
I'd been here before—when my father had his first heart attack, when my mother broke her hip, when Carlo was eight and fell out of a tree and I'd thought he was dead. I'd always hated this place. The fluorescent lights. The beeping machines. The way hope came in through the front door and left through the back.
Antonio held my hand as we walked. His grip was tight, grounding. I needed it.
Carlo's room was at the end of the hall, guarded by two of Antonio's men. They nodded as we approached, stepped aside.
I stopped at the door.
"Is he—"
"Alive," one of them said. "But they're not sure for how long."
I pushed open the door.
Carlo was barely recognizable. His face was swollen, purple with bruises. Tubes snaked from his arms, his chest, his mouth. Machines beeped and hummed, keeping him alive while his body fought to catch up.
I crossed to the bed, took his hand. It was cold.
"Hey," I whispered. "It's Sofia. I'm here. You're going to be okay."
He didn't respond. Of course he didn't.
I looked at Antonio, standing in the doorway, his face carved from stone.
"What happened?"
"Garrick." Antonio's voice was flat. "He's been hiding since Viktor died. Waiting. He found Carlo last night, broke in, did this." He gestured at my brother's broken body. "He wanted to send a message."
"What message?"
"That we're not safe. That he's still out there. That this isn't over."
I looked at Carlo's face—at the damage Garrick had done—and felt something cold settle in my chest.
"Find him."
"Sofia—"
"Find him." I turned to face Antonio. "Find him and end this. For Carlo. For your men. For us."
Antonio crossed to me, took my face in his hands.
"I will. I swear to you, I will."
He kissed my forehead, then left. I heard him speaking to his men in the hallway—orders, names, plans. Then the sound of footsteps, receding.
I pulled a chair to Carlo's bedside and sat down to wait.
---
ANTONIO
The hunt for Garrick consumed me.
Days blurred together. Nights disappeared. I slept when I couldn't keep my eyes open, ate when Sofia forced food into my hands. The rest of the time, I was out there—tracking leads, leaning on informants, following the trail of a ghost.
Garrick was good. Better than Viktor had been. He'd disappeared into the city's underbelly, the kind of place where men could hide for years if they had enough money and no conscience.
But I had something he didn't.
I had a reason to find him.
"He's moving," Marco reported on the third day. "We've got eyes on a safe house in Queens. Not confirmed yet, but—"
"Then confirm it." I was already reaching for my coat. "I want to know everything. Who he's meeting. Where he's sleeping. What he eats for breakfast. I want to know him better than he knows himself."
Marco nodded. "And Carlo?"
I paused. "Any change?"
"Not yet. Sofia's still there. She hasn't left."
Of course she hadn't. She was as stubborn as I was, maybe more. She'd sit by his bedside until he woke up or until the world ended, whichever came first.
"I'll check on her tonight. Keep me updated."
---
SOFIA
Carlo woke on the fourth day.
I was dozing in the chair beside his bed when I felt movement—a twitch of his fingers in mine. My eyes snapped open.
He was looking at me. One eye was swollen shut, but the other was open, foggy with pain and confusion.
"Sofia?"
"I'm here." I squeezed his hand. "I'm right here."
"What happened?"
"Garrick. He found you." I swallowed hard. "You've been out for four days."
He tried to move, winced. "Am I—"
"You're alive. That's what matters." I reached for the call button. "The doctors need to check you. But you're going to be okay. You're going to be fine."
He looked at me—really looked—and something in his expression shifted.
"You've been here the whole time?"
"Where else would I be?"
He closed his eye. "I thought you were done carrying me."
"I was. I am." I gripped his hand tighter. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you die alone."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "He said it was because of what I did. Because I helped Antonio. He said—"
"He said a lot of things, Carlo. None of them matter. What matters is you're alive, you're healing, and Antonio is going to find him."
"And then?"
"And then this is over. For good."
The doctors came. I stepped back, let them work. But I didn't leave.
---
ANTONIO
I found Sofia in the hospital chapel.
She was sitting in the back pew, head bowed, hands clasped. I'd never seen her pray before. I didn't know if she believed in God—I wasn't sure I did either—but right now, watching her, I thought maybe it didn't matter.
I sat beside her. Took her hand.
"He's awake," she said. "The doctors say he's going to make it."
"I know. Marco told me."
"Good." She leaned her head on my shoulder. "I was so scared, Antonio. When I saw him, I thought—"
"I know."
"I don't want to lose anyone else. I can't."
I pulled her close, pressed my lips to her hair.
"You won't. I promise you."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
I didn't answer. Because she was right—I couldn't promise that. But I could promise to try.
"I found him," I said instead. "Garrick. He's in Queens. We're moving tonight."
She lifted her head, looked at me. "Tonight?"
"Tonight."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Come back to me."
"Always."
"I mean it, Antonio. Whatever happens out there—you come back."
I kissed her. Soft, deep, a promise.
"I will."
---
SOFIA
I watched him go.
He walked down the hospital corridor, straight-backed, purposeful, the man I'd married. The man who carried more weight than anyone should have to. The man I loved more than I'd ever loved anything.
When he disappeared around the corner, I went back to Carlo's room.
He was awake, propped up on pillows, looking slightly more human than he had that morning.
"He's going after Garrick," I said.
Carlo's eye widened. "Tonight?"
"Tonight."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "He's a good man, Sofia. Your husband. I didn't think so at first, but.."
"I know."
"He didn't have to give me a second chance. He didn't have to trust me. But he did." Carlo met my eyes. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of that."
"He knows."
"He shouldn't have to. I should just be better."
I sat beside him, took his hand.
"You're getting there. That's what matters."
We sat in silence, watching the machines blink, waiting for news that wouldn't come for hours.