I smooth his hair back one last time as his eyes drift closed.
But our hands remain clasped together, speaking the words we cannot yet say.
I sit back in the chair beside Morello's hospital bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he rests.
My mind races with the events of the last 24 hours—the shootout, the terror of not knowing if he would survive, and the heart-stopping moment when he regained consciousness.
Under the harsh fluorescent lights, I study his face, taking in every cut and bruise. Evidence of his strength, and his sacrifice.
My heart aches, knowing how close I came to losing him before we even had a chance.
Guilt wells up inside me.
He took those bullets meant for me and Yara. Were it not for his protective instincts, his sense of duty, he wouldn't be lying here.
I know I have no right to ask more of him, to want more than his role as the agent assigned to gather information, to help us escape, and then to guard us.
But I can't deny what my heart knows to be true.
Somewhere along the way, my feelings for Morello have grown into something deeper. Something terrifying in its intensity.
In this quiet moment, I can no longer avoid the truth—I care for him in a way I haven't allowed myself to care for someone in a very long time.
Forget what I thought I felt for Gerald.
This is the real thing.
Maybe it's foolish, hoping for a future neither of us dared envision before.
But, brushing my fingers over his, feeling the warmth of his skin, I make a silent promise. I will stay by his side as long as it takes for him to recover.
And when he's well again, we'll have a chance to explore what lies between us. At our own pace.
Without the shadows of dangerous men breathing down our necks.
It won't be easy—the obstacles are many.
For one, Luchenko is still very much alive and obsessed with Yara. That's not just going to randomly change—he's her biological father, after all, and me hating that fact doesn't change it.
But I have hope. Here and now, with Morello, I feel a sense of home that has eluded me for so long.
And for the first time in years, I allow myself to believe that, even with all we've endured, somehow real, pure love can still find a way.
Chapter 38
Morello
The crackling fire fills the cozy cabin with warmth and light.
Shadows dance on the walls as I lay on the sofa, my torso wrapped in bandages. The pain is still there, but it's dulled to a persistent ache thanks to Alina's attentive care.
I watch her now as she heats a pot of stew, humming softly to herself. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, loose strands falling across her forehead.
She moves with easy grace, her full lips curved in a hint of a smile.
My heart stirs, an unfamiliar yearning rising within me. No one has shown me such care and compassion since...since my nonna when I was a boy.
Alina glances over, meeting my gaze. Her gorgeous emerald eyes soften. "How are you feeling?"