"You're awake," she whispers, a jagged sob tearing through the words. She presses my knuckles against her forehead, her shoulders shaking violently. "Thank God. Thank God."
I stare at her, my mind struggling to separate the horrific nightmares from the reality in front of me. She isn't dead. She isn't walking away with Dario. She is here, covered in my blood, anchoring me to the earth.
"Noemi," I manage to rasp out. My throat feels like it’s been scoured with sandpaper.
"Don't move," she orders instantly, her head snapping up. "You tore the packing when you were thrashing. The doctor is on his way, Matteo finally got through on the radio, they have a secure route, but you have to stay perfectly still."
I look down at my chest. It is tightly bound in thick white bandages, though a fresh, dark red stain is blooming over the right side. The green metal trauma kit from the armory is sitting open at the foot of the bed. Blood-soaked towels are piled on the floor.
"You..." I swallow hard, trying to summon saliva. "You patched me."
"I stopped the bleeding," she corrects. She refuses to let go of my hand, her thumb stroking frantically over my skin. "Matteodidn't know what to do. They were just watching you die. I had to pack the wound, Cassio. I’m so sorry, I know it hurt, but I had to."
She is apologizing. The woman I dragged into a warzone, the woman I forced to save my miserable life, is apologizing to me.
"Come here," I whisper roughly.
"Cassio, you need to lie still—"
"I said, come here," I repeat, my voice lacking its usual volume but carrying a desperate intensity.
I pull my hand free from hers and pat the small, clean space of the mattress near my uninjured left side.
Noemi hesitates for a fraction of a second before she pushes herself off the floor and carefully crawls onto the bed. She lies down on her side, facing me, keeping a careful distance from the bandages on my chest.
She looks so fragile, yet she is the strongest thing I have ever encountered.
I reach out with my left arm, sliding my hand around the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her messy, blood-matted hair. I pull her forward until her forehead rests gently against the curve of my neck.
She lets out a shaky breath, her warm breath washing over my collarbone. Her small hand comes up to rest lightly on the center of my chest, right over my furiously beating heart.
"I thought I lost you," I confess.
I have never admitted fear to anyone. Not to my father, not to Matteo, not to the Capo dei Capi. Vulnerability is a weapon you hand to your enemies.
But Noemi is not my enemy. She is my salvation.
She lifts her head slightly, looking into my eyes. "Cassio, if you hadn't moved—"
"No," I interrupt thickly. "In the fever. I kept dreaming. I kept seeing the sniper’s flash."
My chest tightens, the phantom terror still clawing at my throat. I stroke her cheek, smudging a smear of dried blood on her skin. "I saw the bullet hit you, Noemi. I held you while you bled out in that car. And then, I dreamed you survived, but you hated me. You looked at me like I was a monster, and you walked out that door. You left me."
Her breath hitches, fresh tears spilling over her dark lashes.
"I was terrified," I admit, stripping away the final layer of my armor, laying my soul completely bare before her. "Not because Ifailed to protect a piece of my territory. Not because the Don lost his wife. Because I lostyou."
Noemi stares at me, her chest heaving. I am entirely, helplessly dependent on her.
"You didn't lose me," she whispers fiercely, pressing her palm flat against my chest. "I’m right here."
"I need you to know," I force the words out, ignoring the burning agony in my shoulder. "I don't just want to own you, Noemi. I need you. You are the only thing in this godforsaken world that makes me want to be something more than a butcher. If you had died tonight... I would have burned this entire city to ash and walked into the flames myself."
A jagged sob tears from her throat. She leans forward, pressing her soft, trembling lips against mine.
It is a gentle kiss, mindful of my injuries, but it is infinitely more powerful than the dominant, bruising claims I’ve staked on her before. I kiss her back, tasting the salt of her tears, letting her warmth seep into my freezing, exhausted bones.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her dark eyes fierce and uncompromising.