He halted, his eyes locking onto me, the curve of his smile pulled too wide to be warm. The air seemed to thicken between us, the busy hospital fading into a blur around that single look. Of all people, in all places, why did it have to be him?
“Alessia Romero.”
I brushed past him and moved to step inside, refusing to acknowledge him. But he spoke again, intending to force a conversation.
“What brings you here?” he asked, his voice quick with curiosity.
“It’s a hospital,” I replied, wishing my tone carried more strength.
“Clearly. But are you sick?”
Why did he care? I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Yes. Now, excuse me.”
“Well,” he said. “We are not enemies, are we? I could arrange the best doctor for you.”
“I already booked,” I interrupted. “He’s expecting me. Thank you.”
I walked past him before he could respond, feeling the heat ofhis gaze searing into my back. At the reception desk, I finally let out a breath. God, I hated that man.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.
“Yes, I’m here to see Ro—” My words caught, and I stopped myself. Saying his name aloud here would be reckless. “Let me call someone.”
Stepping aside, my hand fumbled for my phone as I dialed Matvet. He answered on the second ring.
“I’m in the hospital,” I whispered.
“I’ll send someone,” he said.
Nodding, I ended the call and forced myself to focus. With every second that stretched, my nerves tightened with impatience. I ached to see him, to know he was alright. My gaze flicked to the doors where I had met Leonid, scanning the area. He was gone, but the memory of our encounter lingered, unwelcome. I still didn’t like that we had crossed paths. He reminded me of things I wished I could forget.
“Alessia Romero?” a voice called.
“Yes.” I turned, and a nurse stood before me, a calm, professional smile on her face. Her eyes held a quiet attentiveness that put me slightly at ease.
“Come with me,” she said.
I forced a small breath and fell into step behind her, each movement pulling me deeper into reality. The quiet hall led toward the private wing, its stillness pressing around us. As we neared a door, I slowed. Part of me wanted to see Rodion, but another part feared the sight of him lying in bed. The nurse eased the door open and gave a slight gesture, inviting me in.
A sigh slipped past me as I took a tentative step forward. Once inside, the nurse closed the door and left. I noticed Dorothy standing nearby, but my eyes were fixed on Rodion. He lay on the bed, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The rhythmic hiss of a machine punctuated theroom’s silence. My gaze followed the tubes carrying blood in and out. One was inserted into his neck just above the collarbone, another threaded into his chest. The skin around each access point was swollen and bruised. It made him look almost fragile, and the thought clawed at my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.
Dorothy stepped closer, her face drawn. “You’re here.”
I managed a nod, my gaze still locked on Rodion.
“He is still on dialysis. You can stay here for a while,” she continued.
“Okay,” I whispered.
I moved closer to the bed, stunned. I had never seen Rodion like this. He barely slept, and when he did, it was never for long. But now he lay silent, tethered to machines that seemed to dole out life in measured drops. My hand rose, drawn to him, but I froze, fingers suspended just above his arm.
“Is he okay?” My voice cracked as I turned to Dorothy.
“He is,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Will he wake up?”
“He will. The episode was severe, and he was exhausted. He’s never been in this state.” Her eyes flicked to him, then back to me. “But this will stabilize him.”