I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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The first thing I registered was the sharp smell.
Antiseptic.
I forced my eyes open and the fluorescent lights stabbed into my skull before the room swam into focus. Hospital. The memories crashed back in a disorienting wave. The warehouse. The shooting. The chaos. Alessandro's body covering mine.
I turned my head, every muscle protesting, and there he was.
Alessandro sat in a chair pulled so close to the bed his knees nearly touched the frame. Same dark shirt from before, now rumpled and stained. His face was pale, carved with an exhaustion I'd never seen on him before. And his eyes. Those eyes were fixed on me like he'd been staring for hours, afraid to blink in case I disappeared.
I saw fear in him. Real, unguarded fear. It stole the air from my lungs.
"You're awake." His voice scraped out of him, low and wrecked.
I tried to nod. My throat was too dry to let a word out.
He leaned forward instantly, the questions spilling out fast, urgent. "Are you in pain? Do you need water? Should I get the doctor? Tell me what you need."
"I'm okay." It came out as a rasp, barely comprehensible.
My body trembled, the echo of everything still wound tight inside me, and I winced when the shiver pulled at my aching muscles.
Alessandro was on his feet before I could blink. "Doctor!" His voice cracked through the room. His hand hovered near my arm, not quite touching, and the restraint in him looked like it physically hurt. "Don't move. Stay still until they check you."
He turned, and that's when I saw it.
The back of his shirt was soaked through. Dark fabric made darker by the blood spreading across his shoulder blade. The bullet. He'd thrown himself in front of me. I'd felt the impact, felt his body jerk, felt the hot rush of blood spill over my skin.
"You're bleeding." The words came out half gasp, half plea.
He glanced over his shoulder like he'd forgotten the wound entirely. "It's nothing."
The doctor came through the door, looking frazzled. "Ah, Mrs. Rossi. You're awake. Good. You gave us quite a scare, but it was just low blood sugar and shock. You'll be fine with rest and fluids."
I wasn't listening. My eyes were glued to the stain spreading across Alessandro's back. "It's not me. It's him. He's been shot. There's a bullet in his shoulder. You need to help him right now."
The doctor let out a long, tired sigh and looked at Alessandro. "As I've been trying to explain to this man for the last three hours, he needs surgery. He has refused to leave this room or allow anyone to examine him until you woke up."
Three hours.
He'd been sitting there, bleeding, in pain, for three hours. Because he wouldn't leave me.
