All Yours

XXVIII

AURORA

The hospital air feels thick, every breath carrying the weight of pain and desperation that lingers here. I press my head back against the chair, its hard surface doing nothing to ease my discomfort and let out a shaky exhale. The dim lights overhead flicker slightly, casting shadows that feel heavier than they should.

The woman beside me hasn't stopped staring, her hand trembling in her lap where mine briefly touched hers. Her eyes are wide and glossy, her lips parted as if she's holding back another scream. My words were meant to comfort her, but they feel inadequate now, like a whispered promise against a deafening storm.

"It's going to be okay," I say again, almost to reassure myself this time. Her head dips in a faint nod, though her expression doesn't change.

I glance at the cold coffee in my hands, the bitterness long settled at the bottom of the cup mirroring the knot in my stomach. I can feel exhaustion weighing me down, a dull ache behind my eyes reminding me of the sleepless hours I've endured. But there's no way I can rest—not when I don't know what's happening, not when everything feels so precariously balanced on a razor's edge.

The quiet hum of the hospital is occasionally broken by the sharp clatter of a cart being wheeled too quickly or the distant murmurs of medical jargon. It all blends into a symphony of chaos and urgency.

I shut my eyes for a brief moment, trying to piece together everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours. My body is here, confined to this cold chair, but my mind? My mind is still back there—replaying every second, every scream, every single thing that led me to this moment.

My eyes are shut as I brace for the deafening finality of the gunshot. When it comes, the sound pierces through the air, ringing in my ears and reverberating through my skull. Everything feels frozen in that moment, the world reduced to blinding noise and heart-stopping stillness.

When the ringing subsides just enough, I blink through the shock and try to make sense of the chaos around me. The warehouse floods with light, the dimness replaced by the cold, sterile brightness that reveals too much.

I glance ahead, and my breath catches as I see Lorenzo's head hanging low, his torso stained with splatters of crimson.

"No!" My scream rips through my throat, raw and unrestrained, as tears cascade down my cheeks, blurring my vision. He looks so lifeless, so utterly still.

The sobs wrack my chest as I try to focus through my tears. Beside me, I can hear my mother crying, her voice cracking with grief. I blink rapidly, willing my sight to clear.

And then I see it—my father, lying motionless on the floor just a few feet away from Lorenzo. A bullet hole mars the back of his finely tailored suit, and a dark, spreading pool of blood surrounds him. My confusion grows as I notice the absence of many of his men. In their place, unfamiliar figures flood the room, clad in different armor and moving with precision and purpose.

Before I can process any of it, a familiar figure sprints toward me. Relief blooms in my chest at the sight of Alessandro.

"Alessandro!" I cry, my voice breaking.

"Hey, cupcake, I got you now. You're safe," he murmurs, his tone soft but urgent as he begins cutting the ropes that bind my arms. He quickly moves to free my mother as well.

As soon as my hands are free, I don't hesitate. I stumble toward Lorenzo, collapsing to my knees before him. His body is slumped in the chair, and for a moment, I can't see anything but the blood staining his shirt. My trembling hands cup his face, lifting it gently, my heart hammering with dread.