One too Many

Chapter 37

Samara

The car comes to a stop, and I take a slow breath, letting it fill my lungs as I steel myself for what's ahead. Every part of me screams to turn around, to go back to the safety of the life I've built. But I can't. Not when a life is on the line. Not when his mother, the one person who ever showed me kindness in this hellish mess, is waiting for me.

I glance at the guys, their expressions a mixture of concern, frustration, and determination. Their worry isn't about Antonio—they can all feel it, that silent promise of vengeance lingering in the air. But it's about me. About my safety.

"Are you sure about this, Tiny Beauty? We can find her another capable doctor." Ian asks, his voice thick with hesitation. He's always had a way of reading me, seeing the cracks in my armor even when I try to hide them.

"I have to do this," I reply, trying to sound more certain than I feel. "I'm a doctor, Ian. She needs me." I add, more to reassure myself than him. "I can do this. I can help her. It's just..." I trail off, my voice soft. The rest of the words remain unspoken. It's just him.

He doesn't push further. He doesn't need to. His hand tightens around the steering wheel as he shifts the car into park. Asher leans forward, concern in his eyes.

"If it gets too much, we step in. No matter what. You've got our backs, and we've got yours."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Their loyalty, their support, is something I never thought I would deserve. And yet, here they are. All of them. Ready to stand by me.

With one last look at them, I motion for Ash to open the door and he helps me step out, the cool air biting at my skin. Antonio's house looms ahead, its shadow stretching across me like a dark omen. I take a step forward, then another, until I reach the door. My men flanking me on all sides.

Antonio's waiting at the front. A relieved look crossing his features as he sees me. "You came."

"Not for you." I say flatly, my eyes scanning the room behind him.

My gaze land on his mother's familiar figure, sitting on a wheelchair by the window, her frail form dwarfed by the room around her. With an oxygen tank secured to the chair and a tube in her nose. She looks even smaller than I remember, the years of illness and struggle catching up to her. I can't help but soften at the sight of her. The anger I feel toward Antonio won't touch her, not today.

I walk toward her slowly, taking in the labored breaths she struggles to control. Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, and for a moment, I see the woman who once welcomed me with open arms, who didn't flinch when I needed a safe place to breathe. She smiles faintly, but it's tinged with pain- physical and emotional.

"Mariposa," she whispers, her voice so weak I almost don't hear it. "You came."

I kneel in front of her, trying to keep my hands steady as I adjust my medical bag. "Of course, I came," I reply, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "I'm here to help."

She nods, but there's something in her eyes—something that tells me she knows this visit isn't just for her health. It's for me too. She's a silent witness to everything that's happened. She's known all along, but she's never pushed.

I set to work, my hands moving with practiced ease as I check her vitals, listen to her breathing, take notes on what's changed. She winces slightly as I press the stethoscope to her chest, and my heart aches for her. She doesn't deserve this suffering.

As I work, I can feel Antonio's presence behind me. It's suffocating. His shadow looms in the doorway, but I refuse to acknowledge him. This is not about him. Not anymore.