Doctor Gomez muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “He shouldn’t be alive.”
Carmen clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She couldn’t stop staring at Marco’s motionless form, wires and tubes attached to his body, the steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor the only reassurance that he was still breathing.
“What do you mean?” her voice came out hoarse.
Doctor Gomez exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “With the amount of blood he lost, he should’ve gone into cardiac arrest on the way here. But somehow…” He glanced at Marco, then back at her. “He fought.”
Carmen swallowed past the lump in her throat, her eyes burning.
Of course he fought. Marco Venetti never surrendered.
“When will he wake up?”
“It’s hard to say.” Doctor Gomez’ expression softened. “He’s stable, but his recovery is going to be long. He needs rest—”
“Then do your damn job and make sure he gets it,” Luca cut in sharply.
Carmen flinched, barely able to look at Luca without breaking down. He looked just as wrecked as she felt—dark circles under his eyes, tension in his jaw. He hadn’t left her side since the ambulance ride, making sure Marco’s security detail was locked down tight.
“I’m just saying, be prepared,” Doctor Gomezcontinued, ignoring Luca’s sharp tone. “When he wakes up, he’ll be weak. Disoriented. The pain will be intense. And…” His hesitation made Carmen’s stomach twist. “The psychological and traumatic effects of a near-death experience can be… unpredictable.”
“You mean paranoia,” Luca said flatly.
Doctor Gomez didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.
Carmen inhaled shakily, nodding.
“Thank you, Doctor Gomez,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He gave her a sympathetic look before walking out.
The moment the door shut, Carmen sank into the chair beside Marco’s bed, covering her face with her hands.
Paranoia. As if Marco didn’t already have enough of that.
She felt Luca’s presence beside her before he spoke. “You should go home, shower, eat something. I’ll stay.”
Carmen shook her head. “No. I can’t leave him.”
Luca sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Carmen, you have a son at home who needs you too.”
Her stomach clenched.
Matteo.
She’d barely seen him in the last twenty-four hours, only long enough to hold him for a few minutes before rushing back to Marco’s side. Her baby was probably scared out of his mind.
“I’ll call you if anything changes,” Luca said gently.
Carmen swallowed past the guilt threatening to suffocate her and nodded.
Home didn’t feel like home anymore. The house was too quiet. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. Matteo wasn’t waiting at the door like usual.
Carmen found him in his room, curled up under his tiny desk, clutching his stuffed bear against his chest.
Her heart cracked.
“Matteo?” she crouched beside him, reaching out.
He flinched. Carmen’s throat tightened. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just me.”
Matteo peeked up at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes.
“Papa?” His voice was so small.
Carmen’s chest ached. She forced a smile, even though it felt like breaking glass. “Papa is sleeping right now. He’s getting stronger.”
Matteo didn’t move, his little fingers gripping his bear tighter.
“Bad man hurt him,” he whispered. “What if he comes back?”
A sharp pain stabbed through Carmen’s ribs. She slid under the desk beside him, pulling him into her lap, rocking him slightly.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” she whispered into his soft curls. “You and Papa are safe.”
Matteo didn’t respond. But he didn’t let go of her either. Carmen barely slept that night. Every creak of the house made her jolt awake, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She checked the security cameras twice, triple-checked that every door and window was locked. She couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever shot Marco wasn’t finished yet.
The next morning, she went outside to get the mail.
And then—
Her blood turned to ice. Because there, carved into the front door, were three words:
“I SHOULD HAVE AIMED HIGHERCarmen’s breath left her in a sharp gasp. Her pulse roared in her ears. She spun around, scanning the street, but no one was there. Someone had been here.
Someone had walked up to her front door in the middle of the night and left this message. And she had no idea who. She rushed back inside, locking the door, securing the bolts.
Then she grabbed her phone and called Luca. He picked up on the second ring. “Carmen?”
“Luca.” Her voice was shaking. “Someone was here.”
A pause. “What?”
“There’s a message. On my door.”
She heard movement, keys jangling, a sharp curse. “I’m on my way.”