Chapter 129

JALE

My life for the last twenty-four hours was a blur of medical terms: blunt trauma to the head, a puncture wound to her right arm, a laceration on her forehead (stitches needed!), a suspected fracture, and internal bleeding in her right abdomen. She was hypertensive, bradycardic, hypovolemic, and suspected internal hemorrhaging. Twenty-four hours of standing outside an ICU room, watching doctors work on my wife, watching her struggle to live. Twenty-four hours of Uncle Damien abandoning his duties as head of the Bratva to stay by my side because I refused to leave. I was always observant, always noticing, always two steps ahead. Remember? But I wasn't. I was a man whose wife was fighting for her life. I was a man who knew his wife found my world dangerous and had dragged her into it.

Twenty-two hours in the ICU, twenty-four hours in a medically induced coma, and then, five hours of rest later, my wife finally opened her eyes. It took her two minutes and twenty seconds of pain and gasping before she regained consciousness. She looked around with a pained expression, her gaze freezing when she saw me hovering beside her. I knew I should speak, reassure her, but the pain in my throat stopped me.

“Al… Alex,” she barely whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

I inhaled deeply, rubbing my thumb softly against her forehead. “Hi,” I whispered.

She just stared at me, as if wanting to say so much but unable to find the words. She cried and cried. I wanted to hold her, but I couldn't. I caressed her forehead, held her hand, and let her cry until the doctor came in and said she needed to examine my wife and that I needed to leave. I could have pointed a gun at her forehead for suggesting that, but I left instead after stationing Lana at her bedside, partly because I wasn't in the mental state to console her while seeing her condition. I intended to do better for her.

I showered, changed out of my bloody clothes, and grabbed some coffee while Lana texted me updates every minute. The last one read: ‘Mia refused a rape kit.’

The ten minutes I stayed away felt like too much, and I quickly returned. My wife seemed less in pain and was talking to the doctor. Her eyes were red and sunken, and her voice died as soon as I entered.

“Out,” I instructed, to no one in particular.

Lana scrambled out, but the doctor hesitated. “Out,” I hissed. “Or I swear I’ll put you in the next ICU bed.”

She left reluctantly, and I walked to my wife.

“Mia…” I breathed, the daze finally lifting. My wife was alive.

“Don’t touch me.” My knuckles froze midair, inches from her cheek.

“Baby,” I said, sounding as taken aback as I felt. “What?”

“Don’t touch me, Alex.” Her voice was firmer this time.

“What?”

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes again—tears I hated, tears I’d caused.

I sat on the bed, a foot away from her, careful not to touch her as she’d requested. “What’s wrong?” I asked, fear evident in my voice. “Did someone… did anyone…?” I couldn’t finish the sentence, hissing instead, “Mia, what did they do to you?”

She blinked, and the tears fell—tears I swore I would kill Xander for. The tears I swore would never touch her precious grey eyes shimmered there.

“What did you do, Alex?” she sobbed. “You promised me.”

“Baby,” I breathed. “What?”

She sobbed, then sniffed. It took every ounce of self-control not to wipe those tears from her face. “You never ask, Alex. You only take. That’s all you know how to do. It’s always your way.”

“Mia…”

“Don’t use my name.” She broke down. “I told you this world scared me. I told you I didn’t want to marry you. You forced me, Alex. You forced me!”

I froze. I stopped breathing.

She continued, “I… I told you your world is dangerous.” She paused to sob like a child. “And… and you told me I didn’t need to be scared because you would protect me. You… you lied.”

More tears flowed, and she clutched my hand. Holding her hand, I pulled her close.

“Mia, what did they do to you?” I asked, love and desperation warring within me. I didn't care if she thought I was a monster; my actions would show her how sorry I was. If it was the Italian mob, I would kill every last one of them.

“I won’t tell you,” she whispered.

“Out, Alex!” she screamed, using all her strength. I closed my eyes, feeling her raw rage. The doctor rushed in.

“I want nothing… nobody… to touch me.”

“Take him out,” Mia told the doctor.

“Mom?” The word escaped before I could stop it when I saw a woman standing there. “What… what are you doing here?” Panic welled up. I quickly checked to see if anyone heard me calling her “Mom.”

“Damien sent me,” Solla Whitlock stood before me, love and anger warring in her eyes. Their talks were rarely positive.

“Are you okay?”

I couldn't lie. I just couldn't. I shook my head, sinking into a chair. I let out a long breath, hiding the tears stinging my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried, not in twenty years.

“Oh, Alex,” her voice was soft as she sat beside me and hugged me. The tears finally flowed as she held me, allowing me to cry for the hurt I’d caused my wife, when all I’d wanted was to keep her safe.