Chapter 15: Between Breath and Blood

The mansion’s east wing had always felt cold — all glass and marble, clinical and detached.

But now it felt like a hospital. Like a war zone. Like the universe had narrowed down to one tiny, unconscious body lying on a medical bed with wires taped to her chest.

Lucia didn’t move.

Machines beeped. Too slow. Too quiet. Every sound stabbed Siena’s ears like a countdown.

She stood in the corner, arms wrapped around herself so tightly it hurt. Her hands were shaking. Her lips bloodless. The taste of fear was bitter on her tongue.

Adriano stood against the opposite wall. Still. Pale. A statue carved from fury and fear.

No one spoke.

Elena entered with tea neither of them touched.

Zara came and went with updates from the security team, but Siena didn’t hear them. Didn’t care.

Only one thing mattered.

Lucia.

The doctor finally emerged from the side room. Young, competent, composed — too composed.

Siena rushed forward. “Is she —?”

“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “But her condition is delicate. The coughing caused a small hemorrhage in the lungs. We stopped it in time.”

Siena swayed. Adriano caught her arm instinctively, steadying her.

The doctor continued, “This isn’t random. It’s part of the progression of her illness. She needs constant monitoring. Specialized care. More than what a home like this can provide.”

“We’ll move her,” Adriano said immediately. “Whatever she needs. Where do we go?”

The doctor hesitated. “There’s a clinic in Geneva. Quiet. Secure. One of the best pediatric pulmonary teams in Europe.”

Adriano nodded once. “We leave in the morning.”

Siena blinked. “We?”

He looked at her. No softness in his voice. Just steel. “She’s my daughter. I’m not staying behind.”

Siena opened her mouth to argue — but couldn’t.

Because for the first time, she didn’t see a mafia boss.

She saw a man who had almost lost his child.

Again.

---

Hours later, long after the machines had settled into a steady rhythm, Siena sat beside Lucia’s bed, her fingers brushing gently through her daughter’s curls.

Lucia slept deeply, her breaths soft but even now. Siena exhaled a shuddering breath, placing a kiss on her daughter’s temple.

She stood.

Adriano was outside, sitting on the steps of the terrace, a bottle of whisky unopened beside him, his shirt sleeves rolled up, eyes on the stars.

Siena walked out slowly.

“You haven’t moved,” she said.

“I can’t,” he replied.

She stood beside him, the night air cool against her skin.

“You were going to kiss me,” she said softly.

Adriano didn’t look at her. “Yes.”

Siena folded her arms. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was too late,” he said. “Again.”

Silence settled between them.

Then —

“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” he admitted. “Being terrified.”

She glanced at him. “You? Terrified?”

He met her gaze finally. “She’s four. I’ve known her for four days. And already, I’d burn down the world for her.”

Siena's voice caught. “Then why do you still act like you need to own everything you care about?”

Adriano’s eyes didn’t waver. “Because the things I don’t own… get taken from me.”

She flinched. He saw it.

But neither of them looked away.

He stood then, stepped toward her. Closer than he should. His voice dropped.

“I wanted to kiss you because I remember how you used to look at me. I wanted to kiss you because you still do, sometimes, when you forget to be angry.”

Siena’s pulse jumped.

“I wanted to kiss you,” he whispered, “because it’s the only way I know how to forget everything I ruined.”

Her throat tightened. But she didn’t move away.

Not this time.

A breeze stirred the trees around them.

And the only thing she said was:

“We leave at dawn.”

---

She should have walked away.

Should’ve turned back into the house, locked the door, and put a wall back between them as high and thick as the one she’d been building for six years.

But she didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Adriano’s words still echoed in her bones.

“I’d burn down the world for her.”

“It’s the only way I know how to forget everything I ruined.”

And damn him… she believed every word.

Siena lowered herself onto the cold stone step beside him, careful not to brush against him, but close enough to feel the pull — the gravity he always had on her.

Lucia was alive.

Safe.

But something inside Siena was unraveling now, thread by thread, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to stop it.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring out into the dark.

“You said you wanted to forget what you ruined,” she said after a long silence. “But I remember everything.”

Adriano turned his head slightly, waiting.

She kept her eyes forward.

“I remember the first time you kissed me. Not because of the kiss itself — but because of what it felt like afterward. Like nothing in the world could ever touch me again. Like I belonged somewhere.”

Her voice wavered.

“And I remember the last time I saw you. You were walking away. And I knew you weren’t coming back. And still, I hoped.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“I hoped you'd change. I hoped you'd find me.”

He said nothing.

“I was nineteen,” she whispered. “You were everything I feared… and everything I wanted.”

She finally looked at him — really looked.

And found him already watching her.

“I’m not that girl anymore,” she said, softer now. “And you’re not the boy who loved her.”

He exhaled slowly. “No.”

“Then why does it still feel like we never left that night?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He looked away.

Silence stretched again. Heavy. Dense. But not empty.

Because something had shifted between them.

Not forgiveness. Not yet.

But recognition.

Adriano stood, his movements slow, like he didn’t want to break the moment but knew he had to leave it behind.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “We leave at dawn.”

Siena nodded, eyes back on the garden.

“Goodnight, Siena.”

She didn’t answer.

Not until he was gone.

And when she finally whispered, it was to no one.

“Goodnight, Adriano.”

Then she sat alone under the stars, heart cracked open again, unsure if the man who once broke her… was the only one who knew how to hold the pieces.

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