All Chapters of The Cost of Saving Him: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

– Mina –Weeks slipped by unevenly, as if someone kept pulling time apart and stitching it back wrong. My body had forgotten how it felt to stand without something screaming. The mirror in the corner was gone, but I saw enough in the shine of the metal door to know I wasn't the girl who had walked in. My cheekbone was swollen, tinted with sickly yellow and green under the fresh purple. My lip stayed cracked because it kept reopening whenever Alaric wanted a reaction. My ribs felt like a pile of mismatched sticks held together by tape and spite. My ankle still buckles if I put too much weight on it.The worst part was not the pain. It was how normal it had started to feel.Marco had stopped pretending he was fine, watching it unfold. He paced outside my room while I slept, sat inside when I woke, and snapped at anyone who walked by with too much confidence. His shirt was no longer spotless, and his hands were always tense. He looked at me as if he wanted to tear down the world but had

– Mina –The clinic doors slammed open, and cold air rushed in as they pushed the stretcher inside. Harsh lights washed over everything. Bleach. Metal. Blood. The hallway was lined with men from every corner of the families, their backs against the walls, their faces tight and unreadable.No one spoke when they saw me. Every head dipped. A gesture of respect. And mourning. My chest tightened. It felt like a warning.The men carrying me moved quickly through the corridors. I scanned faces, looking for one in particular, Santo, who had still been breathing when I left, who had told me I was his only blood left.I did not see him. They pushed me into the treatment room. Frankie was sitting in a chair, one arm in a sling, his stitches running along his hairline. He looked rough but alive. Luca leaned against a bed rail, chest wrapped in layers of gauze, breathing slow and steady, bruised but awake.Two beds are filled. One bed is empty. My throat tightened. “Where is Santo?” No one answe

-Mina-Three months went by, but the ghosts didn’t. They found new places to sit, new ways to breathe down my neck. The clinic had become a second home, or maybe a quiet grave where we all pretended to be alive. Whatever the walls remembered, they never let go of it, not even now.The bruises on my cheek had faded into a yellowish memory. The cut along my ribs healed into a thin scar that still burned during cold nights. My ankle was back to working, but it protested when I pushed it. My body had repaired itself enough to walk, enough to look normal, but inside, nothing had yet regained its shape.Everyone brought something into these months. Frankie held onto guilt he wouldn’t admit. Luca bore responsibility like a heavy chain. Joey carried anger so intense it seemed to ripple the air. Marco had a silence louder than gunfire.I carried all of them.The clinic slowly emptied. Families returned to their corners. The cartel kept a respectful distance, watching me the way they once watch

-Mina-I stared at him. At the bruises, stitches, and his stubborn will that refused to quit. He lost men, pride, territory, and half the city’s respect. Now he was willing to lose what was left.“You know they might still kill you after this,” I said.His eyes stayed steady. “That’s what makes it fair.”Frankie muttered under his breath, “I still don’t trust you.”Marco gave a slow, pained nod. “Good. Don’t. You trust men like me, you’ll die faster.”I exhaled and turned toward Frankie. “Go get Luca.” He looked at me, searching for doubt. Finding none, he nodded once and leaned off the wall. “If he so much as looks at you wrong, I will shoot him myself.”Marco smiled faintly and said, “You’ll need to beat your brother to it.”Frankie left, closing the door behind him. The room was filled with the soft hum of the monitor and the occasional drip from the IV. I inched closer to the bed, one hand resting on the railing.“You’re serious,” I whispered.“Yes.”“Why does it feel like there i

– Mina –Joey’s knock scattered everyone, but the real change happened later. Not in the hall, not in the clinic, but two floors down where the walls still reeked of old smoke and older secrets.By nightfall, Luca had a clean shirt and a shoulder holster. Frankie replaced his sling with tighter bandages and a revealing jacket. Someone left dark jeans, a black shirt, and dangerous boots at my bed’s foot.Frankie leaned in the doorway as I dressed, his messy hair and sharp eyes. “You sure you want this?” he asked. “You can still pretend you didn’t choose us or this life.”“That’s over,” I said, tying my laces. “You know that.”He watched me, then crouched to adjust my boots, his movements careful and practiced, like at the range. “Then you walk in there with your head up,” he said. “If you look unsure, they will eat you alive.”I swallowed. “Who are they?”“The ones who survived Santo, us, a mix of our men,” he said. “And the ones who want to see if you are worth following.”Luca met us