Page 45 of Mafia Heir's Broken Vows

He brushes his fingers lightly across my cheek, wiping away the tears. His touch is warm and comforting despite the agony he's enduring. "You won't," he murmurs, his voice thick with conviction. "Not now. Not ever." Even in this moment—surrounded by the wreckage of violence and the echoes of what we've just survived—I know he means it. But reality looms over us like a storm cloud. His father, Isabella, and the men loyal to Marco will want revenge… we're not safe yet.

For now, all I want is to get home. To hold Leo close and pretend, just for a moment, that none of this ever happened. Butthe blood soaking into the makeshift bandage and the strain in Alessandro's voice are harsh reminders that pretending won't be enough.

Enzo's voice cuts through the tension. "We're transferring him to the SUV," he announces, opening the truck door as rain splashes in. "He'll be more comfortable there, and the doctor's already on his way to the house. He'll meet us when we get there."

Carefully, Enzo helps Alessandro from the truck to the waiting vehicle. Alessandro groans, his weight leaning heavily on Enzo, but he doesn't complain. I hover close, watching every step with my heart in my throat.

"Keep pressure on the wound," Enzo instructs as he helps Alessandro settle into the back seat, reclining him slightly to ease his pain. "We're driving fast, so make sure the kid is buckled in tight."

I nod, clicking the seatbelt around Leo's small frame. He looks at me with wide, scared eyes, but I force a smile. "We're okay, sweetheart. Just keep your seatbelt on and stay still, okay?"

Leo nods silently, gripping the edge of his seat with small, trembling hands. I buckle myself in as Enzo slides into the driver's seat, his movements quick and efficient.

The engine roars to life, and the SUV lurches forward, tires skidding slightly on the wet road before finding traction. Rain lashes against the windows, the sound almost drowning out Alessandro's labored breathing beside me.

I keep my hand pressed firmly to the wound in his side, feeling the heat of his blood seeping through the fabric. He's pale, too pale, and his eyelids flutter like he's fighting to stay conscious.

"Stay with me," I whisper, leaning closer. "We're almost home."

His hand reaches for mine, weak but steady, his fingers lacing through mine. "I'll always stay with you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine and the pounding rain.

I squeeze his hand tightly, refusing to let go. "You'd better."

SERAFINA

The rain has softened to an icy drizzle by the time we reach the gates of Alessandro's estate. The air inside the SUV is warm from the AC, but the tension inside is suffocating. I glance at Alessandro, slumped against the seat, his eyes half-lidded with fatigue and pain. Blood seeps through the makeshift bandage pressed to his side, and every shallow breath he takes makes my chest ache.

Leo is passed out from exhaustion, his small body limp against me, finally warm and safe inside the car. He doesn't stir, even when the vehicle comes to a stop. Alessandro, though—he's barely holding on. The man who stormed into Marco's fortress to save us now looks as fragile as glass.

The car stops, and Enzo swings the door open. Cold air rushes in, biting against my face. I shift Leo carefully, his small body heavy as I cradle him in my arms.

Enzo reaches in, his hands already moving to help Alessandro. "Boss, let's get you inside," he says firmly, draping Alessandro's arm over his shoulders.

Alessandro shakes his head stubbornly. "I'm fine."

But he isn't. His legs buckle slightly as he tries to step out, and Enzo adjusts quickly, taking more of his weight. "I've got him," Enzo reassures me, his voice steady.

I nod, tightening my hold on Leo as I step out of the SUV. The cold drizzle pricks my skin, but my focus stays on my son, making sure he's shielded from the rain.

We make it through the grand entrance. The doors close behind us, sealing us away from the rain and bloodshed. The warmth of the estate envelops us like a fragile barrier against everything we've just escaped.

Enzo eases Alessandro onto the sofa. I kneel beside him briefly, brushing wet strands of hair from his forehead. His skin is pale and clammy. His breath comes in uneven bursts. He exhales deeply, the tension in his muscles momentarily easing.

Leo stirs in my arms but doesn't wake. I tuck him gently onto the armchair nearby, wrapping him in a thick blanket. Then I turn back to Alessandro, and the sight of him—pale, bloodied, but alive—nearly brings me to my knees.

"The doctor is here," Enzo announces as he comes back into the room. He's followed by a short, round man with gray hair and thick black-rimmed glasses. He looks more like an old professor than a doctor, but the black medical bag he carries says otherwise. He starts unpacking his instruments on the coffee table: gauze, sutures, and a collection of unlabeled drugs.

"You need stitches," I murmur, kneeling before Alessandro. My hand hovers over the dark stain spreading across his shirt. "The doc is going to patch you up."

He catches my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. "Later. Just—stay."

"Don't be stubborn. Not later. Right fucking now," Enzo snaps. "You're getting blood on the good sofa."

The doctor doesn't wait for Alessandro's permission. He cuts his shirt open with a pair of scissors before cleaning away the blood still oozing from the wound.

"Not as bad as last time," the doctor mutters, inspecting the wound. "A few stitches, a shot of whiskey, two pills, and you'll be okay. Just don't do anything vigorous for a few days. You'll pop a stitch, and I haven't got time to come back here." His bedside manner is blunt, bordering on rude, but his hands are efficient as he pulls the wound closed with rough, uneven sutures. It'll leave a nasty scar, but at least Alessandro isn't bleeding any more.

While the doctor cleans and dresses the wounds, I take Leo up to bed. I tuck him in, pulling the blanket snugly around his small body. I hope he sleeps for a while—this ordeal is too much for a little boy. I don't want him to have nightmares like I used to.

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