Page 101 of Enzo
I shook my head, squeezing her hand gently.
“You’re too important to everyone. We’re not giving up.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered. “But only if you promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“When I’m gone… be there for them.” Her gaze shifted to her sleeping mother. “Whatever it is you’re planning, they won’t understand. They’ll hate it. They’ll try to shut you out. Don’t let them. Especially Pen. She’ll need you.”
“Amara—”
“No. Listen to me, Enzo,” she interrupted, more strength in her voice than I’d heard in weeks. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s changing you. I see it in your face. You don’t have to become something ugly for me. You brought me roses. You’re my brother-in-law, a part of our family, and most importantly, you’re a good man. Don’t lose that because of me.”
I didn’t know what to say. I stared at her, suddenly unsure who the adult was between us.
“You’ll need them too,” she added. “Whatever you’re doing, even if it’s for the right reasons, it’s still wrong. Don’t do it. Not for me. I think it’s too late anyway.”
She was breathing harder now, each inhale labored.
“Make a better world for me, Enzo,” she said. “Make it better. Maybe bring me flowers once in a while.”
Her smile was faint, but real. It shattered me.
I nodded, barely able to speak. “I promise,” I croaked.
“Good,” she whispered. “Now I can rest.”
I didn’t know if she meant for the night… or for good. And that fucking terrified me.
Her eyelids drifted shut. I stayed beside her, holding her hand as the monitors beeped in their endless, eerie rhythm. It was the cruelest lullaby. Steady. Comforting. Dreadful.
Amara was right. She’d never forgive me—or herself—if someone else died for her.
But God help me… I wasn’t sure I could keep that promise.
39
PENELOPE
Several days had passed since Enzo and my brothers shaved their heads. Amara had yet to leave the hospital, each day bringing worse news and an even worse mental state for all of us.
My husband had been running both Papà’s business and his own. Whenever I pressed him for details, he’d kiss me hard and make me forget what I’d asked in the first place. It was an effective method and made me realize how weak I was when it came to him.
However, Papà’s words about the Popov family never left my mind.
But all of it faded now, listening to Dr. Gvozden. My ears rang, repeating it on a loop.
Weeks left. Prepare for the worst. Get everything in order.
I struggled to adopt his calm demeanor, especially now that he’d shared the terrible news. She only hadweeksto live—my precious, perfect little sister. How could that be? When she started treatment, he said we had time. Didn’t he?
My back was pressed against Enzo’s warm chest, his grip on me tightening with every word the doctor uttered. He’d justreturned from handling a business call, but he wasn’t taking the news well either.
“You can’t all stay here,” Dr. Gvozden claimed, concern etched in his expression.
“We were all here yesterday,” Armani argued. “And the day before. There were no issues then.”
Dr. Gvozden’s expression soured. “We have other patients to consider. Besides, as a doctor, I’m telling you that you all need some rest. Take a few hours to eat and recharge, and then take turns staying with Amara. You’re not any good for her if you’re exhausted.”
