Years After Leaving Her, the Mafia Boss Saw Her Again in a Hospital — And Froze

The nurses rushed into the room, their faces pale as the alarms shrieked from the bedside monitors.

"Step back, sir! You need to step back!" a young nurse shouted, moving between Dominic and the thrashing woman.

Dominic stepped back, holding Leo tightly against his chest. The boy was crying now, terrified by his mother’s panic and the sudden chaos of alarms. Dominic held him close, shielding the child’s face against his shoulder, murmuring quiet words of comfort that felt like poison in his own mouth.

"Fiona, stop," Dominic said, his voice pleading, an inflection none of his men had ever heard from him. "You’re tearing your stitches. You’re going to collapse your lung again."

"Get out!" she screamed, the plastic mask fogging with every ragged breath. Her green eyes were wide with wild, feral terror. "Don't touch him! You swore you’d never come near me! You swore it!"

Dr. Mitchell barged through the door, his stethoscope already in his ears. He took one look at the monitor, then at Dominic standing in the corner with the weeping child.

"Out," Mitchell commanded, his silver hair disheveled. "Both of you. Now. Her blood pressure is through the roof. If she blows a suture in her chest cavity, she will bleed out internally in three minutes. Russo, get your child and get out of this room!"

Dominic hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to stay, to explain, to fall on his knees and beg her to listen. But he saw the blood seeping through the white dressing beneath her hospital gown, staining the cotton pink.

He turned and carried Leo out into the corridor.

The heavy door clicked shut behind them. Dominic leaned his back against the wall, his knees nearly buckling beneath him. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, holding his son in his lap, the boy’s small arms wrapped desperately around his neck.

"Why is Mama mad at you?" Leo sobbed into Dominic’s shoulder. "Did you do something bad?"

Dominic closed his eyes. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed blinding, merciless. "Yes, Leo," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the boy’s soft curls. "I did the worst thing a man could ever do."

It took forty-five minutes for the medical team to stabilize her.

When Dr. Mitchell finally emerged from Room 812, he looked completely drained. He pulled the mask from his face and approached Dominic, who was now sitting in a chair down the hall, having gotten Leo to fall asleep on a nearby sofa with a blanket tucked around his shoulders.

"She’s sedated again, but she’s conscious," Mitchell said in a low voice. "She refused more painkillers until she spoke with you. She insisted on it."

Dominic stood up, straightening his cuffs, trying to pull the armor of his authority back over his shattered soul. "How is she?"

"She’s in agony, both physical and mental," Mitchell said harshly. "Whatever you did to that woman five years ago, Mr. Russo, the scars didn't heal. Go in alone. If you upset her again, I don't care how many millions you give this hospital, I will have the police drag you out in handcuffs."

Dominic nodded once. He walked to the door, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

The room was dim now, the blinds drawn against the grey morning light. Fiona was propped up slightly in bed, the oxygen mask replaced by a nasal cannula. Her face was as pale as the pillowcase, but her eyes were clear, burning with a cold, unrelenting fire.

Dominic approached the side of the bed. He stopped three feet away, not daring to step closer.

"Leo is asleep," Dominic said softly. "One of my men is sitting with him. He’s safe, Fiona. I promise you, nobody will lay a finger on him."

"Safe?" Fiona’s voice was a cracked whisper, but every word felt like a razor across Dominic’s skin. "Safe with you? Dominic, the only reason my son and I have ever been in danger is because your blood runs in his veins."

Dominic looked down at the floor. "I didn't know. If I had known you were pregnant—"

"What?" she interrupted, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping her lips. "What would you have done? Taken him? Raised him to be a killer like you? Put a gun in his hand before he could even read?"

"I would have protected you!" Dominic snapped, his composure cracking. "I gave up everything to keep you alive! You think I wanted to say those things to you in my apartment? You think I wanted to watch you walk out that door?"

Fiona looked at him, her gaze unwavering, completely unimpressed by his sudden burst of anger. "You told me I was weak. You told me I was too soft for your world. You knocked my hand away like I was a stray dog begging for scraps."

"Because Lorenzo Moretti knew your name!" Dominic’s voice rose, desperate and raw. "He sat across from me in a club and threatened to burn you alive in your bakery! The only way to save you was to make him believe you were disposable! If he thought I cared about you, he would have kidnapped you, tortured you, used you to break me! I had to make him think I didn't give a damn if you lived or died!"

The words hung in the sterile air of the room, heavy and suffocating.

Fiona stared at him. For a moment, the fire in her eyes flickered, replaced by a deep, profound sorrow that was far worse than her anger.

"And you thought that was protection?" she asked quietly.

"It kept you alive for five years!" Dominic insisted.

"No, Dominic," Fiona said, tears gathering along her lower lashes. "It made me an easy target. When you threw me out, you took away your name. But you didn't take away the sins you committed while you were with me."

Dominic frowned, a cold dread creeping into his stomach. "What do you mean?"

Fiona took a shuddering breath, clutching the thin blanket to her chest. "Two weeks ago, a man came into the bakery. He didn't order bread. He sat in the corner for three days, watching me. Then, three days ago, I found an envelope tucked under my apartment door. Inside was a photograph of Leo at his daycare playground."

Dominic felt the blood drain from his face.