Then Destroyed Me

The needle burned in my arm. Dark red Rh-null blood ran through the tube and filled the last bag on the stand. The pump clicked at a steady pace, too loud in the sterile room. Every drop was for Bianca. The door hissed open and Alessio Moretti walked in. My husband checked the bag before he checked me. His jaw tightened when he saw how slowly it was filling. "Is that enough?" The doctor kept one hand on the clamp. "It's the last amount we can safely take, Don Moretti." Only then did Alessio turn. He moved a damp strand of hair off my forehead, an old habit from the years when that touch meant something. His hand lingered for a second. Then he smoothed the blanket and stepped back. "You look pale, Eleanor." He pulled the blanket over my shoulder. "It's a little blood. You've always been the strong one." Three years earlier, I had taken a poisoned bullet meant for him. He had held me on the floor and promised that no debt between us would ever be forgotten. The septicemia from that wound still tore through my body in cycles. Now he had brought Bianca into our home and turned the damage into proof that I could survive one more procedure. He leaned close. "One last sacrifice. For us. For the family. Once Bianca is stable, I'll make it up to you. I promise." I had heard that promise before. I did not waste my remaining strength answering him. The nurse removed the needle, pressed gauze to my arm, and lowered the empty tubing. When I tried to turn my head, the ceiling shifted out of focus. The door flew open again before she finished. Another doctor hurried in, breathing hard. "Don Moretti, Bianca's transfusion isn't enough. Her kidney is failing. Acute rejection. She needs a transplant immediately." The impatience vanished from Alessio's face. I had not seen him move that quickly for me since the night of the shooting. "Then find a kidney," he said. "I own this city. Find one." The doctor rubbed both palms against his coat before glancing at me. "We don't have time to search. There is one match close enough to give us an immediate result." No one had to say my name. Alessio followed his gaze to the patient chart clipped at the foot of my bed. My work had secured his alliances, protected his ports, and kept him alive. None of it appeared on that chart. My blood type and viable organs did. He studied the numbers long enough to understand what the doctor was offering. I waited for him to reject it. "Proper anesthesia will take too long," the first doctor said. "In her condition, the shock could kill her." Alessio did not look away from me. "Take the kidney. Now."