Elena
I sat still as I waited.
I wanted to see a shake.
A slight movement. The doctor said he was okay. Luckily, the bullet hadn't hit anywhere fragile. I walked over to his bed and sat down beside him. I assessed him; Russo Santoro had taken a bullet for me.
Somehow, it was still hard for my brain to accept that.
Did I really mean so much to him?
The emotions I felt were bitter-sweet, and oddly enough, I liked them. My finger traced the scar that ran down his neatly carved goatee. For the first time, I noticed the tattoo snaking around his left arm; he always wore long sleeves.
He looked so peaceful as he slept.
And strangely enough, I enjoyed watching him sleep.
‘He is alright,’ I kept reassuring myself as I watched and analyzed his features. I shifted a little bit closer and
