Day 3. ICU. Manhattan General. Private Wing. Guarded by 20 men.
Beep.
Beep.
Dante’s heart. 42 BPM. Weak. But there.
Three days.
Three days since he jumped 60 floors. Since he put his body between Arturo and concrete. Since he chose us.
Three days since I slept.
“Mrs. Moretti,” Dr. Harris said. Again. “You need to rest. For the baby.”
He knew. Mara told him. Hospital knows. Vincent knows. Rosa knows. Kenji knows.
The world doesn’t. Not yet.
“I rest when he wakes,” I said.
My hand was on Dante’s. Not holding. Claiming. My thumb on his pulse. Counting.
41 BPM.
“His spine,” Dr. Harris said. Soft. “L1-L3. Shattered. Even if he wakes... he may not walk again.”
“Then he learns,” I said. Didn’t look up. “From me. I learned to kill in 3 weeks. He can learn to walk in 3 months.”
The d
