Page 97 of Fierce Hearts

"No." I cut him off. "I'm done waiting. Your meeting is coming up with them in what, three days? Gray is in surgery because of me, because of Ernesto. I won't let anyone else I love get hurt."

Meredith squeezed my hand. "What can we do?"

"Stay with me," I said, suddenly feeling very tired. "And pray Gray pulls through."

As they settled beside me in the waiting room, I bowed my head, letting the tears I'd been holding back finally fall. I prayed for Gray, for our unborn child, for the strength to end this once and for all.

Ernesto had no idea what he'd just unleashed upon himself.

Some people were determined to dig their own graves.

CHAPTER25

GRAYSON

Pain had a way of stripping you down to your essentials.

The knife had slid between my ribs with surprising ease. I remember thinking how strange it was—that moment of pressure followed by the hot rush of blood. Then it had withdrawn and sunk into my flesh twice more. The world had lurched sideways as Sofia screamed my name, her voice muffled like I was underwater.

Now, bright lights passed overhead as they wheeled me through hospital corridors. Someone was applying pressure to my wounds. Voices barked medical terms I couldn't fully comprehend. The metallic scent of my own blood filled my nostrils.

"BP dropping. We need to get him into surgery now."

Sofia. Where was Sofia?

My thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. I tried to speak, but something was covering my face. An oxygen mask. I couldn't form words, couldn't ask about her.

Instead, my mind drifted, pulling me back to the first time I'd truly seen Sofia. Not as Meredith's friend, but as a woman who knocked the breath from my lungs.

It had been at some work dinner Meredith had begged me to attend for her. Turned out she was getting recognition, and wanted me there for it. Sofia had walked in wearing a deep blue dress that hugged every curve. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, and when she laughed at something someone said, the sound cut through the pretentious chatter of the room.

I'd known her for years by then—my sister's best friend, off-limits by an unspoken rule. But something shifted that night. The way she carried herself, confident and untouchable. The slight Italian accent that emerged when she was passionate about something.

"Starting central line."

A sharp pain in my arm pulled me briefly back to reality before I slipped away again.

Another memory surfaced—Sofia arriving home after a shift just when I'd moved in with her, scrubs spattered with blood, completely unfazed as she described saving some kid who'd been in a car accident. Her hands had been steady as she gestured, explaining the procedure. Those same hands that had been pressed against my wound minutes ago, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

God, her strength. That's what had drawn me to her from the beginning. Not just her beauty, but the fire that burned inside her. The determination to do what was right, even when it cost her.

"Heart rate's dropping. Push another unit."

The voices around me grew more urgent. I felt cold, so damn cold.

I couldn't die. Not now. Not when I'd finally found her. Not when our child was growing inside her. A child I might never see.

My mind conjured an image so vivid it felt like reality. Sofia sitting in a garden, sunlight catching in her hair as she held a dark-haired toddler. A little boy with my eyes and her smile. He was laughing as he toddled toward me, arms outstretched.

"Da-da!"

The vision blurred as tears formed behind my closed eyelids. I needed to live. Needed to see that moment become real.

"We're losing him. Get the crash cart!"

Darkness pulled at me, but I fought against it. Sofia needed me. Our child needed me. I couldn't leave them unprotected in a world where men like Ernesto and Juan would hunt them down.

I loved her. God, I loved her more than I thought possible. Not just for carrying my child, but for everything she was. Her compassion. Her courage. The way she looked at me like I was worthy of something good.

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