Page 98 of Ruined

Matteo sits alone in the corner, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. His shirt is stained with what I know is Noah's blood. When he looks up his eyes are hollow, haunted.

"How is he?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"In surgery." Matteo runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "The bullet... it entered close to his heart. They took him straight to the operating room."

I sink into the chair beside him, my legs suddenly unable to support me. "Is he going to make it?"

"He has to," Matteo says, his voice cracking slightly. "The stubborn bastard is too mean to die."

Despite everything, a small, sad smile tugs at my lips. It fades quickly as guilt crashes over me in waves.

"Matteo, I'm so sorry." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't run?—"

"Stop." Matteo raises his hand. There's no anger in his expression, just exhaustion. "You went to save your sister. I would have done the same thing."

"But he got shot because of me."

Matteo shakes his head. "No, he got shot because Ivan is—was—a psychopath. And because Noah would rather take a bullet than see someone he cares about get hurt." He looks at medirectly. "Noah is like a brother to me. We've been through hell together. And I know him well enough to say he'd make the same choice again."

"I didn't think anyone would get hurt," I say. "I thought if I just gave Ivan what he wanted?—"

"That's not how men like Ivan work," Matteo says quietly. "They take what they want, then they take more."

A doctor in scrubs approaches us and we both stand immediately.

"He's still in surgery," she says before we can ask. "It's going to be a while longer. The bullet caused significant damage but we're doing everything we can."

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling that won't seem to subside. The waiting room feels simultaneously too small and too vast—sterile walls closing in while the space between me and any certainty stretches endlessly out of reach.

"You look like hell," Matteo says, his voice gentler than his words. "Can I get you anything? Coffee maybe?"

"Coffee would be good." I nod, suddenly aware of how dry my throat feels. "Thank you."

Matteo stands, giving my shoulder a brief squeeze before disappearing down the corridor. Alessio mutters something about making calls and steps outside, phone already pressed to his ear.

And just like that, I'm alone.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. Each second that passes is another second Noah spends on that operating table, fighting for his life because of me.

I close my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing, but instead of darkness I see Noah. Not bleeding and broken on a concrete floor, but strong and powerful above me, pinning me. The memory comes unbidden—his body moving over mine, musclestensing with each thrust. The way his tattoos seemed to ripple across his skin in the dim light of his bedroom. How his eyes never left mine, dark and intense, as if he could see straight through to my soul.

I remember the weight of him, solid and real. The safety I felt in his arms despite the situation. The heat of his skin scalding mine. The way his hands could be so gentle one moment and so commanding the next.

A flush creeps up my neck as I recall how perfectly we fit together, how he seemed to know exactly what I needed before I did. How he made me feel things I'd never felt before—not just physically, but emotionally. Like I mattered. Like I was seen.

And now he might die because he came for me.

I press my palms against my eyes, willing the tears not to fall. How did everything get so tangled? How did I go from hating this man to feeling this vacancy at the thought of losing him?

CHAPTER 29

Idon't know what the fuck this feeling is.

Pain. Sharp, then dull, then sharp again. My chest feels like someone's pressing a hot poker into it with each breath I take.

Light filters through my eyelids. Too bright. I try to move but my body won't cooperate. Something beeps nearby, steady and annoying. The smell hits me next—antiseptic, bleach-like, death masked by chemicals.

Hospital. I'm in a fucking hospital.

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