Page 24 of Alessia
Please.
I stare at the screen, my chest tight.
She didn’t just try to reach me. She tried over and over again. And part of me, the stupid, reckless part, wonders if I should let her.
I throw the covers off and sit up, running a hand through my hair. I should block her. Delete the messages. Make it easier to walk away.
But I don’t.
Instead, I set the phone down and press my hands against my face, taking a deep, shaky breath. Because no matter how much I try to fight it…
I’m still not sure if I want to walk away at all.
I take the longest shower of my life, standing under the scalding water, hoping it’ll wash away the mess of emotions clinging to me. It doesn’t. By the time I step out, my thoughts are still tangled, Alessia’s messages still weighing heavy in my chest.
I don’t answer her. I don’t even let myself think about answering her. Instead, I get dressed, grab my bag, and head to work.
The second I step into the pediatric wing of the hospital, the familiar beeping of monitors and the soft hum of conversation wrap around me like armor. This is where I belong. This is what makes sense. Not secret crime families. Not mafia queens. Not Alessia Di-fucking-Santi.
“Harper, you’re back!”
I barely have time to turn before Mia, one of the nurses, pulls me into a quick hug.
“We missed you yesterday,” she says, handing me a chart.
“Dr. Patel said you had the day off?”
I force a tight smile. “Something like that.”
She gives me a knowing look but doesn’t push.
“Well, it’s chaos as usual. The twins in Room 204 are wired from the sugar their grandmother snuck in, and Logan in 302 is convinced he’s a superhero now, so good luck with that.”
I exhale, my lips twitching despite myself. “Great. Sounds like a normal day, then.”
Mia grins. “Exactly.”
Normal, that’s what I need right now.
I throw myself into work, checking charts, adjusting medications, making rounds. I spend extra time with the younger kids, letting them show me their drawings, listening to them ramble about their favorite superheroes. When Logan in room 302 insists on showing me his ‘super strength,’ I let him squeeze my hand with all the force his tiny fingers can muster.
It’s easy to lose myself in this. To focus on the kids, the work, the life I’ve built outside of the chaos Alessia might bring.
The hours slip by faster than I expect. The chaos of the day, of the kids and the constant motion, keeps my mind occupied, and by the time the end of my shift rolls around, I’m almost relieved.
The soft chime of my phone buzzes in my pocket as I finish updating a patient’s chart, but I ignore it, too tired to check. As I hand off my notes to the oncoming shift, I grab my things and head for the locker room, ready to leave the hospital and lose myself in the quiet of my apartment.
But when I push through the double doors into the lobby, I freeze.
Alessiais standing by the front desk. She’s not hunched or hesitant. She’s assertive. Her posture is tall, unyielding, her jaw set. Her eyes scan the room with an intensity that makes it impossible to miss her. The moment our gazes meet, she doesn’t look away. If anything, her gaze sharpens, cutting through the air between us like she’s staking her claim.
There’s nothing frantic about her, only determination. The wildness in her expression is deliberate, not born from panic but from a quiet resolve that grips my chest.
And then she takes a step toward me.
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” she says, her voice low, controlled, but there’s a sharp edge to it, urgency underlined by something deeper, something almost dangerous.
