Chapter 4 - The Awakening
Danny’s screams echoed in Marco’s mind all the way back to the hospital.
Marco had brought the young man to Northwestern in his personal accessible van, placing him in a private room adjacent to Lena’s ICU suite. Danny had wept hysterically when he saw his sister hooked up to the life-support machines, but Marco had stayed by his side, making a solemn vow to the boy that Lena would pull through.
It was the fifth night.
The storm outside had finally passed, leaving a quiet, starlit sky over Lake Michigan.
Marco sat in the chair beside Lena’s bed, holding her left hand. He hadn't left her side in forty-eight hours. He had showered in the hospital lounge, eaten nothing but black coffee, and ignored all business calls that didn't pertain to her care.
Isabella slept in a chair on the opposite side of the room, wrapped in a warm wool blanket.
The room was dead quiet, save for the rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor.
Suddenly, Marco felt a microscopic twitch in Lena’s fingers.
He froze. His eyes snapped up to her face.
Her long, dark eyelashes fluttered softly. A tiny, painful groan escaped her pale, cracked lips.
"Lena?" Marco rasped, leaning forward, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Lena, can you hear me?"
Isabella woke up instantly, throwing her blanket aside. "Is she waking up?!"
Lena’s eyelids felt heavy, as if made of lead. Blinding white light stung her pupils as she slowly opened her eyes. The blurry shape of a room materialized—ceiling tiles, IV bags, glass walls.
And then, she saw him.
Marco Duca.
His sharp, handsome face was drawn and pale, dark purple circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. Stubble covered his jawline, and his dark eyes were wide, filled with an emotion she had never seen in him before: raw, unadulterated vulnerability.
"Mr... Mr. Duca?" Lena whispered, her voice a dry, raspy wheeze.
"Don't talk," Marco choked out, a sudden, tearful laugh escaping his lips as he pressed her hand against his cheek. "Don't try to speak. You're safe. You're in the hospital."
Lena winced as a wave of sharp, throbbing pain shot through her torso and shoulder. "Mrs. Duca..." she managed to murmur, her gaze searching the room wildly. "Is she... is she safe?"
Isabella rushed to the side of the bed, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks as she took Lena’s other hand. "I am here, child! I am right here! I am safe because of you. You saved my life, my brave, beautiful girl!"
Lena let out a weak, raspy sigh of relief, her head sinking deeper into the pillow. "Good... that's good..."
Marco pressed the nurse call button, but he didn't take his eyes off her face for a single second. "You died on me twice on that operating table, Lena," he whispered, his voice trembling violently. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."
Lena looked at him, confused by the intensity in his tone, by the wet trace of tears on the hard cheeks of the man who had called her a nobody.
"Danny..." she whispered, her eyes filling with sudden panic as reality settled back in. "My brother... his bills..."
"It's taken care of," Marco interrupted fiercely, kissing the back of her bruised hand. "Everything is taken care of, Lena. St. Jude’s is paid forever. Danny is here. He’s in the next room. He’s safe. You never have to worry about a single bill for the rest of your life."
Lena stared at him, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes and soaking into her hair. "Why... why are you doing this?"
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Marco leaned in closer, his dark eyes burning with an absolute, terrifying devotion.
"Because you took five bullets for my mother," he whispered, his voice breaking softly against her cheek. "And because I was a fool who didn't see that the greatest treasure in this city was standing right in my own home."
