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The next hour is a blur as six other men are brought in. I quietly oversee the compound’s medics through the process of staunching excess bleeding and closing gaping wounds with neat sutures. I go from patient to patient, my hands steady even as my heart races, and I ask no more questions about Marco.

I simply concentrate on healing.

Only the most critical patients come to me. Others with medical training handle the rest. By the time the last wound is dressed, I’m running on adrenaline and willpower alone. My scrubs are stained dark with blood and gore.

Thankfully, Marco isn’t one of the men on my table.

When I finally leave the clinic, I find him in the hallway, slumped against the wall as one of the compound medics tends to him. His shirt is gone, a bandage wrapped around his ribs. Bruises bloom across his torso in shades of purple and black, and blood streaks his face.

“Marco.”

His head lifts at my voice, and his stone-faced expression cracks open. “Lucia. I saw you working and didn’t want to bother you, so I came here.”

I shorten the distance between us in seconds. My hands instantly reach for the dressing so I can assess his injuries. “How bad? What happened?”

He catches and stills my hands. “I’m okay. Just some cracked ribs and a cut on my left flank. Nothing that major. It’s why I stayed away. I wanted to give you space to deal with the more serious injuries.”

“Nothing major?” My voice rises. “You’re drenched in blood, you’ve got a bandage around your ribs, and you’re telling me nothing major?”

“I’m alive.” He tugs me to his chest, ignoring one of the compound medic’s protests from across the room. “Rifle stock caught me when we breached the second entrance. Gianni already cleaned it. I’m fine.”

The tears I’ve been fighting back spill over. Suddenly I’m crying in the middle of a hallway, surrounded by wounded soldiers, and I can’t stop.

Ignoring his injuries, Marco pulls me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. “Tesoro. I’m here. I’m right here.”

My voice catches on a sob. “I know this is what you do. I know the truth of what I’m feeling. I know Sophia told me to make peace with it, and Izzy told me to learn how to shoot, and I’m still turning their advice over in my head.” I hug him tighter. “But you have to come back. Every time. That’s the deal.”

He nods. “That’s the deal.”

Later, after the chaos settles, after the wounded are stabilized, and after I’ve properly examined Marco and declared him noncritical, we sit on the couch in his quarters with his good arm around me and my head carefully positioned against his uninjured side. Unfortunately, neither of us can sleep.

“Bruno escaped. He had a secondary exit prearranged. By the time we breached the wing where they harvest the organs, his car had been gone for forty minutes. We busted his mid-level operation, though. Twelve people were scheduled for processing. Their names were written on a whiteboard in the corridor, with blood types and organ matches listed beside them like patients on a surgical rotation chart. Except none of his patients were going to wake up.”

His jaw tightens.

“We managed to get them out. Nico’s team transported them to a Benedetti safe house in Jersey where a medic and two private physicians are looking after them until we can arrange passage home. The six traffickers we captured are in the holding warehouse on our property, waiting for interrogation. But Bruno knew we were coming. He was gone before we even set foot in the building.”

As I absorb the news, sharp, acrid disappointment rises in my throat. Underneath, though, relief stirs. Because if Bruno’s still out there, Marco still needs me. As soon as that thought hits my mind, I’m ashamed of it.

“That’s good, right?” I force myself to focus on what matters. “You saved those people. They would’ve died without you.”

“It’s a start.” He goes silent for a while. “Lucia, what I saw in that building…I can’t unsee. What they were planning to do to those people…” He stops and clenches his jaw.

I don’t ask. I simply hold him tighter.

“We lost three of our own. They died trying to get the trafficked victims out.” He shakes his head. “They were good men. And now they’re gone, all because of this feud with Bruno. I was too blinded by my thirst for revenge, and I wasn’t as sharp as I could have been.”

“Marco.” I ease back to look at him. “You can’t carry the burden of their lives. It’ll crush you.”

“I have to.” His eyes meet mine. “I’m a man who sends other men to die while I survive.”

“You also rescued a dozen people tonight.” I drag a hand through the coarse beard dusting his jawline. “You gave your all for that goal, and for that, you deserve to think better of yourself.”

A sliver of gratitude crosses his expression. “You think so? Even after seeing this? Even after seeing what I do and what my world costs?”

“Especially after that.” I kiss him softly, just a quick brush to his lips. “I’m not blind. I know what your world costs. I counted the wounded tonight, and I stitched them up. I also know what you’ve saved. Not just the victims, but those soldiers too. They’re alive because of you.”

He takes in my words, inhaling them like air. Then he draws me closer and buries his face in my hair.