Sergio waited until the door closed before he turned his attention to me. His eyes were sad. I'd always heard that expression — even read about it — but never had actually experienced it.
His blue eyes were glassy like he was trying to hold tears back, his expression grim, his face pale. When he gazed at me, it was with utter hopelessness, and I hated that he'd been brought to that point.
"Chin up." I winked. "At least Nixon didn't kill you."
"Remember how you said I sucked at pep talks?" He frowned, gripping my other hand in his.
"Vaguely," I said innocently.
He cracked a smile. "Yeah, well… you're not so good yourself."
"Russians don't have feelings."
"We Italians feel all over the place. It's in our blood. We feel, we worry, we eat pasta, we drink copious amounts of wine, and we shoot things to defend our family honor."
I sighed and moved to the bed so I could lie by his side. "And what is this Italian feeling right this moment?"
Sergio let out a long sigh. "A bit helpless."
"Well, you do have a few holes in your body."
"I couldn't care less about the gunshots or the pain or almost dying."
I knew what was coming. I even closed my eyes, thinking it would help the impact of the words.
"I'm really not a match?" he whispered, releasing my hand and rubbing his fingertips up and down my arm.
I shook my head, not trusting myself.
His hand paused. "I believed it. I seriously believed it, Andi. I thought maybe if I believed it hard enough, it would make it true."
I glanced up at him through hooded lashes. "Sergio, you can't save the world."
"I don't want to save the world — I just want to save you."
I pressed my palm against his chest. I could feel the heat of his body through the hospital gown, his heartbeat steady.
"Do you think you can miss people? Even when you die?" I blurted. "Because I can't imagine not missing you."
"Andi—" Sergio pressed a kiss to my forehead. "—it's only over when it's over, right? Until then, you fight, and I'll fight right alongside you."
"A lot of good that will do me. You're basically handicapped. "I winked.
He chuckled low in his throat and ran his fingers through my hair.
"Italy?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm glad we didn't blow you up."
"You really know how to romance a man," he teased.
I rolled my eyes. "Please, your idea of romance is using family members as target practice then washing down the blood with a large glass of wine."
"Look who's talking, bloodthirsty little Russian."
I smiled against his chest. My cheek pressed against him, just wishing the moment would last forever. "You should sleep."
He wrapped his arms around my body. "Only if you stay with me."
"Where else would I go?"
He tensed.
I tensed right along with him.
Because we both knew… eventually, I would go — and neither of us could stop it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Sergio
I WOKE UP IN A COLD SWEAT. Probably one of the worst ways to wake up, in a pool of water that came from your body. I shuddered then tried to nudge Andi awake so she could at least shower.
"Andi," I whispered, "wake up."
She didn't move.
"Andi?"
Still no movement. I felt for a pulse, like a complete psycho. Her heart was beating, but it wasn't strong.
I hit my call button twice, three times. A nurse came walking in like she had all the time in the world.
"My wife!" I yelled. "She's — something's wrong! She has leukemia, and she's not waking up."
The nurse took Andi's pulse.
I gritted my teeth, wanting to yell that I'd already done that.
She nodded then felt Andi's forehead. "She's burning up. Has she been sick recently?"
What was I supposed to say? "No, but she did survive an explosion and a fun day of being held at gunpoint, so it wouldn't surprise me if her immunity is a bit low."
"No," I lied. "She's been just fine, other than the dizzy spells."
The nurse pressed a button on the side of my bed; two more nurses walked in followed by another nurse with a gurney. "Wait, where are you taking her?"
"Mr. Abandonato, you've been through a lot in the past day. Try to stay calm. We're putting her in her own room, and I'll be contacting the doctor on call. She's fine, she's breathing, she's okay, but for now, I need you to concentrate on getting well."
"But—"
"—for your wife," the nurse said.
I lay back down and frowned when I realized, it wasn't me sweating. It was Andi.
We were in a pool of her sweat. Not mine.
"Just try to stay calm." The nurse patted my hand. If one more person gave me that pitiful look, I was going to lose my shit.
Thankfully, Nixon had chosen that perfect moment to walk in. "What the hell's going on?"
"It's Andi." My voice cracked. "I think something's wrong."
I lifted my hands in the air to brace my head, but they were shaking so bad I realized it wouldn't do me any good.
"Serg…" Nixon was immediately at my bedside. "…I'll go with her, alright? Just try not to think of the worst. I'll send someone to sit with you."
"I'm not an invalid."
"No..." Nixon let out a choke of laughter. "…but I know you. The minute she's out of here you're going to try to get out of bed and follow. Stay. She needs you to heal, alright?"