Chiara woke up early the next day, determined. She was intent on escaping her house to visit her brother. She knew the hospital where Stefano was being treated and planned on seeing him before her father could arrange the visit because that would mean a procession of at least 20 guards accompanying her.
After eighteen years of being chauffeured and constantly followed, she had mastered the art of slipping past surveillance unnoticed. Her father's security system was vast, but she had always found ways to maneuver around it. Within an hour, Chiara was out of the house, dressed simply, blending in with the morning bustle of the city as she made her way to the hospital.
Once she arrived at the hospital, she began her quest to locate her brother. Stefano's room wouldn't be easy to find, and the hospital reception would be of no use—mentioning Stefano's name would alert the mafia, and that was the last thing she needed. She needed to keep a low profile.
The lobby was crowded, the usual hum of hospital activity mingling with an undercurrent of tension. Chiara scanned the room, looking for any signs of family soldiers. These were the core members of the La Guardia mafia, tasked with protecting the family at all costs.
Her eyes quickly picked out a few men dressed in black suits, standing casually but alert, rifles subtly hidden under their coats. They were the decoys—meant to draw attention away from the real security hidden in plain sight. She knew there were more of them, likely camouflaged as ordinary visitors, just waiting for any threat to appear.
And then, there was one familiar face. A man sitting on a bench with a woman, pretending to be an ordinary couple waiting for someone. To the untrained eye, they were just another hospital visitor, but Chiara knew better. Their calculated glances, the way their eyes constantly scanned the room, told her everything she needed to know.
She approached them, her footsteps quiet on the linoleum floor. Sitting down next to the man, she couldn't help but smirk.
"You know, if you were trying to be discreet, you failed. I spotted you two the moment I walked in," Chiara said, her voice light but pointed.
The man's head snapped toward her, his body tensing, hand instinctively reaching under his jacket to where a gun was concealed.
"Who—Chiara?!" His voice was low, a mix of surprise and caution.
"Hey, Alex," she gave him a small smile, her tone casual despite the intensity of the situation.
"What are you doing here?" His whisper was urgent, eyes darting around the room to make sure they hadn't been overheard.
"You know exactly why I'm here," she said flatly, glancing toward the hallway. "Now take me to him."
His brows furrowed. "How did you even get here?"
"Is that even relevant right now?" she shot back, impatience creeping into her voice. "Take me to Stefano."
Alex hesitated, then sighed. "You know your father is going to be pissed, right?"
Chiara waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I'll deal with him later." She didn't want to waste anymore time.
With a resigned nod, Alex stood up, motioning for Chiara to follow him. They made their way to the elevator, all eyes trained on them. Some recognized the young LaGuardia even with her blonde hair, others looked on in confusion.
As they exited the elevator, the atmosphere on the 7th floor was noticeably different. The air was thicker, charged with tension. Soldiers lined the halls, standing guard outside private rooms, their presence as much a part of the décor as the sterile white walls. Some nodded at Chiara and Alex as they passed, their recognition of her LaGuardia blood more than enough to ensure their passage.
The VIP ward was a world apart from the rest of the hospital, a secluded area with heightened security and private rooms designed for the family's elite. Chiara's breath caught in her throat as she approached Stefano's room. She paused just outside the door, her hand hovering over the doorknob. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for.
With a deep breath, Chiara turned the knob and stepped inside.
The sight that greeted her made her stomach drop. Stefano lay in the bed, hooked up to a series of monitors that beeped steadily in the silence of the room. His face was pale, his skin almost ashen. The sterile smell of antiseptic mixed with the faint metallic scent of blood. She could barely recognize him—her strong, vibrant brother reduced to this fragile state, covered in bruises and bandages.
Her heart shattered as she stepped closer, her hand trembling as she reached for his. His once muscular hand, now swollen and battered, felt cold beneath her touch. She leaned down, brushing his hair away from his forehead, her fingers gently tracing the lines of his face.
"Stefano…" she whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner. Please, brother… please wake up. There's so much I need to say to you. So much I still need to tell you. Please, Stefano…" Her voice cracked, and the tears began to fall freely.
She held his hand, sobs wracking her body. The raw emotion poured out of her in waves—grief, guilt, and fear. She had left him, run away from this life, and now it might be too late.
Just as she thought she couldn't bear it anymore, the door opened with a soft creak. Chiara whipped her head around, startled, and immediately froze. Alessandro stood in the doorway, his face hard with anger, his eyes blazing.
The sight of him immediately dried her tears, the shock of his presence replacing her sorrow.
"Chiara," Alessandro's voice was low and dangerous. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"