Page 152 of The Ache That Stayed

“Marcello.”

The accent was unmistakably Irish.

“This is Sean.”

I stilled. I knew exactly who he was.

“What is it?”

On the other end, I heard him draw a slow breath, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“You’ll want to get to St. Vincent’s.”

My grip tightened around the phone and my heartbeat picked up pace.

“Why?”

“Your woman’s here.”

The words landed clean. Too clean. And just like that, everything in my chest locked, sharp and immediate. An image flashed—metal, impact, her body too still against the road. It had been nothing then. A scratch. A scare. It didn’t feel like nothing now. My pulse thudded hard in my ears, drowning out everything else.

“Where’s Santino?” I asked.

“He took a hit,” Sean said finally, the words flat, unembellished.

Just the fact. My jaw tightened.

“You should get here.”

The line went dead.

The hospital smelled like a blend of antiseptic fear and hope. Sean met me at the entrance and took me inside. He didn’t slow as he led me inside, but I caught his arm before we crossed into the waiting area.

“What the fuck happened?”

His gaze flicked to me, unimpressed. “Mind the tone, lad.”

My grip tightened slightly. “Answer the question.”

A beat passed. Then, quieter, more measured.

“Someone had been asking questions about Roxanne. We tracked it back. Turned out to be someone closer than we expected.”

“Who?”

“Family,” he said.

My jaw locked.

“He went after her,” Sean continued. “Didn’t get far. Santino stepped in. Took the hit. Returned it.”

My gaze hardened. “And the rest?”

Sean shook his head once. “Whatever happened in there—you’ll get it from her. Or him. If he survives.”

I saw her before anyone spoke. She sat completely still, as though time had moved around her, and she had simply stopped within it. Her hands were stained with dried blood, dark against her skin, the same streaks marking her shirt and her face. Tear tracks cut through it in uneven lines, evidence that she had already broken long before I arrived.

For a moment, I didn’t move. Because this version of her—was not the woman I knew. Not the one who challenged me, who laughed against my mouth, who met me with equal force and fire.