Luca lay still against the stiff white sheets, one arm stretched out while dark red blood slipped steadily through the IV line and into his veins. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside him filled the room. His head rested against the pillow, eyes half-lidded, not quite asleep. His thoughts drifted in and out—fragments of voices, flashes of memory, the constant replay of everything that had happened in the last few days.
The door opened quietly. Luca already knew who it was.
"Luciano…" Don Genovese's voice came softly.
That made Luca open his eyes.
"Father," he greeted. His gaze followed Massimo as the older man stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. "How are you doing?" Luca asked. There was sadness in his father's eyes.
Massimo let out a quiet breath, moving closer until he stood beside the bed, looking down at his son. "I should be asking you that."
