The sterile white of the private medical facility felt like a trap designed to mock my power. I stood in the hallway outside the primary surgical suite, the red light above the double doors burning a silent, steady accusation.

Domenico had forced me to let the medical team work over my own grazed rib wound, stitching it up quickly, but the physical pain was a distant, annoying hum compared to the hollow, icy dread consuming my chest. Enzo and Rocco were securing the perimeter.

I hadn't cried. ...