Chapter 8 - The Night Clara Almost Lost HimSix months changed everything.
Clara entered graduate nursing school.
Roman converted 2 warehouses into legitimate distribution centers.
Leo became director of corporate security and complained constantly about having to attend meetings with human resources.
Clara’s mother moved into a brighter room overlooking a garden.
And Clara kept her apartment.
That mattered.
She spent many nights at Roman’s penthouse.
But she kept her own key.
Her own address.
Her own life.
Roman never asked her to surrender any of it.
They argued.
Frequently.
Roman hated her night classes.
Clara hated his tendency to send a driver when it rained.
Roman believed takeout sushi was unacceptable.
Clara believed a man who owned 4 restaurants should stop complaining and order from one.
It was imperfect.
Normal.
Almost.
Until November 17.
Clara was leaving class when Leo called.
“Where are you?”
Something in his voice stopped her.
“Campus.”
“Stay there.”
“Leo.”
“Clara—”
“What happened?”
Silence.
Then:
“Roman’s been shot.”
The world disappeared.
Six words.
That was all it took.
She did not remember reaching the hospital.
She remembered running.
Elevator.
Fourth floor.
Blood.
Leo.
His shirt stained red.
Not his blood.
“Where?”
“Surgery.”
Clara’s knees nearly gave out.
“What happened?”
“One of Carmine’s old crews.”
“I thought they were gone.”
“So did we.”
“How many wounds?”
“Two.”
Her stomach dropped.
History repeating itself.
“Where?”
“Chest and abdomen.”
Clara closed her eyes.
No.
Not again.
Hours passed.
Clara sat beneath fluorescent lights.
This time, she was not wearing scrubs.
She was not the nurse.
She was the person waiting.
It was infinitely worse.
At 3:12 a.m., the surgeon emerged.
Roman was alive.
Critical.
But alive.
Clara cried for the first time.
Not graceful tears.
She folded against Leo’s chest and sobbed.
Leo held her awkwardly.
“He’s going to make it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
“Because he’s too stubborn to die.”
Clara laughed through tears.
It sounded broken.
When Roman woke 14 hours later, Clara was beside him.
His eyes opened slowly.
Gray.
Clouded.
Alive.
“Hey,” Clara whispered.
Roman tried to speak.
Nothing came.
She leaned closer.
“Don’t.”
His fingers moved.
Clara took his hand.
Roman squeezed weakly.
Then whispered:
“Bad habit.”
“What?”
“Getting shot.”
Clara burst into tears again.
Roman looked alarmed.
“No.”
She laughed and cried simultaneously.
“You absolute bastard.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You promised.”
“I promised not to lock you up.”
“You promised breakfast.”
Roman smiled weakly.
“We can still have breakfast.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
Clara kissed his knuckles.
“You better.”
Recovery was slower this time.
Roman hated weakness.
Clara refused to indulge him.
He tried to walk too early.
She threatened him with the infamous staple gun.
He tried to conduct meetings from bed.
She confiscated his laptop.
He asked Leo for another one.
Leo sided with Clara.
Roman called it betrayal.
But beneath the humor, something changed.
Roman had nearly died again.
And Clara had nearly lost him.
One night, 2 weeks after the shooting, Roman woke to find Clara sitting by the window.
“You’re awake.”
“So are you.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Roman studied her.
“You’ve been different.”
Clara looked outside.
“I’m angry.”
“At me?”
“Yes.”
“For being shot?”
“For making me love you.”
Silence.
Clara closed her eyes.
There.
She had said it.
She had imagined the words arriving in some beautiful moment.
Instead, they came at 2:00 a.m. beside a hospital bed.
Roman did not speak.
Clara looked at him.
He was staring at her.
Completely stunned.
“Say something.”
“I’m trying.”
“You usually have something arrogant ready.”
“I love you too.”
The words were simple.
Unprotected.
Clara’s eyes filled again.
Roman reached toward her.
She crossed the room and sat carefully beside him.
He touched her face.
“I have loved you since you told me to shut up while I was bleeding to death.”
“That’s disturbing.”
“I’m aware.”
May you like
She kissed him.
And for once, there was no fear hiding underneath it.
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