"Keep an eye on him," I told Sergio the moment the door clicked shut behind me.
My hands were still curled into fists at my sides. I forced them to relax as I turned slightly, catching sight of the nurses slipping into Sandro's room with a tray of food. The ordinary domesticity of it felt almost obscene after the conversation we'd just had.
Sergio watched through the small window in the door, jaw tight, assessing. Always assessing.
"He agreed?" he asked, his Russian accent heavier than usual.
I nodded once.
A muscle ticked in his cheek. "Then I'll keep an eye on him."
We started toward the elevators, our footsteps echoing against the sterile tile.
"Why?" I asked coolly. "Did the boss say something to you?"
Sergio shook his head. "No."
The elevator doors slid open. We stepped inside.
"Just told me to handle it," he added flatly. "If he doesn't comply."
The implication hung in the air between us.
I met Sergio's gaze in the reflection of the mirrored wall.
"And if he does comply?" I asked quietly.
"Then he lives," Sergio replied without hesitation.
The doors slid shut, sealing us inside a descending cage of steel and silence. Neither of us spoke as the elevator carried us down. And when the doors opened again, the hospital lobby felt too bright. Too normal.
Outside, the car was already waiting at the curb.
One of Alex's men stepped forward immediately, opening the rear door for me without a word. I slid into the back seat, smoothing my coat as I did. Sergio took the passenger seat up front, posture rigid, eyes already scanning the street out of habit.
The door shut.
"The office," I instructed calmly.
The engine started, and the car pulled away from the curb, merging into the current of midday traffic as if nothing had shifted.
As if everything hadn't.
We had barely cleared the hospital block when my phone vibrated in my handbag. I didn't need to check the screen, because I already knew. Sergio's shoulders stiffened slightly in the front seat, his gaze flicking to the rearview mirror.
I held his eyes there for a brief second before answering it on the second ring.
"Yes?"
A beat of silence.
Then, low and controlled, "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
No greeting. No softness. Just steel.
"I assume Sergio already updated you," I replied evenly.
"I told him to wait for me to take you there."
His voice wasn't raised, though that would've been easier. No, it was measured. Precise. Which meant he was angry.
"I didn't realize I needed supervision to visit a recovering man in a hospital bed."
"You needed me there," he corrected sharply. "You don't walk into situations like that alone."
"I wasn't alone. Sergio was with me."
"That's not the point."
The city blurred past my window. All the taxis, pedestrians, glass towers reflecting the afternoon light. Everything seemed normal. Oblivious.
"Then what is the point, Alex?" I asked quietly.
A pause.
"You don't know what state he's in. You don't know what he could've said. Or done."
"He could barely sit up," I said. "He's weak, not homicidal."
"That's not what I meant."
I leaned back against the leather seat.
"I offered him a choice," I said.
Silence.
When he spoke again, his voice had dropped further. "You offered him what?"
"A position," I replied. "Consigliere."
Another pause, longer this time.
"You made that decision without me."
"Yes."
The word settled between us like a thrown gauntlet.
"You're testing me," he said quietly.
"No," I answered just as softly. "I'm acting."
The tension on the line was palpable.
"You think I don't see what you're doing?" he continued. "Building loyalty separate from mine. Making moves while I'm out handling the consequences of your war."
"Our war," I corrected.
A breath left him. Controlled, but edged.
"You don't get to make unilateral decisions about men whose loyalty is questionable."
"I didn't," I said. "I gave him a choice. Something no one's ever given him before."
"And if he refuses?"
"Then he walks."
"And if he betrays you?"
I met my own reflection in the tinted window.
"Then you can handle it," I said calmly.
Silence again.
When he spoke next, the anger had shifted into something darker. Something more personal.
"You don't move like that without telling me," he said. "Not when it concerns your safety."
My lips curved faintly.
"So that's what this is about."
"It's about you walking into a hospital room alone to face a man who could've strangled you with his IV line."
"He didn't."
"That's not the point," he repeated, more forcefully now.
I softened my voice deliberately.
"You left before sunrise," I said. "You didn't tell me where you were going. You didn't tell me what you were doing. You said you'd try to be back tonight."
"That's different."
"Is it?"
The question lingered.
We were both silent now, the only sound the faint rush of traffic through the speaker.
"I won't be sidelined, Alex," I said finally. "Not in this. And especially not in New York."
A long exhale.
"I'm not trying to sideline you."
"Then don't treat me like a liability."
Another pause.
"Look," I said, glancing up as the car slowed in front of the building. "I need to go. I'm already at the office."
There was a brief pause on the line, long enough to remind me that he didn't like ending conversations unfinished. Not when control was still hanging in the balance.
"Fine," he said at last, the word measured. "I'll try to make it back home tonight."
"Be careful."
A quiet exhale came through the speaker. "Always."
The line went dead.
For a moment, I remained seated with my phone still in my hand, staring at my own reflection in the tinted glass.
Then the rear door opened just as I slipped the phone back into my handbag and lifted my gaze.
"We're here," Sergio said.
I gave a single nod and stepped out onto the pavement.
The city air hit cooler than before, sharp against my skin. The building towered above us. Steel, glass and power dressed as architecture.
I squared my shoulders, smoothing an invisible crease from my coat. Every trace of hesitation sealed away behind practiced composure.
Sandro had given his choice.
Alex had drawn his line.
Now it was my turn.
Without another word, I walked toward the entrance. My heels striking the ground in steady rhythm, each step carrying me further from the woman who once waited for instructions. And closer to the one who no longer needed it.