The hospital was a blur of sterile white walls and hushed voices. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air, and Giovanni's heart thundered in his chest as they rushed Alessia into the emergency room. He stood back, pacing, as doctors and nurses swarmed around her, working tirelessly to bring her back.

"She's stable, for now," one of the doctors said, but Giovanni could see the hesitancy in their eyes. They hadn't said the worst yet, but he knew. He knew it wasn't looking good.

Time stretched on in agonizing silence. Giovanni sat in the waiting room, his fingers pressed to his temples as he tried to push away the flood of thoughts threatening to consume him. Alessia had nearly died in his arms. She was fighting for her life, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that she was already slipping away from him.

A voice broke through his spiralling thoughts.

"Giovanni." Sandro's voice was soft but firm, his hand resting on his brother's shoulder. "We're not giving up on her. We'll find a way through this. You've got to stay strong."

Giovanni barely heard him. The guilt he carried was unbearable. If he had only checked on her earlier and had only been more present for her, maybe none of this would have happened.

"She... she needed me, Sandro," Giovanni said, his voice hollow. "I wasn't there for her. I failed her."

"You didn't fail her, Giovanni," Sandro replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "You've been through hell yourself. You've been dealing with Alessandro's condition. You can't blame yourself for this."

Giovanni looked at his brother, his eyes filled with tears. "She's my sister. She's everything to me, and I wasn't there."

Sandro stepped closer, his hand on Giovanni's shoulder now. "We're all in this together. We'll be here for her. And we'll get through this as a family."