The sterile scent of the hospital room wrapped around Giovanni like a suffocating fog. He had hardly slept since Alessia had been admitted. His eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt from days of stress, but he didn't care. None of that mattered. What mattered was Alessia.

She had almost died.

The weight of that truth crushed him every moment he sat at her bedside, helpless as the machines beeped in rhythm with her slow, laboured breaths. He had watched her fall apart from afar for so long, but now, as she hovered between life and death, he couldn't ignore how much he had failed her. He could feel the guilt like an iron fist in his chest.

It wasn't just the overdose that made his insides burn with shame; it was everything that led to it. The years he had spent fighting battles for the family, leaving her to face her demons alone. He had been blind, focused on Alessandro's well-being, trying to keep their lives from spiralling further out of control. But in doing so, he had neglected the one person who needed him most. Alessia.

He reached over, his fingers brushing against her cold hand, and for a fleeting second, he thought she might respond. Her fingers twitched, but she didn't open her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Alessia," Giovanni murmured, his voice thick with sorrow. "I didn't protect you. I wasn't there when you needed me. I was too wrapped up in everything else to see you were slipping away."

Once warm and full of life, her skin felt like ice under his touch. Her breathing was shallow, barely perceptible, but it was there. She was still here, at least for now.

A part of Giovanni hated himself for not noticing the cracks in her. The signs were there—her silences, her withdrawal, the way she had retreated from everything that used to bring her comfort. She had built walls so high around herself that even he, her older brother, couldn't climb over them. And now, he was paying the price.

The door opened softly, and Sandro entered the room, his steps heavy with the same worry that had been etched into Giovanni's face.

"How's she doing?" Sandro asked, his voice low as he walked toward Giovanni. He didn't need to be told. He could see the answer in the way Giovanni's face had aged in just a few days.

Giovanni looked up, his eyes hollow. "She's still unconscious. The doctors say she's stable but can't promise anything."

Sandro nodded, though his jaw tightened. He understood the pain his brother was in. They both had their faults when it came to Alessia, but this—this felt like an insurmountable failure.

Giovanni's gaze flickered back to Alessia, his fingers curling into a fist around her limp hand. "She's been through so much, Sandro. I should have seen it. I should have known. But I was too focused on everything else—on Alessandro, the family business, and protecting everyone. And now... look at her."

Sandro sat beside Giovanni, his hand resting on his brother's shoulder. "You can't carry all of this by yourself. I'm not excusing what happened, but Alessia's been carrying her pain alone for years. And none of us could have known how deep it went."

The words were meant to comfort, but Giovanni didn't feel comforted. All he could see was the broken image of his sister, lying there, disconnected from the world.

Sandro's voice softened. "I know you want to blame yourself. But you can't fix what's already happened. All we can do now is be here for her. She's not gone, Giovanni. She's still fighting. That's all we can ask for."

Giovanni clenched his jaw, trying to choke back the tears threatening to spill. "But what if it's not enough?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "What if I'm too late?"

Sandro stayed silent for a long moment, his eyes scanning the empty room before he spoke again. "You're not too late. And we're not giving up on her. None of us."

The hours stretched into an agonizing wait, each minute like an eternity. Giovanni hadn't left the hospital since Alessia had been brought in, and he wasn't about to leave now. The guilt was gnawing at him, but his love for his sister was a fire that burned too brightly for him to abandon her.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, a nurse entered the room. Her face was stoic, but her eyes held a glimmer of hope.

"She's stable for now," the nurse said, her voice calm but firm. "We're going to move her into a regular room, and we'll continue to monitor her. She's responding to the medication, but she's still in critical condition."

Giovanni nodded mutely, his heart heavy with both relief and dread. She was still alive. But for how long? He didn't know.

Sandro clapped him on the back before standing up. "Let's step outside for a minute. You need some air."

Giovanni didn't argue. He followed his brother into the hallway, taking one last glance at Alessia's fragile form before the door closed behind him.

The hallway was empty, and the sound of their footsteps echoed as they walked down its length. Giovanni's thoughts were racing. What if they had never found her? What if they hadn't gotten to her in time?

"Do you remember when we were kids?" Giovanni asked abruptly, his voice hoarse. "We'd run around the village, causing all kinds of trouble. Alessia would always be the one to make us laugh."

Sandro smiled, the memory of their childhood moments easing the tension in his face, if only for a moment. "Yeah, she had this way of lighting up the room. She'd get us out of trouble every time with her smile."

Giovanni's heart clenched at the thought of that smile, now hidden behind the silence and the pain she'd endured alone.

"She was always so strong," Giovanni murmured. "I think we all thought she could handle anything. But we were wrong, Sandro. I was wrong."

Sandro's voice grew firm. "You can't keep punishing yourself for this. None of us could see it. None of us knew what she was really going through. But she's here, Giovanni. She's still with us. And that means she wants to fight. You need to fight with her."

Giovanni swallowed hard, the weight of his brother's words settling into his bones. He knew Sandro was right, but the fear—the crippling fear that he was losing her—was still overwhelming.

Alessia wasn't out of the woods yet. But Giovanni made a silent promise to her as he stood there, trying to push back the ache in his chest. He would do whatever it took to help her heal.

He would never abandon her again.