The Longest Night

**[Ace's POV]**
The hospital waiting room smelled like antiseptic and fear. I'd been in rooms like this before—waiting for news on men who'd taken bullets for me, who'd bled out on operating tables while I paced these same sterile floors. But this was different. This was Sofia.
Jaxon squirmed in my arms, letting out a whimper that threatened to escalate into a full cry. I shifted him, trying to remember how Sofia held him, the way she instinctively knew what he needed. But my hands felt clumsy, too large, too violent for something so small and perfect.
"Shh, buddy," I whispered, rocking him gently. "Mommy's gonna be okay. She has to be okay."
The doors to the surgical wing remained stubbornly closed. Sofia had been in there for two hours and forty-three minutes. I knew because I'd counted every single second.
"Mr. Hernandez?" A nurse approached, clipboard in hand. Her expression was professionally neutral—the kind of neutral that made my stomach drop. "The doctor wanted me to update you. Mrs. Hernandez is still in surgery. The bullet nicked her subclavian artery. They're working to repair it now."
"Is she going to make it?" The words came out harsh, demanding.
The nurse's expression softened slightly. "Dr. Morrison is one of the best vascular surgeons in the state. She's in good hands."
It wasn't an answer. I wanted to grab her, demand certainty, guarantees, something concrete to hold onto. But Jaxon chose that moment to start crying in earnest, his face scrunching up in that way that meant he was hungry and tired and overwhelmed.
Join the club, kid.
"Sir, there's a family room down the hall with more privacy," the nurse offered. "And we can have someone bring you formula if the baby needs—"
"He's breastfed." The words felt like a confession of failure. Sofia had been so adamant about it, had pushed through the pain and difficulty in those first days after Jaxon was born. And now she was on an operating table, possibly dying, and our son was crying for her.
"We have a pump and bottles if you'd like to—"
"I don't have..." I stopped, helpless. I didn't have anything. No formula, no bottles, no fucking clue how to take care of a newborn by myself. Sofia handled all of that. Sofia knew what every cry meant, knew how to soothe him, knew everything I didn't.
"It's okay," the nurse said gently. "Let me get you set up."
She disappeared, leaving me alone with my screaming son and the growing certainty that I was failing them both.
"Boss." Ice appeared from the elevator, carrying what looked like an entire baby supply store. "Dante hit up the twenty-four hour pharmacy. We got formula, bottles, diapers, wipes—basically everything the guy behind the counter recommended."
I'd never been more grateful to see him. "I don't know how to—"
"I've got three nephews." Ice set the bags down and reached for Jaxon. "May I?"
I handed him over, watching as Ice held my son with an ease that made my inadequacy even more apparent. Within seconds, Jaxon's cries had reduced to hiccupping sobs.
"You just gotta support the head," Ice explained, already mixing formula one-handed like he'd done it a thousand times. "And make sure the bottle's at the right angle so he doesn't get air."
I watched him feed Jaxon, memorizing every movement. My son's tiny hand wrapped around Ice's finger as he ate, his eyes already starting to droop with exhaustion.
"She's going to pull through," Ice said quietly. "Sofia's a fighter."
"She got shot because of me." The words tasted like ash. "Gabriel took her because of me. Everything that's happened—"
"Is because Gabriel's a psychotic bastard with a grudge." Ice's voice was firm. "You didn't pull that trigger, Ace. And Sofia knew what she was signing up for when she married into this life."
"Did she?" I sank into one of the plastic chairs, my head in my hands. "She was seventeen when her father forced her into this. She never had a choice."
"She had a choice every day after. And every day, she chose you." Ice shifted Jaxon to his shoulder, patting his back to burp him. "She chose this family. Give her some credit for that."
The elevator dinged. Dante stepped out, phone pressed to his ear, looking grim. He ended the call and approached us.
"Gabriel's secure in the medical wing under guard. Ice, we've got a problem—three of our warehouses were hit while we were extracting you. Looks coordinated."
"Who?" I asked, though I already suspected.
"Raven's remnants. They've been quiet for months, but this gave them an opening. They're making a move for territory."
I should care. Three warehouses meant millions in product and revenue. Meant a challenge to Hernandez authority. Meant I needed to respond with force and strategy.
But all I could think about was Sofia bleeding out on a table somewhere beyond those doors.
"Handle it," I said flatly.
Dante blinked. "Handle it? Ace, this is serious. If we don't respond—"
"I said handle it." I met his eyes. "You're my second for a reason. Make the calls. Do what needs to be done. I'm not leaving this hospital until I know Sofia's okay."
Understanding flickered across Dante's face, followed by concern. "Alright. I'll coordinate with the other families, shore up defenses. But Ace... you need to be prepared. If Sofia doesn't—"
"Don't." The word came out sharp as a blade. "Don't finish that sentence."
He nodded slowly. "I'll be in touch."
After Dante left, Ice handed Jaxon back to me. Our son was milk-drunk and drowsy, his tiny body warm and trusting against my chest. I held him like he was made of glass, terrified I'd break him.
"You're doing fine," Ice said.
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"None of us do. Not really." He settled into the chair beside me. "When my sister had her first kid, she called me crying at three AM because she was convinced she was killing him. Turned out he just had gas."
Despite everything, I felt my mouth twitch. "What did you tell her?"
"That being terrified meant she cared enough to try. That's all any parent can do—care and try." He paused. "Sofia knows that. She knows you'll figure it out."
"What if she doesn't wake up to see it?"
The question hung in the air, ugly and brutal. Ice didn't offer false comfort or empty reassurances. He just sat there with me, a solid presence in the chaos.
Jaxon's breathing had evened out, his face peaceful in sleep. I studied his features—Sofia's nose, my stubborn chin, a perfect blend of both of us. He was proof that something good could come from all this violence. That love could grow even in the darkest soil.
I'd killed my first man when I was nine. Had taken more lives than I could count. Had built an empire on blood and fear. But holding my son, waiting to learn if my wife would live or die, I'd never felt more powerless in my life.
**[Sofia's POV]**
Everything was white. Not the harsh fluorescent white of the warehouse, but soft, gentle, like clouds or cotton or—
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
The sound was rhythmic, mechanical. Familiar somehow, but I couldn't place it. I tried to open my eyes, but they were so heavy. Everything was heavy except the part of me that felt like it was floating.
*"We're losing her pressure. Get me two units of O-neg, now!"*
Voices, urgent and distant. I should probably care about that, should probably try to understand what they were saying, but I was so tired.
*Ace.*
The thought came with a flash of memory—his face, desperate and afraid, as blood seeped between his fingers. My blood. I'd been shot. And Jaxon—
Terror gave me strength. I tried to move, to speak, to ask if my baby was safe, but my body wouldn't cooperate. Panic clawed at my chest. Where was Jaxon? Where was Ace? Why couldn't I feel anything?
*"She's tachycardic. Push one of epi."*
More voices. Medical terms I recognized from my abandoned dreams of becoming a doctor. Tachycardia meant my heart was racing. Epi was epinephrine. They were trying to keep me alive.
But did I want them to?
The thought was intrusive, unwelcome. Of course I wanted to live. I had Jaxon. I had Ace. I had a life worth fighting for. But I was so tired of fighting.
I'd fought my father's fists. Fought my way through an arranged marriage. Fought to love a man who'd been trained not to feel. Fought to bring a baby into this world, and fought again when his heart stopped beating.
How much more could I fight?
*"Sofia."*
Ace's voice, but different. Younger somehow. I turned toward the sound and found myself standing in our bedroom at the Hernandez mansion. Ace sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "Ace?" I moved closer, but he didn't look up.
"I can't do this without you," he said, his voice breaking. "I don't know how to be a father. I don't know how to be anything good without you."
"I'm right here." I reached out to touch him, but my hand passed through his shoulder like smoke.
"You have to come back." He was crying now, actual tears streaming down his face. "You have to come back because Jaxon needs you. I need you. And I know I don't deserve you, I know I'm not—"
*"Blood pressure stabilizing."*
The bedroom wavered like a reflection in disturbed water. I could feel something pulling me away from Ace, away from this strange in-between place.
"Wait!" I tried to stay, tried to reach him, but the pull was too strong. *"That's it. Come on, Sofia. Stay with us."*
The white light was getting brighter, more insistent. I had a choice to make, I realized. Stay in this peaceful, painless place, or fight my way back to the hard, brutal reality of consciousness.
But in that reality, Ace was crying. Jaxon needed his mother. My family needed me whole and alive.
I'd spent my whole life being told I wasn't strong enough, wasn't brave enough, wasn't enough. But I'd killed my own brother to protect the man I loved. I'd survived labor and the terror of watching my son's heart stop. I'd stared down Gabriel with a gun to my baby's head.
I was Sofia Hernandez. And I didn't quit.
I fought toward the light, toward the pain, toward the sound of my own heartbeat steadying. Each breath was agony, but I dragged them in anyway. Each second of consciousness was a battle, but I waged it.
Because Ace needed me. Because Jaxon needed me. Because I'd promised them forever, and I kept my promises.
**[Ace's POV]**
The surgeon emerged from the operating room at 4:47 AM. I knew because I'd been staring at the clock for the last hour, watching the minutes crawl by like years.
I stood, still holding Jaxon against my chest. Ice stood with me, a silent show of support.
Dr. Morrison pulled down her surgical mask. She looked exhausted but not defeated. That had to be good, right?
"Mr. Hernandez," she said. "Your wife is out of surgery."
Three words. Just three words, but they felt like my first breath after drowning.
"And?" I managed.
"The bullet nicked her subclavian artery, as I mentioned. We were able to repair the damage, but she lost a significant amount of blood. The next twenty-four hours are critical." She paused. "She's strong, though. Her vitals are stable. She's a fighter."
"Can I see her?"
"She's in recovery now. Once she's moved to ICU, you can sit with her. But Mr. Hernandez—" Her expression softened slightly. "She's not awake. And she might not be for a while. Her body needs time to heal."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"There's one more thing." Dr. Morrison glanced at Jaxon. "She'll need help when she wakes up. The injury to her shoulder means she won't be able to lift anything for weeks. That includes the baby. You'll need to be prepared for that."
"I'll manage." The words came out more confident than I felt.
After the doctor left, I sank back into the chair, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up. Jaxon stirred against my chest, making small sounds in his sleep.
"You hear that, buddy?" I whispered. "Mommy's okay. She's going to be okay."
Ice squeezed my shoulder. "I'll stay. In case you need anything."
"You don't have to—"
"I know. But I'm staying anyway." He settled back into his chair. "What are brothers for?"
Brothers. The word made me think of Gabriel, unconscious in his own hospital bed under armed guard. My half-brother. The man who'd tried to destroy everything I loved because he'd never been given the chance to love anything himself.
I understood his rage. Understood the poison Kai had left in both of us. But unlike Gabriel, I'd found something worth more than revenge.
I looked down at Jaxon, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. Thought about Sofia fighting her way back to us somewhere beyond these walls.
This. This was worth fighting for. Worth living for. Worth being better than the monster my father had tried to create.
"Ice?" I said quietly.
"Yeah?"
Thank you. For the shot. For being there. For all of it."
He nodded, understanding everything I couldn't quite say.
We sat in silence, waiting for dawn. Waiting for Sofia to wake up. Waiting to start putting our shattered family back together, one painful piece at a time.
The longest night was finally ending.
But I had a feeling the hardest days were still ahead.