FIFTY FOUR

Marco's face went pale, he had always been strong, always in control. The thought of being crippled was almost too much to bear, “Do whatever you can,” he managed to say. “Just fix it.”

The doctor nodded and beckoned to the nurses to get Marco ready for surgery, as they wheeled him away, Marco’s mind was occupied with thoughts of retaliation and the reality of his situation.

Marco was wheeled into the stark germ free environment of the surgery room. The bright overhead light reflected off the beaming metal instruments laid out on a tray nearby. He could hear the soft hum of machines and the quiet murmur of medical staff as they prepared for the procedure.

“Alright, let's move quickly,” the lead surgeon said, glancing at Marco's leg. “This is a critical case, we need to stabilize the damage and minimize any further complications.”

The nurses efficiently moved around the room, their movements precise and practiced. One nurse placed and oxygen mask over Marco's face, while another prepared the IV drip with anesthesia. Marco felt a cold rush through his veins as the medication took effect, and the world around him began to blur.

“Scalpel,” the surgeon requested, his voice calm and authoritative.

A nurse passed him the scalpel and he commenced the first incision with steady hands. Blood flowed out of the injury, and the surgical crew moved quickly to manage the bleeding.

“Suction,” the surgeon called out, and a nurse immadietly applied the suction device to keep the area clear.

“Let's get a sharp-eyed view of the femur,” the surgeon ordered. “We’ll need to figure out the lenght of the damage and determine the best approach.”

The crew worked at the same time, the beeping on monitors providing a constant flow to their movements. The surgeon carefully inspected the damaged femur , his brow lining in concentration.

“It's worst than I thought,” he muttered. We’ll need to insert a metal rod, to stabilize the bone. Get the orthopedic kit ready.”

A nurse quickly brought over the kit, and the surgeon began the delicate process of aligning the bone frangments and securing them with metal rod.

“Watch his vitals carefully,” the surgeon said, not looking up from his work. “We can't afford any complications.”

As the surgery continued, the team moved running smoothly, each member preparing the next step and working uniformly together. The tension in the room was obvious, but the surgeon remained concentrated, his hands steady and sure.

After several hours, the surgeon finally stepped back, his gloves and gown sploshed with blood. “The rod is in place,” he said , his voice tinged with relief. “Let's close his up and get him to recovery.”

The nurses move in to the incision, their hands deft and efficient. Marco was then carefully transfered to a recovery bed, and wheeled out of the surgery room.

Marco lay unconscious in the recovery room, his leg heavily bandaged and elevated. The soft beeping of the monitors continued . The surgeon steeped out to speak with Marco’s men who were anxiously waiting.

“The surgery was successful,” the surgeon said, wiping his forehead. “But the damage was extensive. It's too early to tell, but there's a high chance he may not walk properly again.”

Marco's men exchanged worried glances, but nodded, “Thank you, Doctor,” Giovanni said, we appreciate everything you’ve done.”

…….🌵
Back in Russia , Lucas hadn't moved an inch from Olivia’s side, he watched her chest rise and fall with each breath , willing her to wake up. He knew the fight wasn't over, Massimo was dead, but Marco was still out there.

As if on cue, Lucas's phone buzzed with a message from one of his men, “Marco’s men have taken him back to NewYork. He’s in bad shape, but alive.”

Lucas's eyes narrowed, he couldn't let his guard down. Not until Olivia was safe and threat eliminated for good.

He leaned closer to Olivia , pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead, “Hang in there, pretty doll,” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Lucas knew the battle was far from over, but one thing one certain for him, he would do whatever it takes to protect Olivia. Lucas pressed a gentle kiss on Olivia's forehead again. As he pulled back, the door to the room opened, and the doctor walked, his expression calm but firm.

“Mr Moretti, it's midnight already,” the doctor said quietly, “You should get some rest, Miss Carter is responding well to the treatment.”

Lucas shook his head, “I’m not leaving her side.”

The doctor placed a reassuring hand on Lucas's shoulder, “I understand, but you need to take care of yourself too. She’ll need you when she wakes up. I assure you, she’s stable and in good hands.”

Lucas nodded, but remained resolute, “I'm fine here. I’ll rest when she wakes up.”

Seeing Lucas's resolve, the doctor sighed and strolled out of the room, leaving Lucas alone with Olivia once more. The night drawed on, each second feeling like an eternity . Lucas's eyes never left Olivia’s face, his heart pounding with worry and guilt.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the window , Lucas noticed a flutter of movement . Olivia's eyelids twitched, and slowly , she opened her eyes. Her gaze was unfocused at first , blinking against the harsh light of the room.

Lucas leaned closer, his heart pounding with relief. “Olivia,” he whispered , his voice thick with emotion. “You’re awake.”

Olivia's eyes slowly found Lucas's face, she stared at him for several long moments, her expression puzzled. “Who…who are you?” she asked weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucas's heart dropped . He stared at her, shock and confusion flooding in his mind. “Olivia, it's me, Lucas.”

But Olivia only blinked at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Lucas?” she repeated.

Panic surged through Lucas, Olivia hadn't been shot in the head, and the doctor had said nothing about memory loss. He tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke, “Yes, Lucas, Don't you remember me?”

Olivia shook her head slightly, “I….I don't know you.”