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I want to call out to him, to run over and pull him into my arms, but my legs are stuck. I can only stand there, watching as he stops in front of a door, slides his key card into the lock, and disappears inside.

“Sir?” Davide says beside me. “I can go bring him.”

“No,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse.

I need to go to him myself.

I tell Davide and Doctor Hill to go to the suite, barely waiting for their response before making my way down the corridor. I quicken my steps despite the pain in my body, keeping my eyes on the door Alexander disappeared through.

As I approach it, I begin to wonder what I'm going to say to him. Part of me wants to demand to know why he left without telling anyone where he was going, and another part wants to hold him and never let him out of my sight again.

I stop in front of his door and take a moment to steady myself before knocking. I hear movement from inside, followed by the sound of the lock turning. When the door opens, Alexander looks up at me and freezes.

And fuck, he's breathtaking.

Seeing him now, after all these days, reminds me of the first time I laid eyes on him and couldn't look away. His powder-blue eyes are wide behind his new glasses, and his blond hair is falling messily over his forehead, just as it always does.

There's still some faint bruising on his face, and seeing it makes me clench my jaw, but he's standing in front of me, alive and looking so fucking beautiful that I forget everything I was planning to say.

I take my time looking at him, wanting to memorize every little detail I've missed. I've spent so many nights wondering where he is, whether he's eating properly, and whether he's getting enough sleep. There were moments when I was so fucking scared that I'd never see him again, and now that he's here, I don't know what to do with the overwhelming relief spreading through my chest.

I want to touch him, to pull him against me and reassure myself that he’s real, but I hold back, afraid he’ll step away if I reach for him. Instead, I release the breath I’ve been holding since the moment I woke up in that hospital and learned he was gone, and now that I finally feel like I can breathe again, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hello, my little stripper.”

Chapter

Thirty-Two

ALEX

“Hello, my little stripper.”

The first thing I feel when I see Antonio standing at my door is relief.

I know from Logan that Antonio has been looking for me and has sworn not to return to New York until he finds me. It's why I deliberately kept my whereabouts from my friends. I know they love me, but they'd crack the moment Antonio started asking questions, and I wasn't willing to take that chance.

I even left my phone behind in New York so he wouldn't be able to track me. I thought I'd covered my tracks well, but I underestimated just how stubborn the man can be.

The second thing I feel is horror when I finally take a proper look at him. Antonio looks like he's just been dug out of the ground after being buried alive.

His left arm is still in a sling, and there's dried blood on his shirt sleeve that makes my stomach twist. A thick, square pad of white gauze is taped over his throat, held in place by wide strips of medical tape that stretch from his jawline down to his collarbone. The dressing looks so tight and uncomfortable that he's holding his chin at an awkward angle, barely moving his head as he looks at me.

God, what have I done?

I can't believe he traveled in this condition. He should be in a hospital, resting and allowing his injuries to heal. My eyes move back to his face, and I notice the faint smile on his lips. Despite how terrible he looks, he's watching me with so much tenderness that my chest starts to ache.

His face has become ashen, his usual olive complexion replaced by a gray pallor that makes his cheekbones appear almost severe enough to cut through the skin. Dark shadows sit beneath his eyes, which are red-rimmed and bloodshot, and his lips look dry and slightly cracked. There's a faint bruise along his jaw, and a healing cut near his temple.

He looks terrible.

He looks exhausted, dangerous, and half-starved. Yet, he's still breathtaking. Even more so now that the man standing before me has lost some of the polish that always makes him seem so untouchable, and what remains is pure human.

His dark hair falls carelessly across his forehead, and his hollow cheeks make his mouth appear fuller. For once, he doesn't look like the powerful, cruel man who has everyone around him terrified of saying the wrong thing.

I had imagined this moment so many times since leaving New York. I thought he’d be furious when he saw me again, ready to punish me for disappearing, but I never imagined this broken and exhausted version of him.

“How did you find me?” I blurt out, still struggling to believe he's actually standing in front of me.