After a while, Lorenzo finally stood up from the steel chair beside Riccardo's hospital bed. His legs were stiff, his body sore from hours of tense waiting, but he didn't care. He glanced one last time at Riccardo, making a silent vow in his heart.
Then he walked to the door and opened it quietly. Two of his personal guards immediately straightened when they saw him step out.
Lorenzo's voice was low but razor-sharp. "Listen carefully. No one — no one — goes inside this room unless you see their faces clearly, confirm they work here, and double-check with Romano. I don't care if it's the damn Pope standing here—no face you don't recognize gets in."
The guards both nodded without hesitation, their faces hardening with determination.
Satisfied, Lorenzo adjusted his sleeves, wiped a little dried blood from his knuckles, and strode down the hall. The driver was already waiting near the hospital entrance, standing stiffly beside the black SUV.
