They kept Killian in the hospital for three days.
Three days of him fighting the doctors about being bedridden. Three days of nurses trying to enforce rest while he insisted on checking his phone every five minutes. Three days of Isla refusing to leave his side despite his protests that she needed real rest, a real bed, real food.
"You're hovering," he said on day two.
"You almost died. I'm allowed to hover."
"I'm fine."
"You have two bullet wounds and seventeen stitches. You're not fine."
"I've had worse."
"That's not reassuring." Isla adjusted his pillow despite his glare. "And stop trying to get up. The doctor said bedrest."
"The doctor doesn't run a criminal empire that's currently vulnerable because its leader is unconscious."
"Luca's handling it."
"Luca's capable, but—"
