All Chapters of Falling for the Enemy : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Luca’s POVThere’s a distinct kind of helplessness that comes with watching your child suffer. It’s different from any other pain I’ve known. I’ve been through hell and back. I’ve seen men break under the weight of my fists, watched blood stain my hands more times than I can count. I’ve faced death, I’ve welcomed it, I’ve laughed in its face.But this?This is different.Because no matter how much power I have, no matter how many doctors I call, how many strings I pull, I can’t take this away from Matteo. I can’t fix this with my fists. I can’t kill this disease.And it’s driving me insane.Sienna is curled up beside Matteo’s hospital bed, her head resting on the mattress, her hand wrapped around his tiny fingers. She hasn’t moved in hours. I don’t think she’s even noticed me pacing the room like a caged animal.I don’t know how much more of this I can take.The doctors did what they had to do. They placed the feeding tube. They reassured us that Matteo would get the nutrients he need

Sienna’s POVPacking should be simple.But when you’re boxing up your life in two suitcases, it becomes something else entirely. Every item I pick up feels like a choice between holding on and letting go.We leave for Switzerland in less than two weeks. Two weeks to prepare, to say goodbye, to brace ourselves for the unknown.I fold Matteo’s favorite blue onesie into his suitcase, running my fingers over the soft fabric. He’s outgrown it, but I can’t bring myself to leave it behind. He’s only two, and yet it feels like we’ve already lived a lifetime of struggles with him.Luca moves through the bedroom, focused and efficient. He’s always been like this—taking charge when everything feels chaotic. But I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches every time he zips up another bag.I can’t do this right now. If I stop to think, I’ll break.So I force myself to keep going, to keep folding, to keep moving.The door creaks open, and Alessandro peeks in, his little face full

Sienna’s POVDr. Laurent Moreau’s words echo in my head long after he leaves the room.“We have a plan.”It should be reassuring. It should feel like the lifeline I’ve been desperately waiting for.But hope is a dangerous thing.It lifts you up just to drop you from even greater heights.I glance at Matteo, his small body curled up in the hospital bed, his chest rising and falling with that same fragile rhythm that haunts me in my sleep. The beeping of the machines monitoring him is steady, but it feels like a countdown—each beep ticking away at the time we have to save him.Luca is quiet beside me, his fingers laced with mine, his grip firm but gentle. He hasn’t spoken much since we got here, but I can feel his tension through our joined hands.He’s terrified.Just like I am.Dr. Moreau returns an hour later with a team of doctors trailing behind him, each one carrying stacks of files, tablets, and research papers.“We’re going to run a few more tests,” he explains, flipping through

Sienna’s POVRelief is a fragile thing.It rushes in like a wave, filling every crevice of your being—only to recede the moment you remember that the fight isn’t over yet.Dr. Moreau’s words—“The treatment is working.”—had lifted something off my chest, something so heavy I hadn’t even realized how much it was crushing me.But Matteo is still so small, so weak, his body struggling under the strain of the aggressive treatment. His skin is paler than I’ve ever seen it, his once-lively hazel eyes dull with exhaustion.Every time he stirs, every time he shifts in discomfort, I feel the urge to do something, anything, to make it better. But all I can do is hold his tiny hand in mine, whispering soft reassurances as if my words alone can heal him.I want to believe they can.I need to believe they can.The hospital room has become our entire world.I barely remember what fresh air feels like.I don’t know what day it is anymore, what time it is—everything blends into a never-ending cycle of

The rhythmic beeping of the monitors had become the soundtrack of my life. I knew every pause, every hitch, every shift in Matteo’s breathing before the machines registered it. I was attuned to it, because this was my son. And I was losing my mind waiting for him to come back to me.I ran a hand through my hair, gripping it at the roots before exhaling through my nose. “Come on, buddy,” I whispered. “You’ve always been a fighter. Give me something, anything.”Sienna sat across from me, curled in the chair beside Matteo’s bed. She was holding his tiny hand, her thumb moving in slow, soothing strokes. Her face was pale, exhaustion pulling at her features, but she didn’t let go. Not once.“You need to rest,” I told her softly.She shook her head without looking at me. “Not until he wakes up.”I swallowed, shifting my chair closer to the bed. My fingers brushed Matteo’s leg through the hospital blanket, willing him to feel my touch.A week. Seven days since he had last spoken. Since he ha