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I search for Francesco but see nothing past the smoke. “Open your eyes, Ella,” I pick her up into my arms and bring my head closer to her chest.
Before I am able to hear her heartbeat, a woman runs out of the wreckage, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her voice gets gargled with the blood oozing from her throat, and she falls in my feet.
I gather Ella into my arms, her weight unsettlingly light against my chest. The rhythmic thud of sirens merges with the cadence of my racing heart as I carry her away from the remnants of the explosion to the nearest bench. Its surface is cool beneath my fingers. Gently, I lay her down. Her eyes remain closed, a haunting stillness that raises my concern.
‘Fuck! FUCK!’ I can’t hear my own voice.
I gambled with her safety.
My heart starts hammering in my chest. “Say something, please.” I press my fingers against the pulse point on her neck, seeking a reassuring throb. Nothing. I hover over her, my gaze fixed on her face.
I cannot name my own feelings.
Despair isn’t even close.
It is as if somebody has ripped my heart out.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ELLA
Iwake up to the deafening sound of chaos, my head throbbing in pain. I try to touch it but my body feels weak. The acrid smell of smoke fills the air, assaulting my senses and I look around, forcing my head up.
Everything is a blur, and I struggle to make sense of my surroundings. Terror grips my heart as everything comes into focus. Oh God. I look at the rubble around me. Spago. It’s gone. I pant for air. Tommaso. No.
My eyes frantically search for him. Where is he?! Through the haze, I hear his voice, sharp and loud. I try to call him but my throat feels dry. I feel the warm tears sliding down my cold cheeks. I try to make sense of what he’s saying but his voice keeps getting muffled with the noise of sirens and screams.
How did this happen? I hear him swearing. He's cursing his men, blaming them for failing to foresee the attack. I try to sit up, but my body feels heavy, unresponsive. The world spins, and I can barely register the devastation that surrounds me.
Tommaso's eyes meet mine as he turns back, and for a moment, his intense gaze cuts through the chaos. I feel my eyes welling up again. He runs towards me.
“Oh God! You’re okay?” He is baffled. “Where does it hurt? Ella? Talk to me!” He cups my face in his hands.
“My… my head,” I can barely make out the words.
He swiftly moves towards me, concern etched across his face, and scoops me up in his arms. I groan in pain and confusion against his chest and my hand grips his shoulder. He takes me away from the wreckage to the safety of the small bookshop next to Spago.
Everything goes mute as the door of the shop closes behind us.
Tommaso's attention is solely on me, but I can barely register his words. My hands keep gripping his arms as he puts me down and sits beside me. My head throbs relentlessly, each heartbeat echoing through my skull.
Tommaso's voice cuts through the fog in my mind. "You hit your head?" he asks, his concern evident. But my focus is fragmented. I mumble a response with a nod, my words barely coherent.
“Don’t sleep.” He asserts. “Do you hear me?” It sounds more like an order rather than a question. I force a nod. He holds my hand as tears roll down my cheeks and glances at me, his eyes reflecting a mixture of worry and care. I watch him rise from his crouched position and groan in pain.
A sudden wave of dizziness makes it difficult for me to focus but I notice him swaying. He passes by me, his movements unsteady, and it takes a moment for me to register the dark stain beneath him. Blood. Pooling at his feet. It’s almost imperceptible against the black fabric of his suit. Panic seizes me as I realize he’s injured. Oh no. No. NO! I can practically hear my heart thumping in my throat. I get up forcefully, and grab his arm.
“Tommaso?” my voice trembles and tears drop as I look at his thigh, he’s hurt. Badly. In the frenzy, neither of us noticed the shard of glass that must have struck him during the explosion from one of the windows. It struck him when he was shielding me. He got hurt… To protect me?
My body starts to tremble and I gasp for air. I scream for help. He tries to grip on my waist but his hands keep slipping off. I hold them tightly.
“Please! HELP!!” I wail louder and look around the shop. Suddenly the door opens and Francesco rushes towards us as soon as he hears me crying. His eyes widen at the sight of Tommaso's blood-soaked shoes, and urgency replaces the usual stoicism on his face. Without hesitation, he calls for Tommaso's private emergency doctor.
Tommaso, weakened by the deep wound, allows himself to be guided towards the ambulance when it arrives. I sit next to him, holding his hand to my chest and crying.
In the ambulance, my anxiety heightens. Tommaso, lost in the haze of pain and disorientation, struggles to comprehend the situation. His eyes, out of focus and clouded by pain, meet mine briefly. I squeeze his hand, feeling the strength of his grip, an attempt to reassure me that he is still here. With me.
“He’s losing a lot of blood,” the doctor mumbles, taking his pulse. As the realization settles, my fear intensifies. I can’t lose him. I can't shake the gnawing guilt. He shielded me from the blast, knowing he could get hurt. How fucking stupid and sweet, Tommaso! I cry harder looking at him.
