Time slowed.
“Marco?”
His eyes were so warm, filled with so much love and affection. He had the most beautiful smile on his face, yet his chest was wet, and whatever it was began to seep into my clothing.
I recognized the smell first, the metallic tang.
When I touched his chest, it came away red, full of blood. I stared up at Marco, wide-eyed. Then he went down with me. His expression turned serene, then he closed his eyes.
I didn’t hear the additional shots, nor the screams, or the people running for their lives on the street.
All I saw was Marco, unconscious, laying in a pool of his own blood.
No.
“Marco.” I shook him.
No!
“Marco.” I lifted the entirety of his torso up and down as if his muscles, bones, and sinews weighed nothing more than a feather. But he didn’t move.
No!
I balled my fist, hit his chest. I hit him one, two, three, four, five times, but he neveronceopened his eyes. He never twitched, never smiled, never laughed. Nothing.
“MARCO!”
21
Catalina
We rushed Marco to his hospital, where they had his blood work and entire medical history on file.
The staff here was ready for him, so when they got the call from Marco’s men, they took him back immediately.
I watched as the love of my life, the man who brought sunshine and color into my world, who matched me in every way and was the only sanctuary I’d ever known, was brought back into surgery on a stretcher.
I was numb. Empty.
I hadn’t cried, had barely spoken to anyone besides giving simple instructions. All of my energy was with him.
Even if we were rooms, worlds, dimensions apart as the doctors fought to keep him with us, he had my everything. And every piece of me was begging for this all to be a dream—some sort of horrible nightmare where when I awoke, I’d roll over into his arms and find him safe and sound.
One of his men led me to a chair, and I followed without complaint.
I sat down and waited. A flurry of bodies passed me to and fro, but I saw none of them, couldn’t remember a single one of their faces. Not until a single pair of white shoes filled my vision.
The man was dressed in scrubs, with a sad look on his face.
“Ms. Salazar? Can you hear me? Are you all right?”
Had he been calling for me?
It was like a light switch turned on and I finally recognized the man. It was Marco's surgeon.
“Marco? How is Marco?”
The surgeon took a deep breath.
