“Don’t even think about running, Chiara,” he growls. “My best friend is fighting for his life. There’s a fucking gunman on the loose, not to mention your Mafioso cousin explicitly outlined how he would deal with me if you’re not here when he gets back.” His Adam’s apple bobs violently. “The last thing any of us needs is more blood on our hands.”
His voice is low and gravelly, and I don’t know if he realizes it’s too late. The words land like a bomb, stunning me out of my fog.
My door is flung open and then with my hand in his, Raf and I run towards the ER, skidding into a room where we see all our family and friends huddled, clinging to each other, watching the nightmare that is their son, brother, and friend fighting for his life. It’s all a cacophony of sounds—clanging of metal, the scream of sirens, and the raised voices of medical staff shouting orders and questions.
“Any family or friends here we can test for a blood type match? There’s no time to wait; we need blood now.”
That’s the only thing I hear with resounding clarity, even if it sounds like there’s cymbals clashing in my ears. If I answer, Iknow there’s no going back, and everything will unravel. But if I stay quiet, his blood will stain my hands. It will make me the murderer. Again.
So I do the only right thing, praying it will be worth it to save his life.
“Test me. I’m his first cousin on his biological father’s side.”
Every single set of eyes turns in my direction, and I imagine this is what it feels like to be standing in front of a firing squad. Then the buzzing in my ears becomes piercing, and the bright lights overhead become blinding, my legs starting to buckle as waves of relief and remorse wash over me in the wake of my confession and revelation. I stumble sideways towards the wall, bracing my hand on it to stop myself from crumbling to the floor. I feel nauseous, like I want to purge everything in my stomach in a hope that I could rid myself of all events that have led to this moment right here.
Strong hands grab me and lead me away.
“Miss, we need to get you hooked up immediately.”
I don’t fight, and I don’t look back as the medical staff lead me away to drain me of the blood that runs through my veins like a ruinous poison. And yet, maybe it will save his life and offer me a sliver of redemption.
Only time will tell.
Chapter Twenty-Five
There’s A Fine Line Between Love And Hate
Raf
I hearthe soft murmurs of goodbyes, and Sophia appears at the door.
“Be gentle with her,” she warns.
I understand why, and even if I was arguing similar points with myself just now, it still stings to know that even my own sister thinks I’ve become so hardened by life over the last few years that she needs to remind me to be empathetic.
I walk into Chiara’s room and stand at the side of the bed closest to the door. Her head is turned to the opposite wall. She knows I’m there but refuses to look at me. She’s in a hospital gown that swallows her, making her look even more fragile than I know she already is.
She might wear her independence and sass like a badge of honor, but under all that pretense is a woman starved for affection, care, and love. Convinced she is unworthy and unlovable. Yet her biggest failing is a misplaced belief that Imight be the one worthy or capable of giving her any of those things.
“Are you ready to go? Evie brought you some of her clothes to change into.”
“Can I have my phone so I can ask Avery to take me home.”
I like Avery. I have the utmost trust and respect in him, but like that night she was dancing with Hudson, hearing Chiara ask for him causes heat to blaze through the pit of my stomach and spread across my chest.
“No. Last time I checked, you were my date, not Avery’s,” I say. “Besides, I told Arabella I would get you home, and above all else, I’m a man of my word.”
She turns her head slowly, and I partly regret what I’ve just said, but I’m mostly thrilled that, just like Sophia predicted, I found a way to persuade her to listen to me. We’re both fully aware of some of the heated threats I’ve made with this mouth.
“Is that so? Hmmm, good to know,” she guffaws weakly.
“Besides, Avery is stationed here with one other man to ensure Marco’s safety, and there will be two others watching my house.”
“Why?” she says sharply.
I consider lying to her, to spare her from more guilt over what’s happened tonight, but I also think keeping her out of harm’s way means being truthful.
“AJ is the one who warned Marco there was a gunman in there tonight, one of Rizzo’s men that had gone rogue and is now acting alone as a mercenary. Your cousin seems to think this guy reached out to Arty to offer his services.”
