I’m cut off with a backhand across the face, hard enough to knock my head back, and then he starts kissing me, his disgusting mouth suffocating me, his rancid tongue against mine.
I jerk my head side to side, screaming, trying to kick at him. But it’s not enough. He’s on top of me now, using his knee to wedge my legs apart, the pain in my body almost unbearable as he presses his full weight on me, scrabbling clumsily at his belt buckle with both hands. I squeeze my eyes shut and let the tears flow, feeling myself float away from the violence.
Suddenly his weight is lifted completely off me. Curling into a fetal position, I bring my shoulders around my head for some protection and lift my knees as high to my chest as I can. I’m gasping in pain, barely aware of what’s happening. But the worst doesn’t come.
Boots scuffle on the wood floor. Someone grunts, fabric ripping. The heavy slap of flesh hitting flesh, followed by a crack and a scream. Slowly, I open my eyes to look.
Dante is here. He has the Gasoline man by the front of his shirt and is raining punch after punch straight into the guy’s face, driving him back against the wall as he beats the shit out of him. But hit after hit, Gasoline just laughs.
“It’s just a matter of time, Bellanti. You’re a dead man. You, your father. Your mother and sister. And now your kid. We’ll get all of you in the end.”
A chill races over me and I realize I’m mostly naked. I try to shift my body so the robe covers more of me, but the shooting pains make me stop and moan.
Dante glances down at me, catching the look in my eyes.
Without another word, he pulls out a gun and shoots the laughing man point blank in the face. The gunshot is loud, an acrid smell in the air, and I see the body drop to the floor almost in slow motion.
Shock rips my breath away, leaving nothing but a buzzing sound in my ears. I’m babbling out loud, telling Dante the baby is coming, but I can’t seem to hear my own voice.
Or Dante’s, for that matter.
Dante.
His eyes, full of worry. My robe pulled around me, wrapping me in warmth. I’m so cold. My hands are free, wrists and fingers numb. Dante takes my hand in his, but I can’t feel his touch. I’m so, so cold.
“The baby—” I try to tell him, but he just kisses my forehead and gently gathers me against him.
Blood and violence are all around me but I focus on Dante, his scent. His warmth. His protection. I nuzzle my cheek against his chest. The pain is lessening, and the world seems to be fading away.
And then I fall into the darkness.
26
Dante
“What’s happening?What’s wrong with my wife?”
In the back of the ambulance, Frankie’s delicate hand is cold and limp in my grip. She’s hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood pressure cuff, the softblip, blip, blipof the monitor making my own blood pressure soar. The paramedics arrived fast, but they’ve been wearing grim expressions since first laying eyes on her and haven’t said anything encouraging about her condition. She’s been in and out of consciousness since they got her on the stretcher.
I’ve been willing her to live the whole time.
She won’t open her eyes long enough to look at me. She won’t answer any questions. Every now and then she comes to enough to realize she’s in pain, and I hear her moaning. But no matter how encouragingly I squeeze her hand, she doesn’t squeeze back. Every time she knocks out again, I’m afraid she’s dying.
The female paramedic performed an exam in the house before they wheeled Frankie out to the ambulance. I asked the medic what was going on, but she couldn’t give me a straight answer. Not about Frankie and not about the baby. She said a doctor would know more. She also said they don’t have a monitor in the ambulance to check the baby—so we have no way to really know how dire the situation is until we reach the hospital.
When we arrive, the ambulance backs into the bay outside the ER and a team rushes out to meet us. I’m still hanging onto her hand.
“You can let go now, sir. We’ve got her.” A nurse reaches for my hand and gently encourages me to let go of Frankie. But I can’t.
I can’t let go.
“Sir,” she says a bit more firmly. “You need to let go now so we can take her.”
“No.”
Because letting go might mean letting go forever. What if she and the baby don’t pull through?
The paramedic looks into my eyes. “It’s okay, Mr. Bellanti. They’re going to take good care of her. I promise.”
