“Let’s go,” he says in a low voice. His eyes bore into me, the blue pools chilling me bone-deep.
“What are you doing?” I say, my brows furrowing when he doesn’t leave my side.
“Making sure you get in there safely.”
“I don't need a babysitter,” I snap, twisting away from him.
“Until we know what the hell just happened, you're not going anywhere alone.”
He takes my arm again, not rough this time, but firm, and steers me toward the entrance. I should fight him. I should tell him to go to hell.
But my legs aren't working right, and I don't know if my parents are alive, and his hand is the only thing keeping me upright.
So I do none of those things and just let him guide me to where I need to go.
I scan the crowded Emergency Room, my heart thumping hard, looking for my mother, looking for anyone who can tell me?—
“Adriana!”
My shoulders sag when I see my mother running toward me with blood on her navy gown and tears streaming down her face.
I meet her halfway and we collide, holding each other so tight it hurts.
“Mom—oh, thank God, Mom?—"
“You're okay. You're okay.” She's sobbing, her hands running over my face, my hair, like she needs to make sure I'm real. “Marco got me out of there, but I couldn't find you, and I thought—" Her voice breaks and she chokes on a sob. “I thought they took you.”
“I'm okay. Someone helped me.”
She pulls back, her eyes finding Lochlan standing a few feet away.
“Who is he?” she asks.
I turn to look at him. The stranger who dragged me out of a potential massacre. The Molloy who won't tell me why he saved me.
“He’s a… Molloy.”
And the knot in my gut tells me my “savior” might very well be something far more dangerous than any of those bullets.
Luna arrives a little while after we did, her face tear-streaked, her hair thrown into a messy bun. She’s still wearing the oversized t-shirt she sleeps in. Vincenzo shows up a few minutes afterward, still in his blood-stained shirt.
“I stayed with him as long as I could,” he says. “But he’s in good hands.”
“What happened?” I ask in a hushed voice.
“The Russians,” he says, his voice taut. “Had to be. They’ve been pushing into our territory for a while. Your father knew it was only a matter of time before they made a move.”
“Why didn’t he—?” But I stop myself. Why didn’t he tell me?Because I left. I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with his world.
Vincenzo squeezes my shoulder. “He didn’t want to worry you. Any of you.” He sighs. “He thought he had it all handled.”
And I think to myself, “until it wasn’t.”
The hours blur together.
Luna squeezes my hand so tight it hurts, and I let her because I need the anchor.
My mother prays. Rosary beads slide through her fingers. She always carries them with her.
