“No,” the word comes out strangled.
Her eyes fall shut and they don’t open again. And I know that without her, my world will never be the same.
Her absence would suffocate me. She’s the air I need to breathe.
And there’s no way in hell I would ever let her leave me. I’ve been referred to as the king of the underworld. And I would wade through burning rivers and ghosts to get her back.
Death doesn’t get to claim what’s mine.
Death doesn’t get to claim the woman I love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LILIANA
Idon’t know what day it is when my eyes open. One minute I’m nowhere, the next I’m staring up at white ceilings. Steady beeps had drawn me from the hazy sleep.
My memory returns to me in patches at first. I remember the battle and I remember leaving with my daughter. I remember feeling something in my gut that made me scared enough to turn back. I remember asking Elio to take Mila and get her to safety, to get her to my mother. He had tried hard to convince me otherwise but I just knew I had to go back.
I had to get back to him.
I remember arriving and seeing the gun pointed at Rafaelle and I was moving before I could think. I remember pushing him away, desperate to save his life.
And then I remember the gunshot, the pain lacing up my ribs.
My own father shot me.
I’m pretty sure he’s dead. I hope he burns in hell.
Even more incredible is the fact that I’m not dead yet. My body feels like it’s in a tranquil, painless state. I turn my head to the side and catch sight of the man in the chair beside me, his head lowered as he rubs a hand across his face tiredly.
Love is such a terrifying thing. Because as soon as I lay my eyes on Rafaelle, my heart starts to beat faster. The machines in the room change rhythm for a second, alerting Rafaelle. He glances up, looks at me and I watch as his expression falls. A puddle of relief and exhaustion.
He rises to his feet, moving even closer to my bed, staring at me like he can’t believe I’m real.
I speak first.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
“Two days ago,” he replies.
I’m having trouble reading the emotion behind the tone of his voice. All I know is that the sight of him fills me with a heavy longing that spreads through my veins. For him to touch me, hold me and show me he cares.
“Is that how long I’ve been out?”
He nods. I swallow. Two days in a coma. Could have been worse.
Rafaelle continues to stay quiet.
“What’s with the silent treatment?”
“I’m trying to decide,” he drawls.
“What?”
“If I should be angry at you for being so stupid, or if I should be questioning your sanity. I’m this close to checking you into a psych ward,” he grits out.
“Why? Because I took a bullet for you?”
