Page 52 of Savage Little War

I press my lips against her forehead, holding her there for a few seconds as I take some time to recover.

“You’re hurt,” Cara says, her face contorting in worry as she gently touches my damaged face. “I was so worried about you.”

I kiss her palm. “I’ll live. I didn’t get any names out of him, though.” Somehow, someway, I’ll hunt down every person who hurt Cara. No matter what it takes.

“It’s okay. That doesn’t matter as long as you’re…why are you soaking wet?” Cara asks before passing a wary glance over at the fountain.

“As embarrassing as it is, he almost drowned me,” I admit.

Cara sighs, sounding stressed as she wraps her arms around my neck. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers. “I’m not doing this without you, Dmitri.”

She could because she’s already proven that she can handle anything, but I don’t want her to have to do that.

“I’m here. Always,” I promise her before glancing toward the house. “We need to check on the others.”

Cara nods in agreement as she takes my hand, her other hand holding her handgun.

16

Cara

I wish that I could feel at peace knowing that Paolo is dead, but I can still hear fighting coming from inside the house.

This isn’t over yet. There’s still time for the people I care about to get hurt.

“This way,” Dmitri tells me once we enter the house from the back. He takes me by my hand to the right, heading toward the kitchen, where shouting and sickening thuds echo, flesh against tile, bone against cabinets.

Isaak stumbles into the hallway, one hand clamped to his right side, blood pumping between his fingers.

“Issak—” Dmitri is moving before the word finishes leaving his mouth. He helps Isaak sit on the ground, his hand moving to Isaak’s bleeding wound. “Keep pressure on it. You’re going to be fine.”

Isaak breathes in weakly, already looking pale as sweat shines on his forehead. “Fucking hurts, boss.”

“I know,” Dmitri replies before turning to me. “Find gauze. A towel. Anything clean.”

I dart into the nearest room. A bathroom. I tear open cabinet doors until I locate a white first-aid box under the sink.

I flip open the top and find a roll of gauze.

I grab it and hurry out of the bathroom, handing the roll to Dmitri.

He lifts Isaak’s shirt and folds the gauze a few times, forming a thick bundle before pressing it to the hole just beneath his ribs. He grabs Isaak’s hand and places it over the gauze. “Hold it. Hang in there.”

Isaak nods, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Eyes on me,” Dmitri orders, giving his shoulder a light shake. “Stay with us.”

Isaak groans, but he weakly opens his eyes.

Dmitri motions for me to follow him toward the kitchen where clusters of people are fighting inside.

I spot my father near the stove just as he slams an Italian’s head against the stove grate.

Relief flickers in my chest at the sight of him.

“Where the hell have you two been?”

Dmitri and I whip around to face Luca, who looks like he fought the villa itself and lost.