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Without a word, Mateo switches spots, taking over as I quickly cut off three long pieces of thread and slide two of them through needles, one for Norma to use and one for myself, setting the other aside.
“Here.” I hand a threaded needle to Norma before stepping back up next to Mateo. He switches spots with me again, but instead of removing his hand he keeps pressure applied until I’m ready to begin.
“Okay.” Another deep breath.
You can do this, Mila. Just like sewing fabric.
Only it’s not fabric. It’s human flesh, but I can’t think about that right now.
Mateo pulls the towel back, tucking it at Niko’s side to soak up any blood that may seep out, which by the looks of it, is going to be a lot. I need to work fast.
Pinching the wound together with my fingers, my hands shake as I force the needle through one side of his skin then loop it around to the other side. I focus on what I’m doing. The action of the needle, in and out, pull tight, repeat. I take my time, making sure to get the stitches as close together as possible to prevent it from opening. By the time I finally have him closed up and am tying off the thread, Norma already has his other two wounds complete and is waiting on me so we can roll him over to sew up the exit wounds on his back.
In my defense, his abdomen wound was larger and in a more difficult spot. Besides, what do they expect from someone who’s never even seen a bullet wound, let alone treated one?
Mateo helps us roll Niko to his side. The exit wounds are smaller and easier to stitch and with me and Norma both working, we get them closed up pretty quickly.
Norma cleans the wounds with more alcohol and together we work on bandaging him up. Niko comes to a couple of times but loses consciousness pretty quickly. With the amount of blood everywhere, it’s a goddamn miracle that he’s still alive.
Once we finish, Mateo has a couple of his guys come in and move Niko to his room and Norma goes with them, insisting he needs to be closely monitored.
They no more than leave the room before my hands start shaking uncontrollably, the adrenaline leaving me as quickly as it entered and everything that happened hits me like a thousand-pound weight to my chest.
I look down at my blood-stained hands and clothes, tears blurring my vision.
“Mila... Are you okay?” Mateo’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. The room goes lopsided and for a moment I think I might pass out. But then I feel Mateo’s hands on my shoulders and the world feels right side up again.
I blink, once, twice, working to clear my vision. After a few seconds, his face comes into view.
“Are you okay?” he repeats.
“I... I think so,” I answer, my body still trembling.
“You helped save his life.”
“If he makes it, I did.” My voice is hoarse and I realize I desperately need something to drink. “I need water.”
“Here.” He guides me to the table and helps me sit down. “I’ll get you something.”
He moves with ease as he retrieves a glass from the cabinet and heads to the sink. He seems completely normal, as if nothing happened. And again, like with Norma, I’m forced to think about how many times this has happened before.
“Boss,” I jump at the sound of Dimitri’s voice, having not realized he was still in the room with us. “What happened?” He steps up next to the table as Mateo sets the glass of water in front of me.
I lift the glass to my lips and take a long drink. The cold liquid feels amazing on my throat.
“The pilot and two crew.” Mateo slides down into the seat next to me and only then do I notice the slash in his shirt.
“You’re hurt,” I say, reaching out to move the material, revealing a large gash in his left bicep.
“It’s nothing.” He brushes it off. “Just a graze.”
I open my mouth to argue that it looks pretty deep, but snap it shut when he begins speaking again, his eyes focused on Dimitri.
“Something felt off the moment we arrived at the airstrip. Call it a gut feeling. And I was right. We no more than took our seats when the pilot came out of the cockpit and all three of them opened fire. Niko dove in front of me and bought me enough time to pull out my gun.”
“But why? How?”
Mateo pinches the bridge of his nose.
