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Mattia grabs me around the waist, flinging me to the ground. Rafe roars a curse, shouting for Angelus and Domani. Alexander fires again, and then again.
Pow.
Pow.
Pow.
Chunks of brick explode over my head. But I can't focus on them. All I can think about is the fact that Gabriel's lying in a pool of blood, and he isn't moving.
No, please, God no.
I fight like hell to get out of Mattia's arms, trying to get to Gabriel. Someone screams no over and over again.
"Easy, Genesis," Mattia shouts in my ear. "Easy."
Only then do I realize that I'm the one screaming. Begging. Pleading with God not to let Alexander take Gabriel from me. He promised me. Gabriel promised me.
I elbow Mattia in the stomach as hard as I can. He loosens his grip on me just enough for me to crawl free of him. I scurry toward Gabriel on my hands and knees. He's facedown on the sidewalk, not moving.
"Please, Gabriel," I sob. "Please."
More shots ring out, and more shouting.
Blood pours from a single gunshot wound to his upper back, near his left shoulder. His shirt is soaked with it. I haul him over onto his back, looking for an exit wound, but there isn't one.
I don't know how to help him. I don't know what to do. But there's too much blood and it isn't stopping.
I refuse to let him die. He promised me.
I turn him again, press my hands over the wound, and apply pressure.
"Please," I sob. "Please, Gabriel."
"Tesoro," he whispers.
Time passes in blurs, speeding up and slowing down as if someone has a giant remote, controlling how fast time moves and when. It drags before the ambulance arrives, and then races when the paramedics drop to their knees beside me.
It drags again when someone shouts that he doesn't have a pulse.
And then lurches back into focus when he takes a rattling breath.
They load him up and rush him out of there. I go with him, not caring if the police have questions for me. Not caring about anything but the man with a bullet in his lung.
Nothing else matters.
Time moves in those strange drags at the hospital too. People shout questions at me, talking over one another. They want to know what happened, who shot him, how long he wasn't breathing. They ask far too many questions when they should be saving his life.
Rationally, I know the questions are important. That they're part of saving his life. But I don't feel rational right now. I feel like I'm going to crack into pieces.
Luca is there. So is Nico. He looks just like Rafe, only lighter. They both look how I feel, as if their entire world hangs in the balance.
A trauma doctor rushes Gabriel into surgery to remove the bullet.
Shortly after, the police show up, setting off a whole new round of questions. Luckily, Diego Butera shows up hot on their heels. He glowers and snaps, making it clear who did this. Their boss did this. Alexander Santorum did this.
I don't know what story Rafe and the others have told, but I tell a version of the truth…the one where Alexander is the villain and everyone else was just trying to protect me. It's what happened. They were there for me because Alexander murdered my dad to keep his dirty little secret.
No one seems surprised by anything I say. No one seems to know what to do about it either.
It's not until they're finished questioning me that I learn that Alexander is dead. So is Angelus, the mafia ninja who sat outside Gabriel's front door for days on end, watching over me.
I cry for him. I don't cry for Alexander.
Everyone leaves me alone at that point. Time drags again, on and on while we wait for word from the doctor.
At some point, Rafe and Mattia arrive. They're both covered in Gabriel's blood like I am. Rafe sits beside me, a million miles away.
"He promised me," I whisper to him.
He turns to look at me.
"He promised Alexander wouldn't take him from me. He has to keep that promise." I refuse to accept anything less. He'll survive because he must. Because he made a vow. "Gabriel doesn't break his promises, not to me."
Rafe nods gratefully.
Half an hour later, the surgeon finally comes out to talk to us. I jump to my feet with my heart in my throat. His brothers jump to their feet too, surrounding me. We wait in silence for the doctor to reach us.
"The bullet nicked an artery," he says without preamble. "We were able to stop the bleeding and stabilizing him, but he lost a lot of blood."
"Tell me," I growl, my fingers locked so tightly together that they scream in protest.
The doctor looks at me. "Whoever applied pressure to the wound until the paramedics got there probably saved his life. It'll be a rough few weeks, but he's going to make it."
