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“Lie down,” I say between gasps, realizing I need to slow my breathing. I’m likely going to hyperventilate if I don’t. “Where did she get you, Rio? What can I do?”
I start patting him all over, looking for the wound, but he bats my exploring hands away before releasing a tiny chuckle. The sound is followed by a moan.
“Jesus. Okay, no laughing.” His voice is raspy, but then he adds, “I’m fine,mia cara. Well, I’m not, but I will be.”
“But she shot you.”
“Indeed. Here.” He half lifts an arm and peers down at his ribs on the left side, and I shriek when I see how much blood soaks his clothing.
“Oh my God!” This time when I reach for his shirt, I try to be gentle, and he doesn’t bat me away. I lift the shirt carefully to reveal torn flesh beneath. “I don’t know what to do to help you,” I say. “Please, tell me what to do. Should I put pressure on it? Go for help?”
I can’t lose youandEmilia tonight. I don’t express the fear out loud, but it is as if he knows the way my brain works and guesses anyway.
“You won’t lose me, Bianca. And take heart from what she said.” He jerks his head in the female’s direction. “Emilia is alive and safe. For now.”
“But your chest…”
“The bullet hit a rib and seems to have deflected along the bone. It hasn’t gone in, I don’t think. Hurts like a motherfucking bitch, though.”
When Rio curses, it is usually in Italian. To hear the matter-of-fact way in which he delivers the English swear words sounds so wrong coming out of his mouth.
“Can you walk? I need to get you to help. I can support you, if you can walk a bit?”
I unbutton his shirt and slide it off, bunching it up and pressing it gently against his wound. He hisses a little, but then laughs lightly. Then winces, as if he can’t decide whether to give in to the pain or not.
“You will have to learn to wear dark clothes in this world, little bird, like me.” He gestures to the shirt, which is black. “That beautiful cream dress of yours is already half ruined with blood and mud. But I fear I’m a little too heavy for you. I will just do as you say, I think, and lie down here for a bit.”
He starts to drop, and thank God he’s only on his knees because, somehow, I’m able to brace his fall, at least a little, and ease him down onto the grass. His face has turned even grayer than before, and his eyelids flutter as if he wants to fall asleep. The bullet may have only grazed him, but he’s obviously lost a lot of blood, and no doubt shock is setting in.
“I’ll get help, Rio. I’ll be quick.”
I jump to my feet and rush back up the path through the trees, toward where the fight was happening earlier. I can’t hear any more yelling or scuffling, only muffled conversation, so I assume the fight must be over. I pray Rio’s side won because I can’t move him on my own, and I don’t know who I’m about to find up ahead.
I burst out of the trees and stop short at the sight of about thirty men all raising their guns in my direction at once.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Bianca!” That voice is Danelli’s. He survived. Which means Rio’s side must have won. He hurries forward, his horrified gaze on my blood-soaked dress. “You nearly got yourself shot just then, woman. Are you injured? Were you shot?”
I stagger closer, seeing Lee and Mitch among the men pulling dead bodies into two piles. Ours and theirs? Thank goodness my two goons survived. Only one of the Leons has died on my watch, then.
I turn back to Danelli. “It’s not my blood. It’s Rio’s. Penn shot him,” I explain. “And then I shot Penn. And then Rio shot Penn. And now she’s damn well dead. Really fucking dead.”
I want to burst into tears but, somehow, only laughter emerges. Danelli’s free hand comes up and makes the sign of the cross.
I’m not sure if the sign is for Rio. Or because he thinks I’ve become a madwoman and he’s seeking divine protection. The thought stops my laughter more effectively than a slap to the face.
Time for hysterics later. Focus, Bianca. Focus.
“Rio’s alive, Danelli. He needs help. Please. I can’t carry him on my own.” I point back down the trail. “That way. Not far. He lost a lot of blood.”
* * *
Rio
My memoryof how I got back to the house is a little hazy. I think several of Danelli’s team may have carried me here. Our doctor is already waiting for me in my first-floor sitting room, apparently having received a call from one of the team. I have no idea what he was doing when he was summoned, nor do I care, but he must have been close by. He is on retainer, and as such, we own him.
While we have used him many times in the past, I have not had a reason to call him in for me before now.
Once he gets my wound cleaned and stitched up, given me some fluids and injected me with antibiotics, I start to think more clearly.
