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"Constantino?" Her voice is low, meant only for me. She's feeling it too—the weight of the night, the sorrow that clings like shadows to our skin.
I want to say something, anything, to ease that worry creasing her brow. But words are traitors, and mine are locked up tight. So I just nod, and we share this silent vigil over a sleeping child who's already lost too much.
Stepping out of the room, I'm hit with a wave of dizziness so fierce it might as well be a right hook from my old man'sheavy hand. My legs buckle beneath me like they've been sliced through, and I'm down, hitting the cold floor with a thud that echoes in my skull. The world tilts on its axis, and for a second, I can't tell up from down.
"Constantino!" Evelyn's voice cuts through the haze, sharp and urgent. She's by my side in an instant, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Hold on, I'll get the kit."
I manage a nod, tasting the iron tang of blood in my mouth. It's not just the physical pain that's gnawing at me—it's the fear, the goddamn fear of losing control that I've kept caged all these years. A seizure now would be a sign of weakness I can't afford, not when there's a war brewing outside these walls.
And even if Evelyn's the only one to see it, I'd still know it happened. The sinking feeling of doubt crawls back into my stomach. Doubt about myself. Doubt about my ability to lead. Doubt about everything and my world continues to churn.
When she returns, medical kit in tow, she kneels beside me, her fingers deft as she rips open my shirt. There's a bullet graze, angry and red, but it's nothing compared to the storm brewing inside my head.
"Thank God," she murmurs, cleaning the wound with swift, sure strokes. "It's just a graze. You're losing blood, but it's not deep. You're dizzy because of the blood loss, okay?"
"Great," I mutter, the word laced with the dark humor that tastes like ash on my tongue. "Wouldn't want anything too easy, like a clean getaway or a night without gunfire."
She ignores my sarcasm, focused on patching me up. I watch her, this woman who should be anywhere but here, with her delicate hands stained by my blood. It's grounding, somehow, having her so close—I focus on the blue of her eyes instead of the way my reality is starting to ripple at the edges.
"Constantino?" Her voice pulls me back again, tethering me to the moment. I keep my eyes closed, feeling the cool wallagainst my back, trying to anchor myself in the present. "What are you going to do?"
"Go after the Irish," I say, my voice a low growl. "We strike at dawn, or we lose everything. More blood will spill if we don't end this now."
She doesn't flinch at the words, just slides down next to me, her shoulder brushing mine. "Are you sure? Can your guys handle it without you leading them?"
"I'll be leading them. Have to," I grit out, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "Can't show weakness. Not now."
Evelyn's silent for a long beat, and I can feel her gaze on me, heavy with things unsaid. I can't look at her, can't bear the weight of her disappointment or the flicker of fear that might pass over her features. So, I keep my eyes shut tight, clinging to the darkness as if it could shield me from what's coming.
"Is this really the smart play?" Evelyn's voice carries a note of concern that pricks at my conscience. "You can barely stand."
"Smart doesn't always win wars," I manage to say, each word an effort, like pushing boulders up a hill. My pulse throbs in my temples, a relentless drumbeat signaling a storm on the horizon.
"Your loyalty is gonna kill you one day," she murmurs, her breath warm against the cold sweat on my forehead. "And what about the boy?"
"Better me than him," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper now. There's a tremor in my hands, a quiver I can't control. It's a familiar prelude to carnage, one I've danced with before in the solitude of my own darkness.
"Constantino?" Her voice sounds distant, the edges of each syllable fraying into muffled echoes. I force my eyelids open, but the world is smeared like wet paint, colors blending into a dizzying whirlpool.
"Ev..." The name tumbles from my lips just as the first wave hits—a jolt of electricity snapping through my veins, ignitingevery nerve ending. I try to grip reality, try to hold onto her face—her blue eyes wide with alarm—but it's like grasping at smoke.
"Stay with me!" I hear her shout from far away, but the ground beneath me is giving way. I'm falling, plummeting into an abyss where light and sound fracture into nothingness.
"Please, not now," I beg silently, my thoughts scattering as my body betrays me. I fight with everything I have, clawing desperately at the fragments of the present, but they slip through my fingers like sand.
Evelyn's hand is on mine, gripping tight, but even her touch fades as the seizure claws its way through me, a beast unleashed from the depths of my mind. The last shreds of my vision dissolve into black, and her frantic calls are swallowed by the roar of silence.
"Constantino!" Her voice is the final echo before the darkness claims me, and I surrender to the void, alone in the tempest raging inside me.
Chapter Thirty-One
The world spins, a carousel of chaos, as I'm flung into the dark corners of my mind. My body's betraying me again, muscles clenched in revolt, teeth gritted against an invisible bit. Lucky folks will never know this ride—this electric storm in their skull. But here I am, strapped in for another hellish loop.
"Constantino, hold on," someone might be saying, but it's like they're shouting from the other end of a wind tunnel. Distant. Distorted. Useless.
My back arches, every inch of me coiled tighter than a watch spring. The leather wristband constricts, biting into flesh, hiding that damn tattoo—a mark of fragility inked onto skin that's supposed to be invincible. Dad's voice echoes, muffled through layers of consciousness: "You need this, son. It'll keep you safe." Safe. As if anything could.
I'm angry, always so goddamn angry, and now it's all turned inward because there's nowhere else for it to go. Inside this seizure's grip, my mind's a battleground, reliving the violencethat's soaked into my bones. A symphony of gunshots, the coppery scent of blood, screams that are ripped away by thunderous heartbeats—it's a movie I've seen too many times, playing on repeat behind my clenched eyelids.
