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I don’t count. I have no idea how many times I’m supposed to do this, anyway. I just stop when it feels right, pinching his nose and blowing into his mouth the way I’ve seen in TV shows and movies.
Time seems to stop as I continue my attempt at CPR, screaming out for help when I’m doing the compressions. Why hasn’t anyone come yet? Why am I left here trying to save the life of the man I’ve hated half my life?
Why do I need him to live, when for so long, I’ve wished him dead?
Because I love him.
I’ve loved him ever since I knew what it was to love someone. And every good memory I have, has him in it. I can see them all now, a heartwrenching movie of our history, from the moment this cocky boy smiled at me for the first time, back when we were just teenagers, to the last time I kissed him and held him close, grown adults bound together by choice and fate.
He’s the only one for me. But is this the last time I’ll ever hold him?
I don’t have the answers, just the rhythmic, desperate pace of my chest compressions, and the sound of my sobs in the dark.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Nero’s eyes snap open and he gasps for air, coughing.
Oh, thank you God.
Relief washes over me, and I sag back, shaking. “It’s OK,” I manage to tell him. “You’re going to be OK.”
Nero turns to his side and wheezes, recovering. The fire is still burning wildly behind us, but I don’t care about that. Nothing matters except the fact that Nero’s alive.
Barely.
When he finally stops coughing and collapses back onto his back, I cradle his head in my lap.
“Talk to me,” I urge him, trying to find the source of all his bleeding. “Nero, can you hear me?”
He groans in pain, mumbling, his breath still shallow. My hands are sticky with blood now, it’s coming from a wound in the back of his head. Fuck.
“Lily?”
I hear my name being yelled, and then the sound of running footsteps pounds closer. I look up. It’s Kyle, one of Nero’s drivers, and I’ve never been so happy to see a familiar face.
“It was some kind of bomb,” I babble, “His car, it exploded. He was right beside it. He wasn’t breathing.”
Kyle takes in the sight of Nero, bleeding on the ground.
“We’ve got to get him out of here,” he says grimly. “Help me get him to the car. Now!”
Together, we haul Nero up, and half-carry, half-drag him to where Kyle parked the car. It’s not easy since Nero is a beast of a man and barely hanging on to consciousness, but Kyle is stronger than he looks, and I’m still running on pure fear and adrenaline. I don’t know how Kyle knew we were here, but I don’t care. I just focus on helping support as much of Nero’s weight between us as I can until we can lay him out in the backseat, his head cradled in my lap.
“We have to get him to the hospital,” I say, running my eyes over Nero’s body, looking for more signs of injuries. But it’s too hard to tell how badly he’s hurt in the car’s dark interior. “He’s bleeding, he hit his head. There could be all kind of internal injuries.”
“No…” Nero murmurs, his eyes still closed. “No hospital.”
“Ignore him,” I command Kyle. “Let’s go. Lenox Hill is closest. Now!”
But Kyle pauses. “You heard him. No hospitals.”
“Are you crazy? He could die!” I sound as hysterical as I feel.
Kyle guns the engine, and I think I’ve gotten through to him… Until we speed through traffic, and I realize that he’s taking us home, to the house in the West Village. “Wait. No,” I start, but Kyle meets my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“He’s still the boss,” he tells me, looking stubborn. We pull up at the house, where there’s already people waiting at the curb: Nero’s second-in-command, Chase, and an older guy, in his fifties maybe, looking rumpled like he was just pulled out of bed.
Which, knowing the Barretti organization, he probably was. At gunpoint.
“You the doctor?” Kyle demands, getting out.
