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No. I was not okay. But I knew who could make me okay.
"I have to go," I said.
"I know." Luca's mouth opened and shut, and he swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry, Emilia."
I knew what he was apologizing for. It wasn't for the part I'd had to play in all this, the violence and the uncertainty, the betrayal and the lies.
It was the kiss.
The kiss that, in another life, might have sparked something. Sweet and longing and possessive, tempered by Luca's desperation and the knowledge that it would be the first and the last time he kissed me. Because someone else already held my heart, and Luca knew it.
And he risked it all, our friendship and his heart, in order to give me an alibi for tonight.
"I'm sorry too." I reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I have to go."
"I know. Call me if you need anything." His smile was sad and faint, but genuine, as I turned to leave the shop. I hated leaving him like that.
But right now, I had to find Alfie.
fifteen
Alfie
Emilia's number rolled overto voicemail again, and I shoved my phone in my pocket. The hospital waiting room was starting to feel suffocating. "I'm going to get some air," I said to Tommy.
"I'll text if there's an update."
"Sure."
Tommy nodded, and I stood and left the waiting room. I made my way down the hall to the emergency room entrance, the stench of antiseptic and blood and death hanging thick in the air. I pushed through the double doors and stepped outside. It was raining again, and I stood in the breezeway and lit a cigarette.
Cassidy was still in surgery. Connor was a mess; his wife's injuries were severe, and I could tell he blamed himself. The frantic drive from the mansion to the hospital was something I hoped never to relive again.
I inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs. The nicotine did nothing to calm my nerves, and I closed my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing.
By some miracle, we'd made it out with only minor injuries. Teagan was dead, along with a handful of Moretti soldiers, and the guys were mopping up the scene. Callum was livid. He'd been raising holy hell up in the waiting room ever since, and Sloane was doing her best to keep everyone in their separate corners.
And Emilia? Every call had gone straight to voicemail.
I was worried sick about her, and I needed to see her with my own eyes. I needed her body against mine, to hold her and breathe in the scent of her hair.
I needed to know she wassafe.
I took another drag from my cigarette. The door behind me slammed open hard enough to bang against its stops, and Tommy barreled out, stopping suddenly as if he were surprised to find himself outside. He glanced over at me.
“She’s, uh…she’s gonna be okay.” Tommy folded his arms across his chest and frowned at the sidewalk. “Well, not okay, but you know what I mean.”
“How bad?”
“Concussion, cuts, bruises. They had all these words for it—lacerations, that’s what it was. Her hand’s broken pretty bad.”
"Is she still in surgery?" I asked.
"No. They've got her set up in the ICU. Connor's with her."
"Okay," I said levelly. This was his sister we were talking about, and Tommy wasn't exactly reputed for his grace under pressure. Something else was up.
Tommy’s throat worked. “He…he touched her, Alfie. Not—you know, but hetouchedher. You know?”
