“Alexei. Gio was here.”
I raise my head, a terrible suspicion forming. “What did you say?”
“He was here.” The words tumble out of her, fast and frantic. “At the g-gallery. He said I shouldn’t have talked. He wanted me to go outside. I didn’t…want to go…outside. I don’t…like him.” Her breath hitches. “I managed to slip away when the shooting started…but he was here.”
I rise to my feet, clutching the lighter so tightly that the edges bite into my palm. “Where? Where is he?”
She shakes her head, wild-eyed. “I don’t know. He disappeared…when the windows broke. Maybe he got out. I…don’t know.”
Blood drips down her arm, soaking through my hasty bandage. The sight of her injury cuts through my rage, helping me stay rooted in the present.
“It’s okay.” I gather her into my arms and cradle her against my chest, resting my chin on the top of her head. “You’re safe now. I’ll deal with him.”
She clings to me, her fingers digging into my back through my jacket. I sense the second her adrenaline crashes because her body starts sagging against mine. Adjusting my grip, I support more of her weight as I guide her to a bench that somehow survived the destruction.
I kneel in front of her and check the makeshift dressing on her arm. The bleeding has slowed but hasn’t stopped. I tear another strip from her dress, wrap it around the original bandage, and tie it in place.
“Samantha.” Aurora’s eyes widen as if she’s just remembering her sister. When she tries to get up, I grasp her elbow. “I need to go. He said there were men at her dorm. He said?—”
“He lied. Samantha’s safe. If anyone gets near her, my men will alert me.” I squeeze her hand, forcing her to focus on me. “No one will hurt her.”
Fresh tears—triggered by relief this time rather than terror—well in her eyes. She slumps and rests her forehead against my shoulder. “Thank you.”
I hold her, one hand stroking her back, the other applying pressure on her wound. Around us, the gallery’s in ruins. Broken glass, splintered wood, shattered artwork. Blood soaks into the floor and walls. Bodies cool where they fell.
And among all the wreckage, there’s this brave fucking woman. My wife. Shaken up, but a survivor. Like the pieces she uses in her art. The violence has transformed her, but she’s still beautiful and complete in the ways that matter.
I lift my head as heavy footsteps approach. Roman joins us, holstering his gun as he surveys the destruction.
His eyes narrow when they land on Aurora curled against my chest. “The police are three minutes out. Vanya will handle them.” His gaze shifts to the lighter still clutched in my fist. “What’s that?”
“MJ’s lighter.” The words come out raspy.
Recognition flickers in my uncle’s calculating eyes. “Where did you find it?”
I nod toward the body. “His pocket.”
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. “We’ll deal with that later.” He addresses Aurora, who has finally stopped trembling. “You said Gio Falcone was here?”
She nods without lifting her head from my shoulder.
“You know Gio?” Roman’s voice is neutral.
She nods again.
Roman glances between us, eyes sharp as broken glass. “Better tell me everything.” Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder with each second. “But take care of your wife first, Alexei.I’ll handle this.” He moves away, already barking orders to the others.
I guide Aurora to her feet, keeping my arm around her waist. She leans into me, exhausted, wounded, but alive.
I press my lips to her temple, soaking in the contact. “Let’s get you home.”
Together, we weave through the ruins of her first art show, leaving the dead behind us.
Chapter 48
Aurora
The gash below my left shoulder throbs with a hot, insistent pain. The emerald dress clings to my skin, torn and sticky with blood that’s already drying to rust.
