“That’s the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” Dante snaps, but Luc turns his head away, staring down the hall.
And my head snaps back as he shoves my plate, so hard that it slides over the edge and smashes against the stone floor. “Fucking hell, Morelli. It’s just apie.”
I lean over the table to get a closer look, and my eyes catch on something up ahead. As someone shouts for help.
Dante and Luc are both out of their seats, but I shove past them.
Running.
I thought I knew fear. Knew the taste of it in my mouth, felt the chill of it in my bones.
But I was wrong.
Because I have never known fear like this.
As I land on my knees next to him, shoving Vincent out of the way, my hands tremble as I press two fingers against his pulse. Praying.
“Domenico—,”
His name pounds inside my chest, etched on every beat of my heart as he sucks in oxygen in choking, mottled breaths. His pupils are dilated, shrinking to pinpricks of black as he gasps for air. His hand claws at his neck, and the sob breaks out of me as his breathing speeds up. My hands touch his face, his chest, the panic overwhelming and violent.
Because he’s dying. Domenico is dying, in front of me.
I don’t know what to do. How to fix this.
“Caterina.” Dante snaps my name as he kneels next to me. “We need to stabilize him. Focus.”
Yes—
Dante is barking instructions, and someone passes him water and a napkin. I watch as he pours it out, soaking the cloth and wiping it over Dom’s mouth.
To try and remove the poison.
“I’ll do it,” I force out, and he doesn’t even pause. “Like fuck you will. Do the compressions.”
My mind settles into cold clarity as I lock my hands together over Dom’s chest. It’s stopped rising now, stoppedmoving, and the panic threatens to shove back in. Because if Dom is gone—
No.
No.
“You’re not dying on me, Domenico Rossi.” I swallow as Dante checks his pulse again before he swears, nodding at me.
We have unfinished business, you and I.
I push down.
Again.
Again.
Again.
As soon as I hit thirty compressions, Dante leans down and seals his mouth over Dom’s, forcing air into his lungs. But there’s no rise and fall as we watch his chest.
“Again,” I snap, starting a second round. Luciano bends down, and I stare as he forces something into his mouth, pulling his chin up and massaging his neck. He looks up at me.
“Activated charcoal. It might stop the poison from being absorbed into his body.”
