My ears ring. My vision blurs. There’s a tight, wrong feeling under my ribs, like my chest can’t expand enough.
I try to take a breath, but it doesn’t work.
Riccardo lets go of Gerard, who crumples, and steps toward me fast.
“Savannah,” he calls out with an edge of panic. “Savannah, answer me.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The world goes gray. The cold air feels too thin. My knees give out for the second time tonight.
But before I hit the ground, strong arms catch me.
“I’ve got you,” Riccardo says, voice low but still full of concern. “I’ve got you, kitten.”
The alley spins once, then everything goes black.
4
RICCARDO
Icarry her inside like she weighs nothing.
Her head rests against my shoulder, her curls soft against my jaw, but her body is limp, and that terrifies me more than anything I’ve dealt with in years. I’ve carried bleeding men, dying men, men begging me to save them or finish them. I’ve never carried someone who made my chest feel like it’s folding in on itself.
Valerio opens the passenger door of the car. “Jesus, Rick,” he mutters, eyes shifting from Savannah to the blood on my knuckles. “You really did a number on?—”
“Drive,” I snap.
He shuts up and gets behind the wheel.
I climb into the back seat with her still in my arms. She never stirs. Not once. Her breathing is shallow and uneven, like every inhale is a fight. Every bump in the road makes my jaw clench. Every minute she stays unconscious feels like a lifetime.
Twenty minutes later, when we reach the villa, I realize my hands are still shaking.
I don’t let Valerio help me carry her inside. All on my own, I take her straight to my room, to my bed, and lay her down on the sheets like she’s made of glass.
She doesn’t move.
I brush a hand along her cheek. She’s warm. Too warm.
“Savannah,” I murmur. “Open your eyes.”
Nothing.
A cold dread settles low in my stomach.
I sit beside her and slide one arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her just enough so I can lower my head to her chest. I press my ear to her sternum.
Her heart is fast. Too fast. The rhythm is wrong. Not the panicked rush of fear, but something else. A stutter beneath the beat, like a skipped step on a staircase.
I feel my own pulse spike.
“Rick?” Valerio stands in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets. “Ambulance? Doctor? What are we doing here?”
“She’s breathing,” I say, keeping my voice controlled. “But something’s off.”
“She fainted.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s more than that.”
