It’s over.
They’re all gone. All the men that hurt me.
A tear slips down my cheek. Not from guilt. From relief.
“Izzy, baby.”
My head snaps up.
Enzo.
Frantic, I grab the keys from Marcus’s corpse andrush into Enzo’s cell.
“Oh God,” I cry, taking in the mosaic of cuts and bruises marring his skin.
“I’m okay, Iz. Just get me down from here, please.”
I nod jerkily, untying the knots from around his wrists. He collapses against me, slumping forward. He’s clearly keeping some weight off me or we’d both be on the floor.
I help lower him, unable to keep him upright.
Climbing into his lap I wrap my arms around his shoulders, resting my head against his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic breaths that tell me he’s okay. He hesitates for just a moment before his arms are embracing me, holding me tightly against him.
The door explodes inwards. Bodies swarm the room, guns raised.
Enzo’s men.
Massimo steps in behind them, eyes sweeping over the scene in front of him.
We lock eyes.
Then he’s running, falling to his knees beside us.
“Call a fucking ambulance!” he roars at the men still casing the room.
I place a hand on his arm.
He flinches, eyes full of fear.
“We’re okay.”
He shakes his head.
I squeeze him harder.
“We’re okay,” I repeat.
I don't know how much time passes before paramedics burst in.
Enzo’s arms tighten around me as they ask me to stand.
I stroke his back. “You gotta let me go. You need to be checked out.”
He shakes his head, breathing deeply into my hair.
“Enzo.” I force his head up to look at me. “They need to check on the baby too.”
Massimo sucks in a sharp breath beside us, tears glistening in his usually hard eyes.
