I need to get herhelp.
Stumbling to my feet, Izzy cradled in my arms, I call out—a desperate plea.
Flashing blue lights surround me. I barely register them—until a paramedic tries to rip Izzy from my arms. I snarl, ready to kill anyone who touches her.
“Sir,” he says, swallowing hard. “Mr. Russo, you need to let us do our job. I promise—we’ll take care of her.”
Eventually, I nod, forcing myself to release her. They lift her onto a stretcher and begin working.
I don’t take my eyes off her.
She’s loaded into the ambulance. No one bothers trying to stop me from climbing in. They see the determination in my eyes—or maybe it’s my reputation that keeps them quiet. Either way, I’m not leaving her.
The ride to the hospital feels endless, though it can’t be more than five minutes. The paramedics shout medical terms I don’t understand, working frantically to keep her stable.
As soon as we arrive, they rush her straight into surgery.
“Mr. Russo, you’ll need to wait here,” a nurse tells me.
“Like hell I will,” I snap, trying to push past her.
To her credit, she doesn’t flinch. She places her hands firmly on my chest.
“If you want her to have a chance, you’ll let us work. Wait here. We’ll update you as soon as we can.”
I take a shuddering breath, forced to stand down.
The moment Izzy disappears through the doors, my knees give out. A broken wail tears from my throat.
I can’t lose her.
Please.
I need her.
A hand claps my shoulder, firm. I spin, teeth bared—but it’s just Dante.
“Come on,” he says, pulling me up. “Let’s sit.”
I collapse into one of the plastic blue chairs. The seat beside me dips as Dante settles in.
And we wait.
It’s been hours since Izzy was taken through the doors of the operating room, and I was forced to wait on the other side.
Dante sits on my right. Papa, who arrived not long after, is on my left. Doc, who was a few hours away, just called to say he’ll be arriving soon.
The door swings open, and I see the same determined nurse from before.
I push myself up from my seat, crossing the hall in a few quick strides.
“How is she?”
She presses her lips together, eyes scanning me with practiced restraint.
Every second of silence feels like an eternity of agony.
“She’s stable. The bullet went straight through—shoulder wound, no damage to vital organs.”
