My hands shake around the wheel. I never shake. Not even under fire. Not even facing death. But for her? I’m unraveling. I take a corner too fast, tires screaming. I hit the highway like a bullet.
My phone rings in my lap.
Dante.
I hit speaker with a shaking thumb.
“Where are you?” Dante barks.
“On the way,” I grind out. My voice is barely a voice anymore. “She’s—Dante, I can’t—” The words choke. For the first time in my life, I can’t get them out.
Dante goes silent. Then, quietly—deadly serious: “She’ll make it, Sandro.”
I swallow hard, chest tightening so viciously I want to punch something. “I can’t lose her,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I—Dante, I can’t—lose—her.”
“She’s strong.” His voice hardens. “She married into our family. She’s ours. She’ll hold on. Rocco’s with her—he won’t let go.”
I slam my fist against the steering wheel. “This is my fault,” I snarl. “She was with me. My responsibility. My—”
“Enough,” Dante cuts in sharply. “I’m on my way. You will get there first.” There is so much unsaid between that breath and his next words. Knowing I'll be the one to help Rocco and my wife. “You get there,” he says quietly. “You bring her out.” Another breath. “And then we will burn whoever did this.”
The call ends. I push the car faster.
The moment I turn onto the street, I see lights—flashing, chaotic. People running. Smoke rising from metal. The SUV is upside down, crumpled like a crushed can, glass exploding across the pavement. Gunshots have stopped. But the silence is worse.
I slam the car into park and leap out, sprinting toward the wreckage. My heart is in my throat. My chest is on fire. My hands are clenched so tight they ache. Then—I see him. Rocco. He’s leaning against the overturned SUV, one hand braced on the metal, the other gripping his gun. His shirt is soaked in blood. His arm is covered in it—fresh, smeared, dripping. My blood runs cold. I slow as I reach him, because I don’t see her.
I don’t fucking see her. “Where—” My voice fails. “Where is she?”
Rocco’s chest rises and falls hard. He nods toward the shattered passenger door, his voice raw from shouting. “She wouldn’t come out without you.”
Everything in me fractures. I stumble the last step to the SUV, dropping to my knees, reaching for the dark opening. “Elena,” I choke out. “Dove—I’m here.” And for the first time in my life—I pray. “Dove—come here. Come to me.” I crouch down and reach into the twisted metal, hands shaking as I sweep aside glass and debris. A soft whimper answers me. “Elena,” I breathe, throat tearing. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.” Her hand appears first—small, trembling, covered in dust. Then her face. Blood streaks down the side of her forehead, dripping into her lashes. My vision goes red. I don’t remember how I get her out—only that a second later, she’s in my arms, weight pressed to my chest as I lift her out of the wreckage.
Her head lolls against me, and I nearly fall to my knees. "Dio, no—no, no, no.” I press my cheek to her hair. “Stay with me, Dove. Please.” Behind me, I hear tires skid.
Dante. He runs toward us, breath ragged, scanning her with sharp, assessing eyes. “Alessandro—she needs a hospital—”
But I’m already moving. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I don’t acknowledge anything but the broken sound of her trying to inhale. I start running. Past Rocco. Past the flashing lights. Past the world. Toward my car.
“Alessandro!” Dante shouts, he tries to stop Rocco as he stumbles toward me, blood dripping from his arm.
“I’m fine,” Rocco snarls, ripping away. “Let me go.”
He sprints after me, nearly collapsing once, catching himself on the hood of my car before ripping open the back door.
I climb into the seat, pulling Elena into my lap, cradling her against me like she’s made of glass.
Rocco hesitates for half a breath—just long enough for Dante to appear at the open door.
“She’ll make it,” Dante says firmly, meeting my eyes. “You get her there. I’ll handle the rest.”“Drive,” I bark. Words unspoken.“Drive,” I bark.Revenge promised.
Rocco slams the door shut, rounds the front of the car and jumps into the driver's seat.
“Drive,” I bark. The tires scream. We lurch forward. I hold Elena tighter as her head falls back against my arm.
“Dove,” I whisper, brushing hair from her face. Her skin is too pale. Her breathing too shallow. Her forehead too wet with blood. She winces when I press my palm to her wound. “I’m sorry—I know—just stay with me.” My voice breaks on the last word. “Fucking drive faster.” I shout.
She blinks slowly, eyes glassy, unfocused. Her lips move. “A…Alessandro…”
