“Why are you doing this?” she asked again. “Someone other than you should know the truth.”
The Australian narrowed his eyes, studying her face. “Why would you want to be with someone like Geno Ferraro?” Suspicion colored his voice. “Money? Power?”
Geno saw the tension creeping back into the assassin’s body. If he could see it, Amaranthe had to see it as well. If she did, she didn’t show it. She looked exactly the same, innocent and very disturbed over the things the man had revealed to her.
“Family,” she supplied. “I’ve never had a family, andGeno has a very large extended family. I can feel the tremendous care he has for them. I can’t help but want that for myself and my children.”
The moment the wordchildrenleft Amaranthe’s mouth, Geno knew it was a trigger for the assassin. He’d always sensed trouble before it happened. Geno hadn’t been passed over by Jean-Claude to be chosen for the work Amaranthe and Salvatore were doing because he wasn’t fast enough. He’d received training from the Archambault riders from the time he was thirteen until he was twenty-one, and to this day he sought out the best training possible. He had been passed over because of his dominant personality.
He burst from the shadow with blurring speed as the Australian reversed the knife in his hand and threw it at Amaranthe. She was already in motion, moving toward him, ready to block his knife arm. Salvatore was also in action, coming in from the right side, determined to control the knife arm attacking Amaranthe.
The assassin sent the blade streaking toward Amaranthe as she leapt toward him. Geno was there first, inserting his body between the poison-coated blade and his fiancée, slapping at the blade to deflect it away from his chest. The Australian had aimed for Amaranthe’s throat, so the blade hit Geno in his midsection, barely penetrating the three-piece suit he was wearing. He had turned slightly, giving him the full protection of the material so only the very tip managed to make it through to his skin.
Amaranthe skidded to a halt behind him and then ducked around him. Salvatore caught the assassin’s arm and spun him around just as the man attempted to draw a second knife from inside his jacket. Mariko and Nicoletta emerged from the shadows, and Lucca steadied Geno’s large frame as Amaranthe tore open his jacket and shirt to get at the wound.
“What were you thinking?” she hissed at him.
Geno could see the fire in her eyes. It didn’t happen that often, only once in a while, but when it did, deep in thatdark brown were red sparks as if a volcano threatened to erupt. He loved that moment. Reveled in it. Found himself lifting his hand toward her face to cup her cheek and frame that perfect oval. His arm felt heavy and wouldn’t cooperate. It dropped to his side and his vision blurred.
“La mia danzatrice ombra.”He murmured the endearment. Said it with his heart.
“No, Geno. Don’t do this. Why did you do this?” She sounded alarmed. Her eyes had gone wide with shock. So beautiful to him, all that dark chocolate framed with long, black feathery lashes.
“You need to be in this world far more than I do.” He told her the stark truth. A gray veil covered his vision, and he couldn’t see her face clearly. He tried to blink, but his lashes wouldn’t cooperate. His lungs suddenly ceased to draw air, and his heart stuttered and then stopped.
Amaranthe followed Geno to the floor as Lucca laid him down. She ripped open his shirt and slammed her fist down over his heart. “You aren’t dying, Geno. Lucca, make that scratch bleed. He didn’t get much of the poison. Nicoletta, take the other knife to the lab and have them get us an antidote now.” She was all business, taking charge.
“Do we need the Australian alive more than we need another person to keep Geno going?” Salvatore asked.
“No, we have two prisoners,” Lucca snapped. “Get it done and start CPR. Amara and Mariko will tire fast. Nicoletta, call in the riders. Every rider we have available to us. We’ll need riders for transport. Have the doc ready in Geno’s apartment. Stefano can organize the transportation.”
“Not through the shadows with his wound. It would be dangerous. We don’t know the effects of the poison,” Amaranthe objected.
“How do we explain what happened, taking him through the restaurant?” Mariko asked.
Amaranthe raised her head. “I’m not going to explain. Stefano can do that. He’s the diplomat. But I’m not takingchances with him. I don’t give a damn what Stefano has to say, head of the family or not.” She said it defiantly.
Salvatore was tiring, and Taviano took his place, keeping the rhythm going, forcing Geno’s heart to work. Lucca gave him air while Amaranthe carefully opened the wound around the scratch and encouraged it to bleed in the hopes of clearing any poison.
“Stefano is going to do what’s best for Geno,” Salvatore assured. “We’lldo what’s best for Geno, just like you.” He caught her arm when she bent close to the wound. “What are you doing? Don’t you dare try to suck the poison out. We don’t need two of you collapsing.”
“I’m smelling around the edges. My sense of smell is very acute. I also thought I might visually pick up a trace in the blood.” Her voice was tight.
Stefano slid from the shadow to kneel beside Geno, his palm sliding over his cousin’s chest. “How much time?” He sounded grim.
“Four minutes down,” Amaranthe answered.
“Heartbeat,” Taviano announced, his voice relieved. “Weak, but it’s there. Not a rhythm.”
“We can’t have him in the tubes too long, not with a wound and his heart dicey,” Stefano said. “The closest exit is just a few yards from here by a slower shadow. Mariko, have Fiero and Donte bring the car to that location immediately and call ahead for the doc to be ready at Geno’s private entrance. Make certain it’s clear.”
Amaranthe had been touching Geno’s mind. He was drifting somewhere else, somewhere between she couldn’t quite reach. He was cold. Ice-cold. There was no sun. No warmth. It was dark and he was without direction. She needed to find her way to him to guide him back. Without warning he suddenly closed himself off completely to her. She felt the impact on her heart—her soul—as if a huge piece of her had been torn away and carried off with him.
“We’re losing him. We’re losing him,” Amaranthe said.“I can feel him slipping away.” She nearly crawled around Stefano in desperation to get at Geno’s chest. Taviano began chest compressions immediately.
Don’t, Geno. Don’t leave me alone.She’d never known she was alone or lonely until she’d shared his mind. Until she’d entertained the idea of discussions and laughter. Of family. Of children. Of belonging somewhere. Of fitting with someone. Their relationship had been too fast, but it was also a lifetime. They’d shared so much of themselves with each other through their connection. She couldn’t imagine losing him.
“Keep calling to him, Amara,” Stefano said.
