His hands come up, trying to protect himself. I grab his wrist, twisting until it snaps. His scream cuts off when my fist crushes his windpipe.
Still not enough.
I keep hitting him. Can't stop. Won't stop. His face isn't a face anymore, just meat and bone fragments, but I keep going. Each punch is for every second his hands were on her throat. Every breath she couldn't take. Every?—
"Lorenzo! Stop! He's dead!"
Dante's voice interrupts me. He's standing in the doorway, Marina's limp form in his arms, her shoulder soaked with blood.
"We need to go!"
I blink, looking down at my hands. They're covered in blood and gore, shaking uncontrollably. Daniil's body beneath me doesn't even look human anymore.
Sophia.
Everything else disappears. I scramble across the floor to the bed, my bloody hands hovering over her still form.
"No, no, no..." The word tears from my throat, raw and broken. "Sophia!"
Her name comes out as a roar. I pull her into my arms, her head lolling against my chest.
"Please, baby. Please." Tears burn my eyes as I press my ear to her chest, searching, begging for?—
There. Barely there, but there. A heartbeat. Weak, thready, but fighting.
"She's alive!" I gather her against me, standing on legs that threaten to buckle. "She's still alive!"
Dante's already moving, Marina bleeding in his arms. "Hospital's eight minutes if we run every light."
I follow him down the stairs, taking them as fast as I dare while cradling Sophia like she's made of glass. Her weight feels like nothing. Everything. The only thing anchoring me to this world.
We burst onto the street where our car waits, engine running. Dante dives Marina into the passenger seat pulling back the seat so she can lay while I slide into the back, never loosening my hold on Sophia.
Dante gets into the drivers seat. Tires scream against asphalt as we tear away from the curb.
I hold Sophia tighter, pressing my lips to her forehead, tasting blood and tears—mine or hers, I don't know.
"Stay with me," I whisper against her skin. "You're the only thing keeping me alive in this fucking pitiful life. You hear me? You don't get to leave."
Her chest rises slightly. Falls. The pause before the next breath stretches forever.
Then rises again.
The waiting room reeks of antiseptic and fear. I've been pacing the same stretch of linoleum for thirty minutes, my knuckles wrapped in gauze that's already soaked through with blood.
Every doctor who passes gets the same treatment. I grab their coat, pull them close, make sure they understand exactly what happens if either woman in there doesn't walk out breathing.
"You save them, or I turn this place into a fucking morgue."
The latest doctor—some resident who looks twelve—nods frantically before scurrying away.
Good. Let them all be terrified. Fear makes people work harder.
Dante sits in a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. Marina's blood still stains his shirt. He hasn't said a word since we got here, but his jaw keeps working like he's grinding his teeth to dust.
The automatic doors hiss open. Nico storms in with Nora right behind him.
"Where are they?" Nico demands, scanning the waiting area.
