“We need to leave. Now. His chief of security isn’t here and still holds the city.”
I nod, and turn back to Toma, caressing his cheek. He grimaces and I take my hand away again. I don’t want to hurt him. He’s suffered enough. But his hand lifts. The pad of his index finger glides slowly on my cheek, erasing the lone tear left on the apple there. It descends to my lower lip. His voice is raw as he speaks.
“I didn’t deserve you. But I loved you all the same.”
His arm drops suddenly. And I break over the body of the man I couldn’t save.
TWENTY-NINE
LUCIE
“Tell me you have a doctor on board, Aleksei,” I half-yell as two men carry Toma on a stretcher that I had no clue we had with us. He groans, his body shaken with how fast and rough our movements have to be.
“We do.”
“Oh, thank you.”
We don’t have a choice but to leave in a hurry. Petar Kovac’s forces have taken a hit today, but there are still men loyal to him in Split, and we can’t afford to have them regroup and strike us while they can.
“We’ll have to come back and clean up properly,” Dante says in his phone, probably to the Moretti for a joint assault to take place soon.
I stop listening. I don’t care.
As much as I’ve decided to remain in the mafia, my role isn’t to strategise against enemies. Right now, it’s to take care of Toma. Toma, who’s slipping away from me.
“Stay with me,piccolo. Don’t let go.”
I run next to him, his body oozing blood from knife wounds all over, and try to keep hold of his hand. His head lolls to the side, and I squeeze his fingers. “Don’t fall back asleep.”
“Lu,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.
I suppress a whole body shudder, aware of the cold sweat of dread on my skin. I ignore my body, my thirst, my hunger. Nothing matters unless I know he’ll survive.
Aleksei’s men slide the stretcher across the back seats of one of the vans and I jump behind them. The drive to the airfield is taking too long. My eyes don’t stray from Toma’s beaten face. Blood crusts under his nose, coating his moustache with it. Without looking, I grab a bottle of water and pour some on a tissue, dabbing at his mouth as gently as I can. I don’t know why it’s hitting me hard like this. Maybe because he used to kiss me with his luscious mouth. Maybe because that’s the place from which I hear my name repeated like a prayer.
The doors of the van open and Irina’s there, taking hold of my bicep. “Let the doctor do his job, babe.”
I shake my head vigourously. “I can’t.”
We climb the stairs to the cabin after the man carrying Toma, Dante and Aleksei on our heels. Once inside, she stops me when I try to follow Toma out back.
“He’s in good hands,” Irina says gently. As though she’s scared I’m seconds away from a meltdown. I probably am. A wave of gratefulness takes hold of me and I throw myself at Irina.
Her arms encircle me. “He’s going to be okay,” she says as she soothes me, petting my air.
“Thank you. For thinking about the doctor. For coming with me. For being my family.”
“Always, Loulou.” She steps back and takes my head in her manicured hands. Our foreheads dip together. She nods subtly, then, “We take care of our own.”
“Lealtà, dovere, coraggio,” I respond mindlessly.
“Fuck your Ventura motto, Lucie. We take care of our own because we love you. It has nothing to do with loyalty. You hear me?”
My lips tremble, a cracked sob escaping my lips. Her and my cousin take turns holding me during the flight back to London, Aleksei checking in on Toma and the doctor at the back of the plane frequently to reassure me.
Bone tired, I fall asleep before we land.
THIRTY
