Pain lays siege to my entire body, and any smidgeon of hope I was clinging to is smashed into sharp pieces that embed in my skin, drawing blood and killing parts of my soul.
“We can’t trace the burner to an individual or even get a number,” she continues, “but we have verified that the cell was purchased in Mexico.”
All the blood drains from my face as my worst fears are realized. “It’s the cartel.” My voice cracks before I compose myself. “Sloane is working with the cartel. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
39
SLOANE
“Ishould be with Elio,” I protest, trying to get up from the bed, but John Angelo shakes his head. “Please, I need to make sure he’s all right. He was so scared yet so brave.” My little prince ran to Hailey like I told him, and he was sobbing and shaking when I found him hidden in her kiosk. I hugged him close, dotting kisses into his hair and rubbing his back, his arms, his legs, trying to get warmth into him because the poor child was freezing and clearly traumatized. I whispered reassuring words, trying to comfort him until he was forcibly taken from my arms by Umberto.
“Umberto is with him,” John Angelo reminds me for the umpteenth time from his position on the floor. My jeans have been cut to my knee, and I’m lying on my side while he’s holding on to my lower leg as he searches for the bullet in my calf. “Hold still.”
I purposely let my mind wander to distract me from the pain as he probes my bloody wound. It was chaos at the park, and police were swarming all over the place as we left. I don’t know how we got away without giving statements, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the cops were on the mafia’s payroll. Isn’t that usually how things work in gangster movies?
Briefly, I wonder if I’ll be arrested for Diego’s death. I wouldn’t even contest it. Like I said before, I deserve to be locked up. Truth is, it might be the safest option now I know the cartel will be gunning for me. I have to get out of here before they make a follow-up move. I won’t risk Elio and Cristian any more than I have.
“I think I see the bullet.” John Angelo looks up at me. “You know what to do.”
Stuffing the rolled-up cloth in my mouth, I bite down hard on it, using it to muffle my screams of agony as the bodyguard rummages around in my bloody calf.
“Got it.” He holds up the tweezers containing a mangled bullet as I slump forward, breathing heavily as my calf throbs.
“She’s going to bleed out all over the floor.” Vincenzo’s suspicious gaze fixes on the hole in my leg that’s now gushing blood. His arm is in a sling from a bullet injury he picked up in the park. John Angelo removed that one first.
“Leave it.” I shrug. “I’ll just clean it and wrap a bandage around it.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” John Angelo stands. “It could get infected.” He glances over his shoulder at the other bodyguard. “Grab me some more cloths, a bowl of warm water, and the first aid kit from the kitchen. Check with Umberto while you’re out there. See if we’ve had any update from the hospital.”
Pain has a vise grip on my heart, but tears don’t come. I don’t think I have any more tears left to fall. I’m weirdly numb. It’s probably shock, because I’m remarkably calm as I wait for Cristian to return. It’s quite possible he might kill me. I can’t find it in myself to care. I deserve to die. Elio was almost kidnapped by the cartel today, and it’s all my fault. If Clint doesn’t pull through his life-saving surgery, his death will be on my conscience too.
Vincenzo looks like he wants to argue, but he leaves my bedroom after a tense face-off between both bodyguards. John Angelo goes into the en suite bathroom, returning with a wet cloth and a towel. I grit my teeth as he mops up the blood, cussing under his breath. “You should be at the hospital.” His brow puckers as he stares up at me from his position on the floor. “But I’ll have to do. You need stitches, girl. It’s going to hurt a lot.”
“Good.” I nod but offer nothing else.
“What’s going on, Sloane?”
I feel dead on the inside as I stare at him. “Do you ever wish you had a time machine so you could go back and do everything differently?”
“Doubt there’s a human alive who hasn’t thought that at one time or another.”
“I wish I could go back to June of last year and not step foot in that bar.”
“What bar?” he asks, frowning as Vincenzo slips back into the room carrying the requested items.
Vincenzo stalls, looking between me and his colleague with fresh suspicion. From the moment I was carried into my bedroom, he has stalked my movements with mistrustful eyes, almost like he wishes I’d do something so he has an excuse to shoot me. Perhaps I should give him a reason. He whispers something in John Angelo’s ear as he off-loads the supplies. John Angelo nods, proceeding to clean my cut without uttering another word.
I almost pass out as he stitches the wound, and I’m panting and sweating by the time he’s done. “Take these.” He drops two pain pills into my hand along with a bottle of water, waiting until I swallow them before saying, “The boss will be here in ten minutes. You should freshen up.”
The pain is incredible when he helps me to my feet, but I push him away, hobbling toward my closet to grab clean clothes.
“Going somewhere, Sloane?” Vincenzo hisses when he spots my packed bag on the floor of the closet.
“It’s not what you think,” I mumble, opening the bag and pulling out a pair of sweats, a hoodie, clean underwear, a ball cap, and my purse. I can’t leave without my wallet and ID.
“Isn’t it?” he snarls, glaring at me like he wants to snap my neck.
I could try telling him, but what’s the point? He’s not the one who deserves the truth, and I only have enough strength in me to tell it once. Concealing the purse under the clothes, I limp past a scowling Vincenzo and walk into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me before he can come in.
