My shoes crunch over shattered glass as I step forward, every movement too loud in the horrible quiet. My eyes scan the wreckage—fallen decorations, overturned chairs, streaks of red smeared across the marble.
And then I see gold.
Sienna.
Her dress glitters like sunrise spilled across the floor, only… wrong. Dimmed. Stained. She’s sprawled on the marble, blood blooming beneath her like a dark, terrible flower. Her skin looks too pale, too still, nothing like the vibrant girl who was laughing minutes ago.
And then I see Elizabeth.
She’s half on top of Sienna, as if she threw herself over her at the last second. Her black dress is ripped, soaked through with crimson, the fabric clinging to her in places it shouldn’t. Her blonde curls are matted with blood and her arm lies twisted at an angle that makes my stomach pitch. She was shielding my daughter with her body.
For a heartbeat—just one blinding, brutal second—the world shrinks to the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. Nothing else exists. No air. No thought. No time.
Just my girls broken on the floor.
“Get the shooters!” I snarl, voice cracking the silence. My men scatter instantly. I drop to my knees beside them. “Sienna—Sienna!”
Her eyes flutter weakly, unfocused. “Dad?”
“I’m here.” My voice shakes despite me. I press my hand over the wound in her chest, but there’s too much blood.
Elizabeth groans beside her, trying to move. I catch the faintest sound of her whispering Sienna’s name.
“Stay down,” I order her, one hand still on my daughter. “Don’t move.”
Her eyes flicker open, dazed but aware.
“I tried—” she rasps.
“I know,” I say, even though I don’t. Even though I can’t think beyond the rising terror clawing up my throat.
Sirens wail in the distance. Cesaro returns, shouting something about the shooters being contained, but his voice feels miles away.
“Get the car,” I bark. “Now.”
He nods, already moving.
I lift Sienna carefully, my hands slick with blood. Her head falls against my shoulder, her breathing shallow.
“Stay with me,tesoro,” I whisper. “Please.”
Elizabeth stirs beside us, reaching weakly for Sienna’s hand. I see the pain in her face and the fear, and something inside me breaks wide open.
“Get her too,” I order one of my men. “Now.”
As we rush out into the freezing night, I can still hear the music playing faintly from inside, horribly out of place.
Two girls wanted a night of freedom. Instead, I’m carrying the cost of it in my arms.
The next few hours blur.
Sienna is taken from my arms and rushed into surgery. Elizabeth disappears into the emergency ward on a gurney,blood streaked across her dress, still breathing—thank God—but pale enough to make my stomach twist.
And me? I’m pacing the cold, sterile hallway, seconds from losing the composure that’s kept me alive this long.
The walls here smell like antiseptic and loss. I’ve waited in rooms like this before after gunfights and betrayals, but never for my child. Never like this.
Cesaro arrives just after three, his coat dusted with snow. He looks like he’s been through hell too, but his tone is steady. “He’s patched up enough for you to question.”
