The realization lands like ice in my veins as the driver curses.
Another shot cracks.
The vehicle swerves hard.
Dante’s body covers mine completely now, shielding me as the sound of bullets tearing into metal fills the car.
T The small white bag with the ornament tumbles from the seat beside me, sliding across the floor as the SUV jerks sideways.
The tissue paper spills open.
For a split second the tiny star ornament flashes in the dashboard lights—yellow and green, innocent and fragile—before it rolls beneath the seat.
Baby’s First Christmas.
The thought slams through my mind with cruel, impossible clarity.
Then—
A brutal impact slams through him.
His body jerks.
His breath leaves him in a harsh grunt against my shoulder.
My brain struggles to make sense of the movement, of the sudden weight pressing harder against me, of the strange hitch in his breathing.
Then warmth spreads across my arm.
No.No.God, no!“Dante—” My voice breaks on his name as tears sting my eyes.
The SUV careens wildly as the driver fights the wheel.“Hold on!”the soldier shouts.
Another round of gunfire erupts behind us.
The SUV’s engine roars, and the car rockets forward down the dark road.
The gunfire fades slightly behind us, but inside the vehicle the chaos hasn’t stopped.There’s glass crunching beneath the tires, Dante’s breath is harsh against my shoulder, and the metallic smell of blood flooding the air.
And beneath me?—
Dante’s weight is suddenly too, too heavy.
ChapterThirty
Valentina
Austin, Texas
The private waiting room outside the surgical wing smells faintly of antiseptic and expensive coffee.Not the sludge that sits in pots in public waiting areas, but something darker and richer, the kind brought in quickly once hospital administrators realized exactly whose helicopter had just landed on their roof.
Even so, the scent does nothing to calm the tightness coiling through my chest.
The room itself is quiet, insulated from the rest of the hospital behind thick glass doors and discreet security posted in the hallway beyond.Someone had the sense to move us away from the chaos of the emergency department the moment Dante was rushed into surgery.
Two of Moretti’s soldiers stand outside those doors now while another remains at the far end of the corridor.
Protection.Privacy.Control.Everything men like Dante expect even when they are bleeding on a stretcher.Especially when they’re bleeding out on a stretcher.
