The men dropped instantly.
But the other two on the upper balcony had already spotted me.
They opened fire sporadically, bullets chewing into the concrete around me.
I was completely exposed.
A bullet whizzed past my neck—so close I felt the hot sting as it grazed the skin, missing my artery by less than an inch.
Suddenly, a heavy body slammed into me, driving me to the ground and covering me completely.
Vincenzo’s frame pressed me down protectively as bullets continued to rain.
I felt the sickening impacts as rounds tore into his flesh, one after another.
I struggled beneath him, trying to push him off, but he was dead weight, as if he had already accepted this as the end.
“No!” I screamed.
When the gunfire finally paused, I shoved him off me with all the strength I had left and rolled to the side.
The last two men had stepped out from behind the rusted railings, thinking they had won.
I raised the Glock and fired twice more—clean, precise shots.
Both dropped.
I scrambled back to Vincenzo.
He lay sprawled on the filthy concrete, blood pooling beneath him in a widening crimson lake.
It soaked his shirt, his jacket, his hair.
Blood streaked down his face and neck, coating his hands where he had tried to hold pressure on his wounds.
His entire body was drenched in it.
When he had thrown himself over me, the warm, sticky blood had transferred to my clothes and skin as well.
I was now covered in it—my hands, my torn shirt, my arms—all slick and red with his blood.
I dropped to my knees beside him, heart hammering.
“Vincenzo, why the hell did you do that?” My voice cracked. “I could have taken them out...”
“No...” His breathing was shallow, barely there, each word a struggle.
His eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open.
“No, you... you wouldn’t have made it...”
I tapped his cheek urgently.
“Vincenzo, stay with me! You are not dying on me. Do you hear me? Never!”
His eyes opened again, glassy and unfocused.
A weak, pained smile touched his lips.
