"That's good. Really good." I hear Kristen exhale. "You're doing great, Marina. Just keep the pressure on and keep him warm. Do you have a blanket?"
"On the bed."
"Pull it over him. Not over the wound, but over the rest of him. Shock can drop body temperature fast."
I tug the blanket up to his chest. His skin is pale. Clammy. But he's breathing.
"How long until the doctor gets here?" I ask.
"Lorenzo said soon. They're sending someone local. Just keep doing what you're doing."
Minutes pass.
I don't know how many. Five. Maybe ten.
My arm aches from holding pressure. My right hand cramps twice and I have to switch to my left. The towel under my palm is soaked through. I grab another one. Keep pressing.
Kristen stays on the line. Asks me questions. Keeps me focused.
"His color?"
"Still pale."
"Breathing?"
"Still steady."
"You're doing great. Just a little longer."
The buzzer sounds.
I jump so hard I nearly drop the phone.
"Someone's here," I say.
"That's probably the doctor."
I press the towel harder against Dante's side, then realize I can't hold it and answer the door at the same time.
"I have to let go of the wound."
"It's okay. Just for a minute. Go."
I run to the intercom. Press the button.
"Who is it?"
"Dr. Marchetti." A man's voice. Accented. Professional. "Lorenzo Sartori sent me."
Relief floods through me so fast my knees nearly buckle.
"Fourth floor," I say. "Apartment 4B."
I buzz him in.
"The doctor's here," I tell Kristen. "He's coming up."
"Good. You did good, Marina. Really."
