Page 81 of His Assistant

I pull her into my arms.

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have gotten in the car.”

“It’s okay.”

“I ruined everything.”

“No.” I pull back enough to take her face in my hands. “You were scared and angry. You’re not the one who betrayed me. All I care about is that you’re okay.”

She cries harder. I press my forehead to hers. “My dad,” she whispers.

I stand and pull her up with me, keeping one arm around her. “Let’s go get him.”

Rafe reaches us then, blood on his cheek that doesn’t seem to be his. He looks at Sofia once, then at me, and some of the strain leaves his face.

“Marco?” he asks

“He’s just down this hallway,” I say.

Sofia makes a sound and starts forward. I keep my arm around her, but I don’t try to stop her.

He’s on the floor, barely conscious, hands still loosely tied in front of him. His face is swollen and bruised, blood leaking from his mouth. His breathing is rough but steady.

Sofia drops beside him. “Papa.”

His eyes flutter open.

It takes him a second to focus. “Sofia?” he whispers.

“I’m here.” She reaches for him, then stops like she is afraid of hurting him. “I’m here.”

His gaze moves to me.

Shame passes over his battered face before pain swallows it. “Get her out,” he rasps.

“I’m getting both of you out.”

He tries to argue. He doesn’t have the strength.

I crouch beside him. “Marco, I’m going to lift you.”

“I can walk,” Marco mutters.

“No, you can’t,” Sofia and I say at the same time.

I slide one arm behind Marco’s back and the other beneath his knees. He groans when I lift him, and Sofia flinches like she feels it in her own body.

“Easy,” she whispers.

“I’ve got him,” I tell her.

Rafe clears the path out. His men have the building secured, or close enough. I carry Marco through the club, past broken glass and bodies and blood and the wreckage of a family betrayal I’ll process when Sofia isn’t shaking beside me.

Outside, Bradley has the car waiting at the back entrance, blood dried at his temple and murder still in his eyes.

“Dr. Greco is waiting at the penthouse,” he tells me.

“Good.”