I take a step back from the podium, my pulse spiking. “I hope the attorney general and the United States government can find a way to bring an end to this corruption for the good of our city and country, and that?—”
My gasp sounds impossibly loud as my body jolts back, incredible searing pain exploding through my torso. I stare down at my side in horror as a red stain spreads across my jacket, growing larger by the second.
I’ve been shot. Holy hell, I’ve been shot.
Pandemonium erupts. People scream, dive for cover, scatter in every direction.
From the corner of my vision, I see Katie crumble to the floor—no, no, they got her too—and then my vision starts to fade around the edges.
The last thing I hear before the darkness takes me is Rafael’s voice, raw with anguish, shouting my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.
I’m sorry, Rafael. I’m so fucking sorry.
And then there’s nothing.
46
RAFAEL
If she hadn’t stepped back at that exact moment, that bullet would have torn straight through her heart instead of her side. The thought sends ice-cold terror shooting down my spine, weakening my knees even as I sprint towards my wife’s crumpled form on the makeshift stage.
After the two shots directed at Emilia and Katie, the shooters bolted from the conference room. But I trust my brothers to hunt them down and tear them apart. My only focus is the woman lying motionless in a spreading pool of her own blood.
My knees skid across the wooden floor as I drop beside her, shaking her fiercely. “Emilia!Emilia!” I’m probably too rough, but I need those honey eyes to open. I need proof she’s still here.
She jerks awake with a sharp gasp, eyes snapping wide, and dizzying relief floods through me. I scoop her into my arms, cradling her against my chest.
She’s alive. She’s breathing. She’s?—
“I don’t know how they got past security,” Enzo’s voice cuts through my focus as he appears behind me with several of mymen. “It was locked down tight. They must have posed as reporters, they–”
I shoulder past him without a word, not interested in his inadequate fucking excuses. Not when my wife is bleeding out in my arms.
Emilia winces, and when I look down at her, my heartbeat ceases. She’s going pale, so pale. The blood—Christ,she’s losing too much blood.
“Your jacket. Now,” I bark at one of my men as we push through the conference room doors.
He strips it off without question, but I realize immediately that I can’t stop the bleeding while carrying her—not without jostling her more than I already am. The thought of causing her more pain makes my stomach revolt.
“Press it against her wound,” I order him. “Hard. Don’t let up.”
The moment we step outside the hotel, reporters swarm us again, and what feels like a million camera bulbs go off at once. “Get the fuck out of my way!” I bellow, crazed with fury when they block my path.
When they hesitate, Enzo whips out his gun, and they scatter instantly.
Maximo is already holding the car door open when we reach it, his face tight with worry as he stares down at Emilia. “I called the hospital. They’re ready for you.”
I slide into the backseat, immediately taking over pressure duty on her wound while Enzo guns the engine. The car lurches forward, tires squealing.
Emilia’s breathing turns shallow and wheezy, and when I look down, her eyes are starting to flutter closed. No. Absolutely not.She can’t fall asleep.
Despite not wanting to hurt her, I shake her until she gasps and her eyes snap back open. “Stay with me,piccola. You need to stay awake.” I glance at Enzo. “Go faster!”
My heart thunders in my chest, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs painfully.I’m going to gut every single bastard responsible for this.
“K–Katie?” Emilia’s voice is barely there.
Fuck, I’d completely forgotten about that bitch. My gaze slips to Pierre in the passenger seat.
