Page 56 of When She Loves
“Hello?”
“Get to Il Caminetto right now. We’re getting shot at.”
“What? Fuck. Okay, I’m on my way! I’m not too far.” He hangs up.
I drop the phone to the ground and realize it’s gotten eerily quiet.
Heart-crushing fear seizes me. Is Rafaele dead? He must have run out of bullets. He only had two guns on him.
The backs of my eyes prickle. Stupid idiot. We could have tried to escape out the back together.
Someone is walking toward me. The sound of their deliberate steps resonates through the room, growing closer and closer. I press my back against the bar and jerk my knees close to my chest.
Ow!
I glance down at myself and my heart drops. There’s bloodalldown my front.
Was I hit by a bullet?
Oh no. No, no, no. Was I shot? I must have been.
I’m so pumped up on adrenaline, I didn’t even feel it.
The footsteps halt. “What thefuck?”
I yelp, my gaze jumping to Rafaele. Relief floods through me. He’s all right. Somehow, he’s got less blood on him than I do.
He sinks to the floor beside me, his jaw clenched and his face pale, and clutches my shoulders. “Why are you bleeding?” There’s a strange waver to his voice.
“I don’t know.” My throat tightens with panic. There’s so much blood. “I think I was shot.”
Rafaele growls a curse and pulls out a knife.
I grasp his arm. “Tell Gem, Vale, and Vince that I love them.”
He ignores me, his expression a mask of pure concentration. He cuts through the glimmering cords of my dress and pushes them aside to expose my belly.
My gaze jolts back up to his face. I don’t want to look at the wound. I can’t. I’m going to be sick.
“Rafaele,” I breathe.
He grabs a cloth napkin from the bar and starts gently prodding my stomach.
“Ouch.”
“I’m sorry,” he says gruffly. “I need to clean up the blood so that I can see what’s going on.”
I’m dying, that’s what’s going on. How many times did I say I’d rather die than be a mob wife? Now, here I am, less than one week into my marriage, bleeding out on the floor of a restaurant, and I feel like an idiot.
Idon’twant to die.
“You’re not as horrible as I thought you’d be,” I squeeze out.
Rafaele doesn’t answer. He’s so focused on what he’s doing, I’m not even sure he heard me.
“Maybe if we had more time,” I whisper. “Maybe if I got to know you better…” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Everyone says you’re supposed to have clarity on your deathbed, but I’m more confused than ever. I reach for his wrist and wrap my hand around it.
Finally, he lifts his gaze to mine. There’s no coldness in it. Just relief.
