Chapter 8 - The Bullet Meant for Me
The sound of gunfire dissolved into a deafening, high-pitched ringing.
The marble floor was freezing against my cheek.
Yet inside my left shoulder, an inferno roared.
It felt like someone had driven a red-hot iron rod straight through my flesh.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A rapid succession of pistol shots echoed above me.
The masked shooter hit the floor with a heavy thud just five feet away, his weapon clattering harmlessly against the stone.
Daniel stood over the body, his smoking Glock pointed down.
“Clear!” Daniel roared.
“Check the tunnels! Lock down the perimeter!”
Hands were on me immediately.
Large, frantic hands.
“Elena!”
Luca’s voice didn't sound like a mafia boss.
It sounded raw, terrified, stripped of all armor.
He pulled me into his lap, gathering my limp body against his chest.
His tailored suit was already soaking through with hot, crimson blood.
“Look at me, Elena! Stay with me!”
My eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
The gilded chandeliers above seemed to blur into spinning halos of golden light.
“It... it hurts,” I whispered.
Blood bubbled weakly on my lips.
“I know. I know it does,” Luca choked out.
He ripped his silk necktie off and pressed it violently against the wound above my chest.
The pain made me scream, a ragged, breathless sound that tore through the silent hall.
“Press down, boss!” Daniel shouted, dropping to his knees beside us.
“The medics are already on the third floor with Lucia! I’ll get them down here!”
“Run, Daniel!” Luca screamed, his eyes wild with fury and panic.
“Get them down here right now!”
Isabella rushed across the room, falling to her knees in her ruined evening gown.
She grabbed my limp hand, pressing it between both of hers.
Tears streamed down her pale face.
“Hold on, please,” Isabella wept.
“We just found you. Please don't leave us.”
I looked up at Luca.
His face was inches from mine.
A single tear fell from his dark eyelashes, landing warm against my cold forehead.
“You jumped in front of a bullet for me,” Luca whispered, his voice trembling.
“You’re my brother,” I managed to breathe.
The pain was dulling now, replaced by a terrifying, spreading coldness.
My fingers went numb.
“You don't die tonight,” Luca growled, leaning down until his forehead touched mine.
“Do you hear me, Elena? The Morettis don't die on this floor.”
Footsteps pounded into the room.
Two trauma doctors in green scrubs skidded across the marble, carrying medical bags and a defibrillator.
“Move aside, Mr. Moretti!” the lead surgeon yelled.
Luca was shoved back, his hands covered in my blood.
They cut open Isabella’s navy dress.
Needles punctured my arm.
An oxygen mask was clamped over my mouth and nose.
The ceiling began to spin faster.
The voices grew distant, echoing as if from the bottom of a deep well.
“Bilateral entry... through and through... missed the subclavian artery by two millimeters!”
“She’s in shock! Push ten of morphine and two units of O-negative!”
Luca’s voice pierced through the encroaching darkness one last time:
May you like
“Save her! If she dies, I burn this entire city to the ground!”
Then, the world faded into velvet black.
