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“Don’t interrupt, bitch.” Emerson punches her in the face, splattering her blood on the ground. “Then you’ve got Giulio. What kind of father can’t control his kid? Once we’ve taken you and that pansy ass mayor out, Giulio is next.”
“Valentino,” Tácito’s tortured voice screams into my earpiece. “What are you waiting for? Can’t you see they’re hurting her?”
As I sign that I’m looking for my opportunity to intervene, Sloane launches a counterattack and snaps one of the men’s necks. “I don’t care what you want to do to that piece of shit Giulio, but I won’t let you walk out of here to put a hand on Valentino.” She drops the man and raises her fists.
Five men get ready to converge on her. A boom rocks the room and Sloane falls to the ground clutching her arm.
Another man I hadn’t seen steps forward, his gun raised. “You think you still have it in you?”
I raise my gun, aim for his head, and shoot without conscious thought. For a stunned second, no one moves. Mayhem breaks out. The five men turn in my direction and start shooting at me. I dodge, but searing pain hits my side, under my arm. I touch the spot and my fingers come away bloody.
Fuck! My bulletproof vest is no match for their ammunition.
“Valentino, why isn’t Sloane moving?” Tácito’s frantic question pierces the fog clouding my brain.
Because I’m closer, I can see blood pooling beneath her and not just from her shoulder.
I rush to get to her side, not caring how many times I get hit. I’m a sitting duck, but one who shoots back. One by one, I get three more men. First with a shot to the leg or arm, then a head shot. I always end with the head. Too bad for me, they put a few new holes inside my body. The searing pain is both a blessing and a curse. It helps me focus on my wife’s prone body, helps me take the next step toward her.
With one thought in my head, I have no room to indulge the fear banging my heart against my ribcage or the terror thinning my blood. I tune Tácito frantically screaming our names out.
Somehow Matthew and Emerson continue to evade me, but with Sloane so close, getting her out of here is my priority.
Another bullet gets me in the leg and I crash to the floor. From my vantage point, I can’t tell if she is breathing. Everything I’ve held back bowls me over.
“Sloane!” I scream as panic drags me beneath its dark embrace.
She doesn’t move, but I haven’t given up hope.
I’ll never give up on her. “Sloane, stay with me principessa.” I ignore the cold seeping into my body. My world will be more frigid without her. Sloane, her love, her safety, her life, have been my life’s goal for so long that I won’t give up now. No amount of bullet holes or blood loss will stop me from getting her out of here.
“Val…en…tino?” Her voice is the sweetest thing to have ever touched my ears. It means she’s still alive. There’s still hope.
I grasp onto the prospect with both hands, eagerly responding, “I’m here, principessa.” Tears blur my vision, but wiping them would take precious seconds away from getting to Sloane.
“Why can’t I move?”
Her question gives me momentary pause. Had one of Emerson’s men damaged her spine? I shake my head. We’ll figure everything out when I get us out of here.
“Don’t worry about that now, just stay with me. Do you hear me?” I start crawling towards her since my legs can no longer hold my weight. While my wounds leak blood with my progress, weakness enters my limbs and one refrain repeats in my brain, “Must save Sloane.”
“I don’t think so,” Emerson’s unwelcome voice answers instead of Sloane. “Son, you take care of the mayor. I’ve got the bitch.” His feet tread heavily on the ground.
“On it.” The glee in Matthew’s voice reminds me of the danger.
I turn on my back with a gun in each hand. My vision blurs, preventing me from seeing my marks clearly. I try to quiet the blood rushing through my veins and my heavy breathing to point in the direction I last heard their voices. Without hesitation, I pull the triggers.
One gun clatters to the ground. Footsteps run in the other direction. I missed the other target.
“Matthew!” Emerson rushes to his son’s side, confirming who I shot.
I’m working on pure instinct now as time and I will part ways soon. The least I can do is ensure I take these motherfuckers down so that Tácito can get to Sloane unharmed.
I doubt I killed Matthew. I take aim again. This time, with a prayer on my lips, I hit both men. I can’t tell if they’re dead or temporarily down from their injuries. As much as I would prefer to take my time and torture them for what they’ve done to my wife, I don’t know the full extent of Sloane’s condition. She is my priority. I fire off more shots in their direction then resume my strenuous crawl, leaving a trail of blood in my wake.
With my torso facing down, my body cam is useless to Tácito who issues threats about coming after us because he can no longer see what’s happening. I ignore him, praying he will forgive me for keeping him blind to what is happening. I won’t traumatize him by forcing him to watch my final moments.
“Valentino?” Her voice has lost some of its strength.
