Page 87 of The Voicemail

Maya looks at Elena.

Elena nods. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

She says it like a promise. Luca guides Maya toward the rear exit. I follow with Elena in my arms. The alley is cold and crowded, but my men have it locked down. They have the exits covered. Two bodies lie near the garage mouth. A third man is on his knees with his hands behind his head. Sirens are starting somewhere in the distance, but they’re still far enough away to ignore.

Marco opens the SUV door. He has blood on his sleeve and a grim look on his face.

“Bianchi?” I ask.

“Gone through the south tunnel. We have men following, but he switched cars.”

I nod once.

Elena hears it, of course. “He got away?”

“For now.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I know.”

I lower her into the backseat and climb in beside her. Maya is put in the second SUV with Luca because if she and Elena ride together, neither one will stop crying long enough to let a doctor examine them.

Elena leans against the seat and closes her eyes. I look her over carefully. There’s a bruise on her cheek alongside a split lip. Blood is dried near her hairline and there are raw abrasions on her wrists. From the way she’s holding herself, she’s strained her shoulder, if not worse. Those are just the things I can see. The hand on her stomach reminds me of everything I can’t.

“Hospital?” Marco asks from the front.

Elena’s eyes open immediately. “No.”

My head turns toward her. “Elena.”

“No hospital,” she repeats firmly.

“You’ve just been through a traumatic event. You need to be seen by a doctor.”

“Not while Bianchi is still out there,” she says, fear in her voice. “Don’t you have doctors who can look me over?”

“Yes,” I answer, understanding her fear is only about being somewhere so public right now.

“Then take me to them.”

“My doctor can meet us at the penthouse,” I tell her.

“Then take me there,” she says quietly. “Take me home.”

Everything in me stills. Marco looks at us through the rearview mirror, then immediately looks away.

I keep my voice careful. “What?”

Elena opens her eyes fully. Her face is pale and bruised, streaked with dried blood. She looks furious, terrified, and half broken, but she’s looking straight at me.

“Your home,” she amends.

She swallows hard and looks away, like the words cost more than she meant to give.

“I don’t want to be alone right now.”

I reach for her hand slowly, giving her time to refuse. She doesn’t. Her fingers close around mine.