“It means I’m done. No more smoothing things over, no more help, no more trying to make it right. And if it comes to it…” I trailed off, then focused on him and breathed deep. “If it comes to it, I’m going to choose him.” Getting the words out had been hard, almost impossible to speak around the nerves and fear and disappointment. I’d spent my entire life choosing Santo, had thought I always would, and even though I was certain now, saying so to him hadn’t been easy. Not that anything with him ever was.
“So that’s it, huh?” he said, leaning back against the couch.
The alarm bells that had been ringing low began to chime loudly. I’d once watched Santo break a waitress’s arm because his dinner had been cold. Yet here I was, telling him my allegiance was to someone else, and it had barely made a ripple.
Something was very wrong.
“I will always appreciate what you did,” I said, hoping the words would remind him who I was or at least buy me time to get out of here. After, I’d figure out what I’d been doing here in the first place.
“Good way to show it, Daniela,” Michael said.
I looked at him but then quickly turned back to Santo, still determined not to get distracted, uncertain of what would happen if I did.
“So you think you’ve repaid me. I saved you and your sister, and you think you can come here, say you’ll be grateful, but then tell me you choose him?”
He glared at me, and the rising grimace on his face, the way he stood, his body hunched like he was waiting to take off, made those warning bells ring at a fever pitch.
“Yes. I hope out of respect to Mother, our bond, that would be enough,” I said.
“That’s what you thought?” Santo said.
I nodded.
“You were wrong,” Michael said.
I turned to look at him, and before I could fully comprehend what he was doing, he lifted a gun, pointed it at me, and pulled the trigger.
Twenty-Five
Sergei
“So, how are you liking it here, Adrian?” I asked as I paced around the back office of the bar.
He said nothing, and I laughed, he didn’t even give any indication that I had spoken. Not even Adrian would get to me today. Nothing could pierce the emotional high last night with Daniela had brought.
I was even more certain now I loved her, had probably known it all along, but now, our bond was acknowledged and it would only grow stronger from here. The business was under control, everything with Daniela was good.
I just might be figuring all this shit out.
I heard a loud bang, what sounded like the door being thrown open. The place was empty, and I moved toward the sound, Adrian behind me.
What I saw when I left the office almost brought me to my knees.
Vincent ran toward me, Daniela in his arms.
A dark, wet stain marred her dress. I instantly knew it was her blood.
“What the fuck happened?” I yelled.
“I saw her driving toward the house, weaving. She crashed on the sidewalk. She’s been hit, I can’t tell how bad it is,” he said.
I turned back, swept everything off the desk in the back office, and yelled, “Lay her down!”
He did and I rushed to her, shouting questions.
“When? Where did this happen?” I yelled, my insides trembling with an emotion far too close to fear, one I didn’t have much experience with. Shock at trying to process what my eyes and brain wouldn’t let me deny.
“I don’t know. I found her ten minutes ago,” Vincent said.
I touched her skin, which wasn’t nearly as warm as it should’ve been.
“Have a doctor here in the next three minutes,” I yelled.
“Already on the way,” Adrian said.
“Daniela?” I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as I could.
She lifted her eyes, her pupils dilated, unfocused.
“Daniela!” I said again, my voice even more urgent.
She focused on me. “Santo…” she said.
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm when I thought my heart might break from my chest.
She swallowed hard. “Santo. Michael,” she said, her voice weak.
“Are they dead? Did you get attacked?” I asked, urgent to know everything that had happened, whether this was someone trying to go after Santo while Daniela had been caught in the crossfire, certain of nothing except whoever had done this would die.
She shook her head and then grimaced. “Shot me,” she said.
It took me a moment to process what she’d said. Even after all I’d seen, all I’d done, Santo and Michael hurting Daniela had never crossed my mind. When I did process it, anger hit me like a physical blow. At them for what they’d done, and at myself for leaving her alone, unprotected, my complacency and inability to contemplate what Santo might do having allowed this to happen to her.