Page 86 of Mafia Darling

Then I knew what had happened. What was happening. I supposed it had been inevitable.

My brain couldn’t function but my mouth still worked. “Francesca,” I wheezed, wanting them to get her to safety. She was what mattered in this moment, not me. She was the only thing that mattered.

I watched her mouth open in a scream but nothing came out. My men rushed around me, their footsteps silent, as I collapsed on the hard ground and blue sky filled my vision. I heard nothing, the pain in my lower half roaring in my mind, my ears ringing. I saw Marco, who seemed to be shouting at me . . . and then I slipped away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Francesca

I was screaming.

They were dragging me away from him and I couldn’t stop screaming. I clawed and dove, struggled as hard as I could to get back to him, my entire world laying there on the ground, his blood seeping out onto the cement.

No, this isn’t happening. They can’t take him from me.

“Fausto!” I cried. And cried and cried, his name a refrain on my lips, my only thought to be with him. “No, please! I have to be there!”

They didn’t listen. Three soldiers packed me into the Range Rover and shouted at me to stay low. I was hysterical, crying and shaking. Marco was with Fausto, pressing on his side, and my husband—oh, God. His eyes were closed and he was as pale as death. No, please. Don’t take him from me.

Marco began giving orders and they lifted Fausto up quickly, carrying him to my car. I moved over, making as much room as possible. Nesto jumped behind the wheel, Giulio in the passenger seat, as the men put Fausto into the back seat with me. I grabbed under his shoulders and pulled with all my might to help get him into the car, settling his head on my lap, and Marco climbed into the back, too.

“Vai, vai!” Marco punched the back of the driver’s seat as if to hurry Nesto.

The car sped off, but I couldn’t pay attention to anything but my man’s face. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I could barely breathe through my sobs. He could not die. Not here, not now.

I stroked my husband’s forehead and held him. He was so still, his chest barely moving. His olive skin was dull, like someone had unplugged the light inside him. “Paparino,” I whispered. “You can’t leave me.”

“Francesca,” Marco barked. “I need your help.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Tell me what to do.”

“I need you to keep pressure on his wound while I work.”

I gently laid Fausto’s head on the seat and joined Marco in the footwell. I reached for Fausto’s middle and put my hands on the bloody towels covering the wound. There was so much blood. Fausto’s blood. It seeped through the fabric and onto my hands. My arms shook as I pressed, hoping I could stem the flow of red.

“Just keep firm, even pressure on him, Frankie. I won’t know what we’re dealing with until I see the wound.” Marco said as he pulled a case from under the front seat.

Fausto groaned and I started to ease off. “Ignore him,” Marco snapped. “It’s better that he lives. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Oh, Jesus. I didn’t move, just kept pressing down on the bloody towels. Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die. It was a mantra in my head, a prayer of desperation in my darkest hour.

Now wearing surgical gloves, Marco flicked open a knife. “Here, let me in there.”

When I backed away, Marco shoved aside the bloody cloth then quickly cut through Fausto’s vest and shirt, exposing the wound. Blood ran in rivers out of my husband’s body, and I covered my mouth, trying not to howl in terror.

Marco wasn’t phased, his expression calm. He doused Fausto with water from the kit and pushed a plastic tube filled with white stuff into Fausto’s wound. Then he pushed down on a plunger and forced whatever was in the tube into Fausto.

I could see the white stuff instantly expand, the blood slowing.

“What was all that?”

“Saline to clean the area and special sponges. They expand to pack the wound and stop the bleeding.”

“How do you know about this stuff?”

He went back to the case. “I was a medic in the army.”

I felt a burst of hope. Thank God Marco was here. “Now what?”

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