Page 59 of The Red Queen

“Go,” he told the priest, his tone clipped.

“But Signore…”

Giovanni stared at the other man in a way that could not be argued with. “Start the fucking ceremony.”

The priest looked offended, but fearful enough to begin. He spoke in quick short sentences, giving Giovanni and Desi the essentials. When he came to the vows, Giovanni stared down at Desi, who clung to his neck and repeated the words in a clear, concise voice.

Desi’s vows were spoken in a voice that was shaky from pain and blood loss, but her words were clear.

“Finish,” Giovanni growled, not looking up from his bride.

The ceremony finished in record time, and the moment he could, Giovanni turned and strode back down the aisle with Desi. He jerked his head at Dr. Danilo, who was sitting next to the aisle. The man stood and followed Giovanni while the other guests stared after them with a mixture of bemusement and consternation.

Vitto held the door open for them as Giovanni walked toward the house.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked when he came in range of Vitto. “You were supposed to be watching her.”

“Be nice,” Desi whispered, her eyes closing for several long seconds before she looked up at him with a cloudy gaze. “He got shot too. Wish I’d thought to wear a vest like him.”

Giovanni grunted his understanding and carried Desi into his office. He laid her down on the couch and sat next to her while the doctor pulled a chair up to her side.

“Single shot… through… and through.” Desi gasped as the doctor unwound her makeshift binding.

“Hell of a way to get hitched,” Dr. Danilo grunted. “We’ll need to expose the wound.”

Giovanni helped Desi sit up and began working on the row of buttons down the back of the dress.

“It was a beautiful dress,” Desi said mournfully, then winced as Giovanni peeled it down her torso, pulling at the wound where the blood had clotted around the fabric.

“I’ll buy you a thousand more.” When he saw the tearing in her flesh, rage slammed through him again, this time stronger. Between her finger and this gunshot wound, she was being carved up piece by piece. She belonged to him, and it was his job to keep her safe, yet he was failing.

“I don’t want a thousand dresses.” She looked up at him, her eyes half-closed as darkness closed in on her. “I wanted this one.”

She went limp in his arms.

He looked frantically at the doctor, who was calmly pulling what he needed from the medical bag he always carried with him. As doctor to the mob, he’d learned over the years that mobsters got hurt. A lot.

“It’s better that she’s out while I clean the wound.” He checked her pulse and nodded. “Strong and steady. This is her body’s way of handling the shock. She’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

Giovanni was skeptical, thought maybe the doctor had gotten too hardened over his years of treating knife, gunshot, and other torture wounds, but he trusted the man. He might not be gentle, but he was good at what he did.

Dr. Danilo cleaned and sutured the wound, front and back, then covered each wound with gauze that he taped to her smooth flesh. She moaned but didn’t wake up as he applied pressure to the bandage.

Reaching into his bag, he set a bottle of pills on Giovanni’s desk. “Antibiotics.” He shook his head, frowning down at Desi. “She needs to stop getting hurt.”

“Si, she does.”

Dr. Danilo packed up and left the office quietly while Giovanni pulled Desi’s dress back up her chest, covering her.

Vitto was standing in the doorway out to the garden, his eyes averted from his charge while she was being treated.

“Antonio?” Giovanni asked.

Vitto nodded.

“Is he dead?” There was no inflection to his voice, though he held his breath as he waited for the answer. His son had done this, his son had done so much damage to the Savino organization and to Giovanni’s life. He didn’t know if there was a way back now for Antonio.

“No, she stopped short of killing him,” Vitto told him.

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