Page 120 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

It’s hard to breathe.

Just me. Blue sky. The edges are going dark.

No, a shadow comes over me and I can see Heaven standing over me.

She’s crying. I did that. Me.

“Don’t—”

“Don’t speak, Matteo. You asshole, don’t speak, and don’t fucking die.” She’s crying hard, her hands are on me but the pain recedes.

I open my mouth and try to form words but I can’t. I try again. “Are…did…hit?”

She shakes her head. “What is wrong with you? You jumped in front of a bullet.”

Everything is slipping away and I can’t hold on. I don’t want to. But I have to let her know. I have to tell her.

“I’m…so…sorry,” I say, gritting my teeth, fighting to give the words freedom as darkness pulls at the recesses of my mind. “I should—should…have stopped it…when I had the chance. I’d never hurt you. I…love…you…”

“Matteo, hold on. Hold on…”

Her hands are soft, but the pull of the murk is too strong and it’s hard to breathe.

Finally, I can’t do it. I can’t hold on.

So I let go.

And everything goes black.

CHAPTER29

HEAVEN

Ididn’t tell him I loved him.

I didn’t tell him I loved him.

“Oh my God, Matteo, you fucking bastard. Don’t you die. Don’t you dare die.” I push the words out, tears blurring my vision. I fall to my knees next to him. A sob rises up in my chest and I let it come.

I love him. It’s so obvious now. I love him.

He’s in my arms, heavy. Lifeless. His eyes are closed, his chest barely rising and falling. I cringe when my eyes fall to a bloody, jagged mess of an exit wound below his left shoulder. I move my hand there, pressing hard, trying to control the blood loss. Through the shouts and sirens, someone won’t stop speaking and chanting and praying.

And I realize it’s me. I’m doing that. I try to stop, but I can’t.

People surround me. Someone’s grabbed my gun. The sirens are close now, and Aunt Maura is clutching at me, saying something.

I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away from Matteo’s pale face. “I didn’t tell him,” I murmur over and over again.

“Heaven, you’re not safe here?—”

“I don’t care.” I glare up at her. Though my tears, I process the others standing over us.

His brothers. His brothers are here, too.

“We cleared the guns,” Sergio says, hand on Matteo’s wrist. He meets my gaze. “He’s hanging in.”

“Heaven! Dad’s been hit!”

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