Page 121 of Iron Roses

The cold drills straight into my chest. My arms break the surface. I reach for her—hair, shoulder, whatever I can get. My hand digs fabric. I yank.

Her body jerks up through the water. Her head breaks the surface. She coughs once, then chokes. Water pours from her mouth. Her lips part—no sound.

Her eyes open.

I lock my arms beneath her ribs and haul her upward, step by step, knees scraping the wet boards. Her body folds into me.

I press her against the dock. She’s limp, breath stuttering, water sliding down her throat in gasps.

She moves once. A twitch of her fingers near my chest.

I press my forehead to hers.

She’s alive. Her breath stammers against my chest. I hold her tighter. My knees dig into the soaked boards, arms locked around her ribs, water dripping from both of us. She wheezes once, body trembling. I press my face into the curve of her neck.

She’s shaking.

So am I.

My chest tightens. Heat rises behind my eyes. I squeeze them shut, mouth against her hair, and the sound that tears out of me isn’t controlled.

The dock vanishes for a second. There’s nothing but her in my arms and the knowledge of what nearly was.

A presence settles beside me. Giovanna.

Her voice slips into the space between heartbeats.

“I’ll take care of her,” she says. “Deal with him.”

I lift my head to see Fausto pulling himself to his feet.

Elaria breathes shallow, eyes barely open. Giovanna kneels across from me, one hand already stroking Elaria’s temple. She doesn’t meet my gaze. Her attention stays on the woman in my arms.

I lower Elaria gently. Her shoulder touches Giovanna’s thigh. I rise.

Fausto stands ten feet away.

Blood pours from his mouth. His eye is swollen shut. His teeth are red. But he’s smiling—wide, crooked, wrong.

“Stupid mute!” he shouts.

He charges.

I meet him head-on.

His fist swings wild. I duck low, drive forward. My shoulder slams into his gut. I lift—his feet leave the dock. I slam him down. Wood groans.

He grunts and claws at my jacket. His knee lifts—catches my thigh. I stumble.

He swings. I take the hit across my cheek. Pain flashes, sharp. I twist with the blow and use the momentum—my elbow crashes into the side of his neck. He drops to one knee.

I grab the collar of his coat and haul him up. My fist drives into his jaw. Bone shifts. His head jerks. I punch again. His teeth rattle against each other.

He grabs my belt, tries to pull me down. I hammer his ribs with a short hook. He gasps, spits something wet. His grip weakens.

He swings wide. I catch his wrist mid-air, twist hard. He yells. His elbow snaps back toward my stomach. I block, push, and throw him.

He stumbles, feet slipping on the soaked dock. I follow.

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