Page 85 of Sinful Bargains

“I’m okay,” I mouthed, hoping she could read lips tonight. I needed her to believe it, even if I didn’t.

I could feel Adriana’s palms pressing against my chest, holding me in place. It felt like I’d left my body, watching everything unfold from somewhere far away. People poured out of The Wise Guy, their faces twisted in fear, towering over me. Their mouths moved, their shouts urgent—but I couldn’t hear a goddamn thing. Just static. A relentless, buzzing noise drowning everything else out. But it was getting harder to focus. The edges of my vision were blurred.

Paul and Marco rushed toward us. I felt hands beneath me, lifting me, and dragging me into the backseat of Marco’s car. The movement made my head spin. Adriana was still holding on to me, her grip so tight I thought her fingers would break through my skin. I could see Marco in the driver’s seat, speeding through the streets, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. I wanted to slap him, tell him to keep his damn eyes on the road, but I didn’t have the strength. Paul and Adriana were shouting at each other—Paul was probably telling her to calm down, but she was hysterical. I wanted to tell her the same, but I couldn’t get the words out. And I knew she wouldn’t listen, anyway—not with my blood smeared up her arms, drying in streaks.

I was sure the only thing keeping me alive was Adriana’s touch. I didn’t know what would happen when they separated us.

I felt the car come to a standstill. Paul and Marco rushed out, yanking open the doors and lifting me from the backseat. A few nurses ran forward, shouting as they helped me onto a stretcher. The fluorescent lights were so bright I had to clamp my eyes shut. I felt them rip off my tie and force the buttons onmy shirt to reveal the wound, then a sharp sting in my arm, an ice-like sensation crawling through my veins.

And then, there was nothing but silence.

ADRIANA

Isat in the sterile waiting room, my head in my hands, rocking back and forth in silent prayer. The smell of antiseptic stung my nose, mixing with the lingering scent of Joey’s blood on my dress. It had dried stiff against the fabric. I couldn’t get the image out of my head—the way he stumbled, the way his body crumpled to the pavement, the way his blood pooled beneath him.

Joey wasn’t a saint. He had done terrible things. Things I had chosen not to think about. Things I had turned a blind eye to. But I couldn’t live without him.

Paul and Marco paced in front of me like caged animals, their fists clenched, shirts still smeared with Joey’s blood. The double doors swung open, and a doctor emerged, pulling down his surgical mask. I bolted upright, jumping out of my chair.

“He’s stable,” the doctor announced. “We managed to remove the bullet. He’s lucky to have been brought in so quickly. But he’s got a long recovery ahead of him.”

My knees buckled as I collapsed into the chair behind me. A strangled sob tore from my throat, pressing my hands over my face. Paul sank into the seat next to me. “He’s gonna pullthrough, Adriana,” he muttered, wrapping me in a side hug. “But whoever did this won’t get away with it.”

Marco’s jaw was tight as he stood across from us. “They’ll regret the day they ever crossed Joey Romano.”

A month ago, the thought would have terrified me. A month ago, I might have begged them not to retaliate, not to spill more blood. But now I felt nothing. No remorse. No hesitation. Whoever was brave enough to try to take out Joey had a bullseye on their back.

“Let me take you home and get you cleaned up,” Marco said gently. “Paul will stay here, and you can come back after, but you need to get out of that dress.”

I glanced down at the bloodstains. He was right—I needed to get it off, but there was something else gnawing at me.Antonio. I had to tell him what had happened before someone else did.

My heart clenched.Oh God.This was going todestroyhim.

Marco guided me through the hospital corridors. I felt numb, almost like I was floating. Everyone I passed stared at me in horror as they looked at the sight of my dress, and I didn’t blame them. This was horrific.

Marco opened the passenger door for me. I hesitated for just a moment before sliding into the seat. My eyes drifted to the backseat, where Joey had sat just a few hours ago. The faint, dried blood was still there, staining the upholstery. A shiver ran down my spine as the memory hit me—how quickly everything had spiraled out of control.

“Marco,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “I need to tell Antonio. He has to know.”

Marco closed the door softly, his face hardening. “Do you need me to stay and help you?”

I nodded quietly as I sat in the passenger seat, the steady hum of the engine lulling me into a strange kind of daze. The weight of what had just happened was still suffocating me. Aswe pulled into the driveway, I felt a cold chill settle deep in my bones.

I stepped out of the car, my legs shaky as I walked toward the front door. When I opened it, I saw Rosa standing in the kitchen, her back to me. She spun around, expecting to find Joey walking in beside me. Instead, her eyes landed on me—bloodstained, disheveled, and broken.

Her face drained of color as she rushed toward me. “Adriana,” she whispered. Her hands moved over me, checking for any wounds. I was fine—physically. But Joey wasn’t. I collapsed into her arms. The tears came, thick and fast, flooding down my cheeks. The horror of it. She held me tighter, murmuring comforting words I couldn’t make out through my sobs.

I needed to tell Antonio. I had to. But how could I? How could I break his world with this?

I let Rosa guide me upstairs, helping me out of the bloody dress. As I stood under the warm spray of the shower, I closed my eyes, trying to wash the blood away—trying to wash the guilt and the terror out of my soul. But I knew I couldn’t. That stain was there to stay.

Marco was waiting downstairs, his silence a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in my head. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t say a word. Just waited for me to be ready. Our eyes met, and Marco silently followed me up the stairs. I hesitated as I reached Antonio’s door; the weight of what I was about to say consumed me. I didn’t want to do this. But I had no choice. I couldn’t let him find out any other way.

I raised my hand and tapped on the door before cracking it open just enough to see Antonio sitting on the bed. His eyes met mine instantly, brows furrowing in confusion as he took in Marco’s presence behind me.

“Antonio,” I said softly.

“Yeah?” He sounded calm, but I could see the concern in his eyes.

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