Page 52 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
One moment, I’m looking up at the dark sky above, feeling it spin like a carnival ride, and the next, I’m staring into Paige’s hazel eyes, wide with panic.
“Call...someone...” I manage to get out between breaths that feel too shallow, too weak.
It feels like hours are passing, but I know it’s only seconds. I won’t be conscious much longer.
“I don’t care who it is,” I say as Paige cups my cheek, her hand trembling against my skin. “Call someone to protect you.”
“You’re going to be okay,” she says, but the fear in her voice betrays her.
“Hit an artery,” I mumble. The darkness is closing in. I can barely see her, but there’s raw terror on her face. I want to tell her it’ll be okay, but I can’t force any more words past my stiff lips.
My eyes roll up in my head, and I welcome the darkness.
23
PAIGE
My hands trembleas I tug at Dario’s belt. My mind is reeling from what just happened—gun barrels and shattering glass and blood pooling on asphalt—but I’m able to focus on one thing.
Dario.
I have to slow down the bleeding. The last thing he said before his eyes rolled back was that the bullet hit an artery. If he’s right—and why the hell wouldn’t he be, with his extensive experience getting shot at—he could bleed out before help arrives.
Somewhere beyond the deafening drumbeat of my heart in my ears, I hear a man say he called 911. So I just need to keep this stubborn, infuriating, beautiful man alive until the ambulance gets here.
He has to live. My children need a father.Ineed him.
With his belt in my hands, I try to recall what I know about applying a tourniquet. All my knowledge comes from binge-watchingGrey’s Anatomy, but I pray that Shonda Rhimes did her research because it’s all I’ve got.
I wrap the belt around his arm a couple inches above the wound and tighten it as much as I can. I’m not exactly Schwarzenegger, but I pull until my arms shake and silently beg whatever gods are listening that it works.
My bottom lip quivers as I take in the ghostly pallor of his face. His chest is still rising and falling, but his breathing is growing shallow, like each inhale is more effort than it’s worth.
“Please...please hang on...” I beg him, cupping his cheeks. “You can’t die. I need you.”
A sob lodges in my throat, threatening to choke me. He’s lost so much blood so quickly.
Glancing at the wound, I think the blood flow has slowed, but I can’t be sure. The crimson stain on the pavement beneath him is already too large, too dark.
I hear sirens wailing in the distance, and relief makes my limbs go weak. I’m kneeling on the ground beside Dario, and there’s a morbid audience gathering on the sidewalk, gawking at us like this is some form of entertainment instead of a tragedy.
I glare at the crowd, rage bubbling up through my panic. “Why don’t you get the hell out of here? Huh? What kind of sick assholes want to watch a man bleed to death?”
My voice cracks on the last word, and I think it’s that vulnerability, more than my anger, that makes them shuffle back and avert their eyes. They feel bad for me.
Well, to hell with them.
I’m about to turn my attention back to Dario when my eyes land on his gun. It fell from his hand when he collapsed and ended up halfway under the car we used for cover. The sight of it sendsa shudder through me as I remember the barrel of another gun pointed at me only moments ago.
I force that thought to the back of my mind. Something tells me I need to focus right now.
The gun. I can’t just leave it there if the police are coming. That would cause Dario a world of trouble, and he’s already got a bullet hole’s worth.
Without pausing to reconsider, I act. The people on the sidewalk are distracted by the ambulance and two police cars that just turned the corner two blocks away, so I have a slim window of opportunity.
Grabbing the gun, I crawl a few feet to the storm grate and toss it inside. I hear a splash as it hits the water below, but I’m already scrabbling back to Dario’s side.
The ambulance and police arrive in a cacophony of flashing lights and urgent voices, and I’m hustled away from Dario so the paramedics can work on him. There’s a lump in my throat, and I can’t tear my eyes away as they attach a machine that tracks his heart. It’s still beating, but I’m terrified it’ll stop at any moment.
