Page 73 of Hostile Devil
Together, the three of us lurch toward the desk, managing to maneuver him onto the swivel chair. His breathing is shallow and slow as sweat rolls from his hairline.
“Paper…” He pings the switch on the green and brass lamp, stares at the top drawer, goes to grab the handle, and grits his teeth.
“I’ll get it.” I tell him, sliding it open and taking out a notebook full of blank lined pages.
Reaching for the pen holder, he sways a little and lets out a frustrated growl. “Fuck this!”
I quickly pluck a pen from the container and hand it to him. His troubled gaze snares mine, and he crooks his finger, beckoning me to come closer. I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes briefly when a bloodied hand settles on my cheek. His grimace makes my eyes well up and then I notice his bicep is bleeding too.
“I do love you,” Giovanni exhales the words in a breath. “In here.” He thumps his heart. “So much.”
His hand drops and my knees go weak. “I love you too. You know that, so why aren’t we going to the hospital? You need medical attention, and I don’t want to lose you.”
“She’s right, Gio. We need to go.” Matheus stands opposite us, presses his knuckles on top of the desk and stares at his brother. “Mama will freak out if anything happens to you…” He swallows hard. “And me.”
“In a minute.” Gio fists a page and rips it from the notebook.
Even though it’s crumpled and a little torn at one edge, he starts to write on it.
“Enough of the secret bullshit,” André throws his hands up and clasps them behind his head. “We’re wasting time—you’re wasting time.”
“How I feel about her isn’t a secret, Dré. I’m just formalizing it.” Giovanni blows out a heavy breath. “It won’t take long.”
I stroke his hair. “I need you alive, not bleeding out on a stupid notebook.”
While he continues to write, I point to the trampled fort. “Matheus, grab the blanket.”
He looks over at them, his eyes narrowed and nods.
“I don’t need it.” Giovanni grinds his back teeth. “Get the First Aid kit… in… there.” He slaps the stack of drawers beside him.
Without saying a word, Matheus moves to the same side as us and yanks out the top drawer, then the next one.
André sighs heavily, removes a tin from his pocket, takes out a blunt, and sparks the tip with his zippo. “Fuck, Gio… you’re pissing me off.” He scrubs at his scruff, letting smoke swirl.
Gio runs a hand down his face, smearing it in crimson blood. “She’s my everything,” he explains. “It all belongs to her. My son. My money. My weapons. My fucking heart.” The scrawled ink on the page blends with his blood as he continues to record the words he’s reciting. “I’m putting it down on paper. It's all hers… everything.”
Finally, he plants his hand on the page, impressing a blood red handprint over the writing. “Make this a legal document, Mat,” he grits out, signing his name at the bottom, then leaning back in the chair, allowing Matheus to plaster a massive dressing over the gunshot wound.
“Is this supposed to be your last will and testament?” Matheus grabs the handwritten document and lifts it to the lamplight. “It needs witnesses and––”
“Think of it as a prenup. She gets everything I have.”
“Are you getting married?” Matheus shoots back.
“We’re eloping. Right now.”
My pulse goes haywire and my mind swims. He’s delirious, or just crazy. We aren’t going anywhere other than the hospital.
“Gio! Can we please go now?” I plead, exhaling a whimper, my lungs getting tighter and tighter. “You’re talking like you’re about to die. And I won’t let that happen.”
Giovanni tugs his family ring off his finger, reaches for my hand, and stares right at me. “Will you be my everything, baby?”
Tears sting my eyes, feeling nauseous at the thought of losing him. “Yes.”
“Am I your everything?” he asks.
“Gio––” I touch his clammy cheek and thumb a streak of blood through the dark hairs on his jaw. “Always.”
