Tears welled in his eyes. My hands framed his face as I placed a kiss on his lips, my split lip stinging. When I pulled back, I thumbed my blood that stained his perfect pout.
“I love you,Sasha Mitchell. Never doubt that.”
As I battled the pounding in my head to make sense of everything, there was a knock at the door. Marco rushed in. He looked surprised but weirdly unbothered by his uncle lying dead on the floor.
Luca stood,and the two had a quick,hushed conversation before I was being whisked from the room by Marco. Luca watched us walk down the hall before reentering the room and moving out of sight.
Marco cradled my elbow, his voice soft as he reassured me, but I didn’t hear anything he said because I was too busy spiraling.
I was a murderer.
We moved at a snail’s pace. A trip that should’ve taken five minutes took twenty—me limping on one high heel while Marco shortened his long strides to match.
Pete met us at the garage level with a town car. When he opened the door, I screamed. Mr. Moretti’s body sat on the other side of the backseat, strapped into a seat belt. My stiletto sat in his lap, leaving his eye a gaping wound. I bent over and finally threw up the expensive dinner Daphne had so meticulously chosen.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I pleaded, “I can’t get in there!” I dry heaved as I gripped Marco’s lapels. He had to understand just how fucked up this was. Faking the cause of my injuries is one thing, but we were faking his death?
He patted my back but pushed me back to the car. “You have to.”
“Please! No!” I clawed at his arms as both men moved me into the backseat.
Pete pressed me into the seat and fought with me to buckle the seatbelt. He backed away, murmuring apologies.
Marco peeked his head back inside. “Hang in there, Red. Luca is stubborn and thinks he’s doing the right thing. He’ll figure it out.”
Closed the door, he hit the roof twice. Pete pulled away from the elevator doors and out of the parking garage.
“Are you okay, Ms. Sasha?” Pete glanced in the rearview mirror, his face drawing into a tight-lipped frown.
I glared at him and his ridiculous question, never looking at the body that sat next to me. My side pressed tightly against the door to stay clear of brushing against his arm.
Pete left it at that and drove down the dark city streets. Ten minutes later, he broke the silence. “Alright, time to brace yourself.”
Before I had time to grab onto anything, the car was spinning, and bright headlights smashed into the passenger side door. My head smacked into the window, and everything went black.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Sasha! Oh, thank god! Greg, get the doctor!” Mom’s voice pierced my eardrums as she shouted at my dad while still facing me. Everything north of my shoulders throbbed in intense pain, but the woman kept bellowing for the doctors, despite sending my dad running into the hallway.
Lifting my hand, I went to cradle my forehead, only to have a stinging sensation stop me. I slowly open my eyes to find my hand stuck with all manner of IVs and tubes.
“Mom, can you stop yelling and turn down the lights? My head’s fucking killing me.” The fluorescents were blinding, which didn’t help my blurry vision from what I suspected was a concussion. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to keep the spots at bay.
She mumbled apologies as she fidgeted with the lights. Once the room was dim, I opened one eye to a slit before fully opening both.
“What the hell happened?”
Mom pulled her chair closer and grabbed my needle-free hand. “You were in a car accident, sweetie.” She stared at our hands as she caressed my fingers. “You and Mr. Moretti. Do you remember anything?”
Like a movie montage, the night’s events came back to me. The party, the fight, me killing someone, the car accident all hit me one by one until I folded over and threw up into a perfectly placed bin.
My mom’s hands smoothed over my back as she whispered soothing nonsense.
“Ah, I see we’re awake.” A cheery voice came from beside me.
Wiping the corner of my mouth with a paper towel, I dragged my head up to greet the doctor. The tiny man looked all of twenty and was positively beaming down at me. I managed a grunt in response.
The doctor gestured toward the pale, and a nurse came and switched it out for a puke-free bucket. “How are we feeling, Ms. Mitchell?”