Another shot went off as my fingers curled around the handle of my knife. Ricco bucked, twisting, and we rolled. Footsteps echoed as Stefano and Em rushed into the chaos.
“You’re too late,” Ricco growled as he fought to gain the upper hand. “She’s already marked for death.”
A red haze filtered my vision, and I brought the knife up and across his neck in one smooth swipe. Blood pulsed from the severed arteries. I pushed back onto my heels as Ricco’s hands flew to his neck to staunch the blood flow. It was no use, and the room filled with his desperate gurgles until there were no more.
Then I was up and on my feet, scrambling to where Mia lay, her arm outstretched and fingers encircling Ricco’s Glock. I glanced at where it was pointed to find Guido bleeding from a chest wound, not even two feet from her.
I pulled her into my arms and put pressure over the bullet wound in her leg. Blood soaked into her wet pants, and she shivered in my arms. Despite how pale she was, the split lip, and swelling on one side of her face, her smile was brilliant. I wanted to kill him all over again.
“I knew you would come,” Mia said before her eyes closed, and she went limp in my arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NICO
“She’s lost too much blood.” I glared at Stefano in the rearview mirror as he drove us back to the Verretti residence with Em in the passenger seat and Mia curled on my lap in the back. She’d lost too much blood, and I’d had to apply a tourniquet. “Go to a hospital.”
“It’s not critical.” His voice was calm. Too calm.
All it did was fuel my anger, and I tensed. “I don’t care.”
“It’s not what we do, and you know that.” He flicked his gaze to mine in the mirror before returning it to the road in front of him, increasing speed until we were flying down the highway.
I couldn’t get the image of Mia bleeding on the floor out of my head. With the pad of my fingers, I smoothed her hair from her face and held her close. I wanted to fight with Stefano and make him turn the car around and head to the nearest hospital.
“It’s a gunshot wound,” Em said. “You know we can’t do that. Besides, Trey is the best.”
Em was right, even if it killed me that it would take time to get to him.
The rational part of my brain knew she would be fine, but I was discovering I couldn’t be rational when it came to Mia. The drive to Trey was the longest two hours of my life.
When we pulled into the underground parking lot, I lifted her from the car and carried her to the elevator in long strides. A Verretti guard was waiting for us and gave us access to the floor where Trey would be.
Mia had awoken twice in the car but then passed out again. A bruise on her temple and a fist-sized one on her cheek made me want to kill Ricco all over again. Fury at Joey boiled beneath the surface, but we would deal with him.
As soon as the doors opened on the top floor, I bellowed for Trey. Mia’s eyes flew open, her fingers fisting my blood-soaked shirt. She looked at it and then at me, horror filling her eyes. I shook my head. “It’s not mine.” Most was hers, the rest Ricco’s, but I didn’t want to frighten her more.
Dante and Cal came forward, but I clutched her tighter. There was no way I would relinquish her to anyone but Trey. I couldn’t shake the rage from seeing Ricco’s gun pointed at her.
When Trey appeared, I followed him to where Tony was in post-op recovery. He was still unconscious. I shot Trey a questioning glance.
“He’s doing well.” Trey motioned to the second bed someone had set up after we’d called in Mia’s condition while driving. “Put her there.”
I lay her down and then threaded my fingers with hers. Her eyes were open, but she looked like she could pass out again at any second. I relayed everything that had happened while he cut the leg of her pants away then draped a clean sheet over part of her exposed skin before he slowly released the tourniquet in small increments and cleaned the wound. With each swipe of the gauze, blood welled.
“I have to get an IV started. Put pressure here,” Trey instructed.
I did as he said. Once the IV was feeding fluids and medicine into her veins, I felt the edge of fear ebb. She would be fine, or so I was trying to convince myself. Too many things could go wrong.
As far as I could tell, nothing vital had been hit. The wound was to the muscle of her thigh. It could have been much worse.
“Nico.” Sofia clutched my arm. “You need to go to the other room and tell them everything. I’ve got her.”
“No.” We all had gunshot and wound-care training—it was a necessity in our world. I’d already assessed her after she was shot. No arteries had been hit, but that didn’t guarantee there wasn’t more damage. I didn’t want to leave her.
“Nic, you have to go talk to Marco and Dante. It’s important. Go. I’ll help Trey,” Sofia insisted.
“It’ll be easier with Sof,” Trey murmured as he physically moved my hand away from Mia’s wound.