“Thank you for being so sweet. I really appreciate you taking me under your wing.”
Jenna nudges me with her elbow. “Girl, you’re one of us now. We take care of our own. Ignore the bitch. She’s like that with everyone.”
I feel relieved the girls are on my side and agree Karen is a bitch.
“I’ll see you all on Tuesday,” I say as I wave them goodbye.
My car is parked a little up the street, while Jenna is giving both Megan and Emily a ride home. I watch as the women get into Jenna’s car, and I wave them goodbye. I make my way toward my vehicle, but a grunting noise stops me in my tracks. I glance into the alleyway, but it’s dark and I can’t see anything. I chalk up the sound to an animal and start to walk away, but then I hear another sound; something definitely made by a human and not an animal.
I’m rooted to the spot, just watching, waiting to see what happens and who exits.
A shadow forms as a mass gets closer to me. The glow from the streetlights shines dimly toward the alleyway. That’s when I see him. The handsome man from the bar. He staggers toward me. His hand brushes along the wall, the other is holding his side. My heart races as he continues to stagger toward me.
I know I should run, that I should get away from here as quickly as possible, but I’m unable to move. It’s as though my body is made of lead. I can only watch as he steps closer.
A car passes by, the headlights shining brightly, and I’m able to see his face, hands, and clothes are soaked in blood. His eyes are wild, his face pale, and a sheen of sweet covers him. God, what on earth happened to him?
I make the mistake of glancing behind him. My stomach rolls and nausea rises when I see three men on the ground. God, please don’t tell me they’re dead.Please no. But none of them are moving. Did he kill them? Did he do this?
A glint of silver catches my eye, and I glance at the knife on the floor.
I swallow harshly. Fuck. I should be scared. Society dictates that I should be fearful of this man—a man who has obviously just killed three men. But I'm not. There’s something about this man that has me acting crazy.
The man's brown eyes slowly start to fade, and I know he's sinking. He’s losing consciousness, his body sagging with every step he takes. I know that if I don’t help him, he’s going to die here. I should call the cops. I should call an ambulance. Run for help. Something, anything, to draw attention to the massacre in front of me. But I don’t.
In a split-second judgment, I moved toward him, fully intending on helping him. I manage to catch him before his head hits the ground. His weight hits me, and it takes everything in me not to fall to the ground with him. His hand falls from his side, and that’s when I see the gunshot wound.
“Oh no, you’ve been shot,” I cry, completely shocked that nobody heard the gun going off. Had they, maybe none of this would have happened. “You’re going to be okay,” I promise him, needing to let him know that he’s not alone. “You’re going to be okay,”
I try my hardest to pull him from the dark, dingy alleyway and toward my car. A sickening feeling hits me when I realize just how empty the street is. Where the hell is everyone? Surely it’s never this quiet. It’s eerily quiet. The distrustful side of me is wondering if this is a setup; if at any moment someone is going to come out and harm me. I can’t help but glance around, surveying everything around me, carefully watching in case someone jumps out.
By the time I reach my vehicle, I’m covered in sweat, my hair is clinging to my neck, and I’m breathing hard. I climb into the car and lift him in. I’m panting and out of breath, but I don’tgive up. I need to get him inside and get us out of here. It takes me about twenty minutes, but thankfully, I manage to get him laid across the backseat. His eyes are closed, his skin damn, and blood soaks through his crisp white shirt. I’m shocked and scared that not one person has passed me in the time I’ve been wrangling him. There's something going on, and I need to get the hell out of here, before whatever is about to go down, does.
I know that if my father finds out what I have done, he’s going to be so angry. He’s kept me from the world, hiding my identity. For his faults, he’s managed to protect me in that aspect. He'll call me stupid because I’ve put a target on my back.
Once I have the man secured in the car, I jump into the front seat and put my car into drive. I need to get out of here, and I need to ensure no one sees me. At the end of the street, I turn left. Just as I do, sirens sound behind me in the distance. Someone's coming. I should stop and wait for them.
But I can’t. I'm in too deep right now.
I have no idea why I'm doing this. I don't know why I'm helping this man. All I know is that there’s something in my soul driving me to help him. To ensure he’s safe. Thankfully, my house is outside of the city, so no one can see me dragging a man inside.
It takes me a while to get him out of the car and onto the bed. Once I lie him on the bed, I'm stumped as to how to help him next.
Fuck… What do I do now?
I call the only man I trust, my father's doctor. He’s the man on call to help my father and his men whenever they need it.
He tells me to apply pressure on the wound and that he's on his way. I breathe a sigh of relief. Someone is going to help me with him.
It takes Monty less than fifteen minutes to get to my house. He wastes no time in getting to work. I sit back and wait for himas he stitches up the man and gives him antibiotics and other medication.
“Gabriella, this was a very stupid idea. Do you know who this man is? Do you understand the gravity of this situation?”
I swallow hard and nod. “I didn’t know what else to do, Monty. I had to help him.” I don’t tell him I was compelled to do so and that I’m unsure as to what that means.
“Gabriella, this man is Alessio Bianchi. He is the youngest brother of Dante Bianchi.”
I stare at him. I know that name. Bianchi. How do I know it? It hits me. Dante Bianchi is the head of the Italian Mafia. Shit. I am in so much trouble.