“How about we all just take a breath?” It was Nikolai who spoke, and even though he sounded calm and collected, there was this dark note laced in it.
I took another small step closer but stopped myself when Francesca pointed the gun right at Amara but spoke to Marco.
“You kept me on the side. You told me you’d leave her. You told me we’d be together.” Francesca placed a hand on her belly, and I heard my mother gasp.
“Maybe I should take away something you care about.” Francesca’s voice rose but shook, rising in volume until she was screaming. “Tell them,” she shouted at Marco. “Tell them you want me to get rid of the baby, even if it is yours.”
“You’re acting like a dramatic child.” My father’s voice was cold and dangerous. “And you’re making a scene.”
“Fuck making a scene,” Francesca screamed. “I’m going to take from you what you hold important. I’m going to force your hand in life like you’re doing with mine. Fuck you, Marco.”
I held my breath when Francesca shifted her body, her arms swinging out so the gun was pointed off to the side.
I heard screaming as the next sequence of events happened in slow motion. Francesca swung her focus on me, pointed the gun at the center of my chest, but what I felt was this calm settle over me.
If I could save Amara, this had to happen. Francesca could only get one shot off before she was taken out.
And then I was screaming as Amara charged toward Francesca. They fell to the ground at the same time the sound of a shot rang out.
A man roared. Nikolai.
Francesca and Amara struggled, and I darted toward them but suddenly was pulled away and tossed aside. Nikolai shoved me out of the way.
One more shot went off, and both women froze.
We all did.
Nikolai was pushing Francesca away and cradling Amara as she lay on the tile, keeping her to his body. His mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of my heart in my ears and the rush of blood through my veins.
Oh God… she was so still, so pale. Nikolai shouted orders as people rushed into action.
There was so much blood.
I was frozen, cold, unable to move or breathe.
My sister was going to die.
Chapter 6
Claudia
I dipped the rag into the bowl of warm water, ringing it out, and smoothed it over Amara’s brow.
My heart was pounding when I saw a slight reaction in my sister’s face. It was just a furrowing of her brow, but I felt this immense relief.
I held my breath when she slowly opened her eyes. “Hey, you,” I said softly and ran the rag over her temple and down her cheek, wiping away the sweat I knew had to be making her feel sticky. “You scared the hell out of us.”
I got the rag wet again and swept it over her forehead again.
“Gio arrived late last night. He’s freaking out, of course. Going all beast mode on everyone, threatening to kill anyone who gets too close to you—”
“You’re okay.” Amara cut me off and lifted her arm, touching my thigh. “I thought… God, Claudia, I thought you were going to get shot.”
I smiled as I shook my head, knowing I had to keep her at ease and relaxed, but I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” I wiped away the errant tear that slid down my cheek.
“And it’s because you saved me, even if it was dumb and crazy, and I hate you for getting hurt because of it. But…” I looked away.
“But what?” She tried to sit up, and when she gasped in pain, my fear rose again.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I whispered. “Stay put. You’re going to ruin the work the doctor did and then that’ll piss off Nikolai, and he’ll either kill someone or kick Gio’s ass again.” I chuckled and shook my head when I saw the confusion on Amara’s face. “When Gio first arrived, he strode in here like his ass was on fire. You woke up, but you were out of it. You started thrashing on the bed. Nikolai dragged him out by his throat, kicked his ass in the hallway, and told him the next time he hurt you—even inadvertently—he’d put a bullet in each of his kneecaps.”
I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the display of toxic masculinity.
“Men.”
“Tell me,” she said in a tight voice.
I couldn't stop the long exhale that spilled from me. I tossed the rag in the small bowl on the bedside table and looked at my big sister again. “Francesca shot off three rounds. One of them hit you in the side, but thankfully Nikolai acted fast and got a Russian doctor here. He was covered in your blood.”
I’d wanted to take her to the hospital, but even I knew that gunshot wounds would bring a slew of police involvement. And when Nikolai said she’d be taken care of—he’d make sure of it—and that the bullet had gone straight through, most likely not hitting anything vital, I’d put all my trust in the big, scary Russian.