27. Teo
27
TEO
D espite the raging heat that singes my very skin, every cell in my body freezes at the sound of her voice.
This is the only thing that could have made me wait a second longer. The only thing that could stop me from attempting to rescue my best friend.
A ghost.
Ida Natali.
In the flesh.
And staring down at Isabella as if she were nothing more than the scum on her shoe.
“I always thought out of the two of you, Leon would be the bigger disappointment,” she leers.
My fingers twitch.
I could do it now. I could silence her forever. She wouldn’t say another damn word to Isabella, and I would be able to rest at last, knowing that my sister’s murderer had finally met her justice.
“Teo, please.”
Cassandra sobs on the ground. Her arm reaches out to me as her heart visibly breaks in front of my eyes. None of this can be good for the baby, but if Rocco doesn’t make it out alive, I think Cas might die, too.
“Go, Teo. She’s not going anywhere.”
I turn in surprise to see Leon pulling himself to his full, towering height. His ruthless glare, however, is directed at his mother.
I don’t waste any more time. I can’t even bring myself to look at Isabella as I take off back to the burning brownstone.
I’d found Cas trying to escape out the back. She had been screaming about Rocco forcing her down the stairs first, only for them to fall away before he could follow her.
The back entrance is still, miraculously, accessible. But the burn on my thigh rears up angrily as I push through the door and back into the heart of it all.
The heat is unbearable. Every inch of my skin feels like it’s being seared as I push through the smoke-choked air, every breath scraping against my throat like sandpaper.
Flames lick the walls, tearing through the wallpaper, devouring every inch of the brownstone. The ceiling creaks above, each sound more ominous than the last, but I force myself forward. I’ve come too far to turn back now.
“Rocco!” I yell, my voice hoarse, barely audible over the crackling fire.
My eyes sting, watering as I strain to see through the thick smoke. The air is too hot, too thick, every breath filling my lungs with what feels like shards of glass.
But I won’t stop. Rocco’s in here, and I can’t leave him. I won’t .
A dark shape sprawled at the foot of the collapsed stairs catches my eye. My heart lurches. Did he fucking jump?
I lunge forward, barely keeping my balance, as the floor beneath me gives an ominous groan.
There he is. Rocco is lying on his side, one arm stretched out, his face half-buried in ash and soot, chest barely moving. I drop to my knees beside him, ignoring the intense heat radiating from the floor, and grab his shoulder.
“Rocco!” I shake him, my hand sliding against his sweat-dampened shirt.
No response.
His face is smudged with soot, his skin pale beneath it. His eyes are closed, his body limp. I press two fingers against his neck, searching desperately for a pulse.
There it is. Faint but steady. Relief and dread twist together in my gut. I can’t let myself think about how much longer that will be the case.
I hook my arms under his shoulders and heave him up, his dead weight settling heavily against me. I stagger, almost falling, then adjust my hold and force myself to focus.
The back door might as well be a mile away. Every inch of the way back through the inferno leads us to encounter another obstacle.
A burning beam crashes down in front of us, sending up a shower of sparks. I jerk back, pulling Rocco with me, the flames licking so close I can feel them stinging my skin.
The floorboards creak ominously beneath us, but I press forward, dragging Rocco’s body with me.
Every muscle in my arms burns, every inch of my skin screams in pain, but I block it out. My lungs are raw from the smoke, my vision blurring, the fire painting everything in a hellish orange glow.
I grip him tighter, whispering, “Come on, Rocco. Just a little more.”
The air grows thicker and hotter, and each breath is a damn miracle. I stumble, nearly losing my grip as my foot snags on the edge of a fallen table. The burn on that thigh is so blindingly painful that I almost pass out completely.
Rocco’s head lolls against my shoulder, his face smeared with ash, his breathing so shallow I can’t tell if he’s even still alive.
The weight of his body, the sight of his motionless form—my best friend, my brother—almost crushes me. What if I lose another sibling to the flames?
Finally, the door is just a few steps away when a sound tears through the roar of the fire—a violent, splintering crack.
I look up, heart racing, just as I see the ceiling beams above us start to buckle. The entire building is ready to come down, and we’re right beneath it.
I grit my teeth, gripping Rocco tighter as I stagger forward, forcing myself to move faster, each step a battle against my own weakening body.
Just before the back door, the wall beside us explodes in a wave of heat and sparks, the force knocking me off balance. I stumble, nearly going down, but I pull Rocco with me, keeping us both upright by sheer force of will.
We reach the doorway, and with a final burst of strength, I drag him over the threshold, gasping as we stumble out into the backyard.
But it’s only seconds before I hear it—the shuddering, groaning collapse of the brownstone as it finally gives way, falling into itself in a massive burst of fire and debris.
The blast hits me from behind, knocking me to my knees on the smoldering grass, Rocco’s weight still heavy on my shoulder as I clutch him close, shielding him with my own body from the falling embers.
I kneel, bruised, half-burned, and gasping for breath. Rocco is still motionless, unconscious against my shoulder, but he’s here.
He’s out. We made it.
I indulge in a cough. Then another. A ball of charcoal-black saliva hits the ground, and I groan loudly as I rise. Every single muscle in my body protests and every stretch of my skin is agonizing, but I pull Rocco further and further to safety.
From the back of the brownstone, I can’t see the others through the flames. Though the house is crashing down now, the roof is caving in as support beams crumble to ash.
All I can do is stare as my lungs work to get oxygen back into my body.
This is how they died.
This is how my family died.
They wanted to kill my best friend like this, too. This wasn’t just personal. This was the devil's work.
And I saw her at the scene of the crime.
Rocco chooses that moment to make a very pathetic little sound. I’m next to him in an instant, wiping away the dirt from his face as I check again for a heartbeat.
“Come on, Rocco. Stay with me,” I growl at him.
I have two fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse, but my own heartbeat is pounding so loudly in my ears that I can’t tell what’s his and what’s mine.
My hands are shaking, my whole body protesting, but there’s no time to wait, no room for hesitation. I tilt his head back, open his mouth, clear his airway as best I can, and press my ear to his lips.
Nothing.
No breath. No heartbeat.
“Damn it, Rocco,” I hiss, forcing myself to focus as I lace my fingers together and place them over his chest.
I push down, counting with each compression, trying to ignore the fire’s heat radiating against my back, the sweat and soot stinging my eyes. My hands press down hard. Each movement is desperate, willing his heart to start beating on its own.
“One…two…three…”
I keep going, each count grinding against my already raw throat, my fingers digging into his chest as I press down over and over.
My own breathing is ragged, my body straining with each movement, every ounce of my strength poured into forcing life back into him.
Finally, I pause and pinch his nose, leaning over to give him a breath. His chest rises with my oxygen, but it’s not enough.
He’s still motionless, his face pale and streaked with soot, his eyes devastatingly shut. He’s always looked so much younger when he’s asleep, but this is too much. Too vulnerable, too helpless. It makes tears begin to prickle in my eyes.
“Come on, come on!” I shout at him, not caring how hoarse and ragged it comes out.
I give him another round of compressions, pushing down with everything I have, my body aching as I fight to keep going.
“Don’t you dare give up on me now. Not now. You bastard.”
Then.
Then.
Something happens.
On the third round of compressions, his body jerks beneath my hands.
It’s faint, but it’s there. He coughs once, a weak, shuddering sound, and I sit back, gasping as he turns his head to the side, dragging in a painful breath. His eyes blink open, unfocused, but he’s breathing. He’s alive.
Relief slams into me, as powerful as any of Leon’s blows. I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to his shoulder, steadying him as he coughs and sputters, trying to get air into his lungs.
“Rocco,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a rasp. “You’re all right. Just breathe, okay? Just keep breathing.”
He nods weakly, his gaze slowly focusing on me, recognition dawning through the haze of pain and exhaustion.
“C-c-”
“Cas,” I finish for him. “Cas is okay, too. She’s alive, Rocco. She’s fine. She’s on the other side.”
“C-c-…s.”
He pushes himself up with grueling difficulty. He’s sitting with sweat and agony dripping from his face as he braces himself for…
“Easy there, big guy,” I rush in to stop him. “You need to just lie down, okay?”
“Cas,” he grits out, more firm than before.
The man has to be operating on pure adrenaline at this point, intent on reuniting with his wife if it kills him, which—at his rate—it probably will.
If I leave him here to confront Ida, he’ll only try to follow.
“You are a pain in my ass, you know that?” I growl as I swoop down to pick him up.
There’s no strength in his legs at all, so I stagger dangerously as I try to stand with the added weight.
My only choice is to throw him across my back like we used to as kids. The familiarness of the action makes his arms wrap around my neck almost instinctively, and despite his useless legs, I manage to secure him tightly.
This absolutely cannot be safe for him . I think over a dozen times as we slowly make our way back to the front of the house.
My own adrenaline wears off just as we round the side of the building. The sudden pain in my thigh causes me to stumble forward awkwardly, and Rocco slips.
It’s all I can do to fall along with him to ensure he doesn’t crack his head on the concrete.
“Rocco!” I half groan as I roll out from under him.
His eyes are shut again, but at least this time, there’s a reassuring rise and fall of his chest. I almost sag back into the floor in relief.
“No, NO!”
A scream draws me back to the present, and I scramble to my feet.
The smoke unhelpfully blocks my view, so I carefully begin to approach the direction of the sound.
Only to freeze when the scene finally unfolds before me.
Leon, with hands around Isabella, as if holding her back.
Cas screaming.
Ida is holding onto Cassandra’s hair with one hand.
The other is holding a knife to her stomach.
And that quietness overwhelms me once more.