Chapter 32
32
M assimo
My beating heart leaps out of my throat and materializes in front of me.
The second I see Amara, a huge wave of relief pours over me. She's alive. But just as quickly, I notice the bruising around her eye and the blood leaking from her mouth, and an animalistic instinct ignites inside me.
I draw my compact pistol and fire at Wrench. He falls on the floor with a bullet in the middle of his forehead. I move closer, putting another bullet in his face. Then another. And another, until his face is unrecognizable.
I could’ve had fun with him, but this isn’t the time. My priority is to get the women out of here.
Dante, Rocco, and Nico are in the house, and our team has neutralized the enemy. It wasn’t hard—there were only five men, including Wrench. Turns out the Santinis are cutting corners.
"Massimo," Amara sobs, throwing herself at me.
I hold her tight as if she's about to disappear.
"Maybe don't hug me so tight," she huffs, and I loosen my hold.
"Massimo," another female voice moans.
My gaze flicks to Andie. Fuck.
She's lying down, propped on her elbows, with a sheet over her lap. She doesn't look good. Her face is pale, her pupils dilated, and she’s gasping for air.
I'm about to turn to ask for help when Dante and Nico dash into the room. "She's about to give birth."
Nico talks into his phone. "Rocco, Andie needs help."
"Police are on their way. We need to leave. Now. We can take her to a hospital."
"You got this, Andie," Dante says, helping her to her feet.
Every second counts. Nico, Dante, and I carry Andie out of the basement. Rocco trails behind, his weapon raised to ensure we're safe. Amara stays close, not that I’d let her leave my side.
I climb onto the back of the SUV with Amara, Andie, and Dante. Our brothers get into a different one, and the vehicles peel off, veering into the road and quickly, the highway.
We drop off Andie and Dante at the hospital. Amara wants to stay with her, but she would draw too much attention with her bruised face. We don't need the authorities suspecting anything.
The cleaning crew will take care of the house and basement. We pay them a pretty penny for emergencies like this.
I look out the window and sigh. Amara rests her head on my shoulder and falls asleep. I can imagine her exhaustion from the last several hours and everything she suffered at Wrench's hand. I want to run my fingers over her face, but I don't want to touch her bruises and hurt her.
When Tom parks, I take her in my arms. She says something I can't understand, and I shush her.
Once we're home, I take her to our bedroom, and the doctor I texted arrives.
"Let me see what we have here," Dr. Shapiro says as he examines her. I have that bastard on retainer—another hefty expense, but totally worth it.
He checks her vitals, and she removes her shirt, exposing a nasty, purple-colored bruise. I curl my fingers into a fist, wishing I could revive the bastard who did this to her and kill him again—this time, slowly.
Dr. Shapiro asks her more questions and then says, "Your rib doesn't seem like it's broken, but we can X-ray the area to make sure."
"I'm fine. I had broken ribs before, and I know the difference," Amara says, cutting him off.
As the doctor continues his examination, I step back, and Colleen walks into our suite.
"Will she be okay?" she asks, touching her chest.
"Yes." I don't know for sure, but she better be. She didn't sustain any major injuries to her body, and there’s no evidence of bullet wounds.
"She's a bit dehydrated," Dr. Shapiro says. "We need to tend to her bruises, but in a few days, she'll look better. I'll set her up with an IV for pain relief and to replenish her fluids."
"I'm good," Amara says, her eyes closed. Whatever painkillers he’s given her are already working.
"You're a strong woman," Dr. Shapiro says, moving toward me. “She'll need a couple of analgesics for any ongoing pain. Call me if anything changes."
I nod. "She’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it."
Hours turn into a day as Amara sleeps. The painkillers Dr. Shapiro prescribed must be helping. I don't want her to have any more pain. Damn it, I’ve caused too much of it already.
I love her.
During the night, Amara moves restlessly as if she’s having a nightmare. Since she's been sleeping on her side to help the bruising heal, I carefully put my arms around her, letting her know she’s safe.
"Massimo," she murmurs, eyes still closed.
"I'm here, rat." I kiss her head gently. "I'm not going anywhere," I say, my voice soft, like it's about to break. I'm not leaving her. I have to tell her—to show her. But I can't do it now. Not in the middle of the night, when she's unconscious and recovering.
I make a shushing sound and run my fingers through her hair. Amara leans into my touch with a contented hum. She nestles her body perfectly against mine, and I hug her tighter, never wanting to let her go.