Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lily
Itry not to let my body fall into cramping menstrual pain as I keep myself busy moving around. If I remain still for too long, my muscles feel frozen.
“Laundry is almost done,” Jodi says. “It smells like bleach. Liliana, did you pour the whole container in there?”
Blushing, I say, “No… I just put in a little of everything.”
Both Jodi and Izzy look at me as though I have ten heads.
“You used bleach on black clothing?” Izzy questions, tilting her head to the side.
“What do you mean you used a little of everything?” Jodi is more concerned with that part.
Housework was never my strong suit, and I can’t remember a time I did my own laundry. The looks on their faces make me concerned the washing machine might explode.
“I put in some of that stuff in the green container, and there was another one beside it. I may have mistaken the bleach for something else?”
Jodi just smiles. “Okay. It’s just clothing, easily replaceable.” She looks to Izzy. “Let’s make some lunch?”
“I’ll take charge of that one!” Izzy volunteers. “Maybe you and Liliana can start working on dinner.”
“Maybe you should just rest, Liliana,” Jodi suggests.
“I can help,” I reply. “I’m not great in the kitchen either, but I’m sure there’s something I can do.”
Both of them at once say, “Don’t worry about it!”
I’ve heard that expression before. “Don’t worry about it!” “I got it!” “You sit back and relax.” They weren’t said to me as an act of kindness; now I realize they were a way to get me out of people’s way. And I am grateful for that once I see Jodi chop off a chicken’s head with an ax.
The door bursts open, and Mickey’s voice travels through the house. “Get a first aid kit!”
Jodi, Izzy, and I come running into the room, where Mickey drops a bloody Killian onto the sofa, causing Izzy to scream.
“What happened?!” Jodi shouts.
“Apparently it was all part of the plan,” Mickey says, shaking his head. “Someone get me a cold beer.”
Killian is pale and in distress.
“He needs a doctor!” Izzy fusses.
“No,” Killian replies. “I’m fine.”
“Really?!” she shrieks. “You could be bleeding out.”
“Just go get me some whiskey,” Killian says as he tears open his shirt, exposing his upper body and wound.
Jodi comes rushing in with a first aid kit along with a needle and thread. The twins come rushing in with JoJo trailing behind. One opens a bottle of whiskey that Killian begins to chug. Another gets a towel to apply pressure to the wound.
Jodi’s hands shake as she examines Killian.
“Let me.” I drop to my knees against the sofa.
“No,” Jodi protests. “Please, you’ve done enough today.”
I shoot her a look. “I’m not a housewife and the last person you want doing chores or anything around the house, but this… I got this.”
“Liliana—” Jodi begins to protest, but Killian cuts her off.
“Let her continue,” Killian demands with authority. “Liliana’s sister is a doctor.”
I look to him as he looks to me.
“Neurosurgeon,” I correct him.
Everyone in the room goes quiet, watching me examine the wound.
Stasia would practice cutting and stitching whenever she could and then would teach us the same.
I used to think it was a bonding activity, but now I’m not so sure.
Stasia, like our father, tried to prepare us in ways only people accustomed to the mafia lifestyle would understand.
The air is thick with tension, a stifling mix of fear and disbelief as I check Killian, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Blood drips down his body.
“Are you having trouble breathing?” I ask.
“No,” Killian replies in pain before taking a chug of whiskey.
I lean forward to touch his face to feel his temperature. “Feeling dizzy?”
“No.”
The look he gives me almost sends me into a dizzy spell. My hands make their way to his neck, checking his pulse, and then to his chest to check his heartbeat. I place both my hands on his torso and press on his stomach. Killian doesn’t take his eyes off me even when I break contact.
“Didn’t know a stab wound requires a lot of touching,” Trevor comments, sitting on the coffee table, watching.
“I’m trying to get a feel for how deep the wound is,” I say over my shoulder. “Quick heartbeat but weak pulse is a bad sign.”
“How’s he looking?” Mickey, who is standing behind the sofa, nods at his wounded brother.
I look up at Mickey. “I think he’s okay. But he should really go to the hospital to make sure and get stitches.”
Killian takes a chug. “You know that is not an option. It would only get authorities involved.”
I let out a short laugh and make eye contact with Killian. “I thought you were the authorities around here. “
“If I check myself in anywhere, it’s only a matter of time before Nico finds me and then you.” He takes another chug of whiskey.
“What’s in the first aid kit?” I ask.
Jodi opens it and I examine the well-packed kit.
“Get me a towel, mild soap, and some water to clean the area,” I send out demands for anyone to obey. I look at Killian. “You shouldn’t be drinking, but there isn’t any numbing spray, so it’s going to hurt.”
“Stitch me up. You don’t have to be gentle. It can be your payback.” Killian smirks, sending my body on fire.
I get handed a towel with a bowl of water. As I begin to clean it, someone holds out a bottle of peroxide. I shake my head in protest.
“It needs to get disinfected.” Izzy shoves the bottle toward me again.
I swat it out of the way. “It will slow down the healing and kill the skin cells.”
They all watch me gently clean around the wound. Once I am done, Izzy clears it away. I turn to Jodi, still holding onto the first aid kit. Hands shaking, I rifle through it, pulling out the antiseptic and gauze and the needle and thread that feel too heavy in my palm.
Stasia taught me to check the wound for debris, to clean it with care, to assess the damage before making my move.
I can hear her voice guiding me, reminding me to stay calm, to breathe.
Selene would be beaming with pride. And Serafina would think I was the coolest older sister.
But none of my sisters are here. The weight of various emotions creates a lump in my throat that I have to force down in order to focus on getting this done.
The world around me fades; all I can focus on is Killian.
Blood seeps through his fingers as he presses each side of the wound shut, a desperate attempt to close the gap.
With trembling hands, I pour antiseptic over the wound.
Killian flinches, his body tight with pain, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me, a flicker of determination igniting between us.
“Don’t back down now,” he breathes, and that small encouragement fortifies my determination.
I grab the needle and thread, my fingers fumbling but steadying with each passing second.
No one says a word as I loop the thread around the needle’s loop and tie it to the end, creating a long piece.
Positioning myself so that I’m leaning as close to the wound as I can, I give Killian a final glance to let him know I’m about to start.
As I pierce the needle through his skin, I feel the world shrink around us—just me, Killian, and the task at hand.
Each knot I tie is a promise, a vow that I won’t let him bleed out here.
“Almost done,” I murmur, my heart racing as I knot the final stitch.
I can sense everyone around us sigh in relief. Using an antibiotic cream over the area, I place a clean, non-stick sterile bandage over the sealed wound. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I feel a wave of triumph.
“Well, Liliana, you are full of surprises,” Killian says, sounding impressed.
“You should get some rest,” Mickey commands. “Trevor. Leon. Bring Killian to his room.”
Killian swings each of his arms around their shoulders and allows them to help him up the stairs. Everyone else clears the room but Mickey.
As I get to my feet, I grab a clean towel and wipe my hands. Mickey stands there the way my dad would when he wanted to make a statement.
And when Mickey is ready, he says, “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Killian. And I don’t care. But if you are the reason he ends up dead, his blood is on your hands.”