40. Gabriella
40
Gabriella
“ C an you drive any faster?”
Michael snaps his head in my direction with a look of disbelief on his face. “Do you want to die before getting to the cabin?”
I huff out a big breath and shove myself back into my seat, but the mix of anxiety and adrenaline quickly pulls me forward again. My leg shakes uncontrollably while I stare out the window and watch the scenery fly by.
Ever since my necklace buzzed a few minutes ago, all I can concentrate on is getting to the cabin. It’s the only place I could think of where Dimitri would hide out. No one knows about it but me and his FBI handler, so it’s safe. It’s the logical choice. I just hope Dimitri thought the same.In the backseat is my go-to first aid kit with enough supplies to treat anything, from cuts and bruises to bullet wounds and broken bones. Because I don’t know what kind of condition Dimitri’s in, only that he’s alive.
“If he’s not at the cabin, where would he go next?” Michael asks, slowing down just enough to prevent the car from spinning out of control when he takes the turn off the road onto Dimitri’s long driveway.
“I don’t know.” Admitting the truth makes me feel useless and utterly helpless. “He has to be there.”
In the distance, a strange orange and red light breaks through the treeline. It's too bright. Too artificial. A second later the unmistakable scent of smoke wafts through the car’s air conditioner.
“Is that—?”
“Fire,” Michael finishes.
“Oh my God, his house is on fire.” I reach over and slap my brother’s arm several times, my eyes staying fixed on the burning cabin. “Hurry, Michael, please, hurry!”
Before the car even comes to a complete stop, I jump out and pay no attention to my brother’s shout for me to stop. The cabin is on the verge of being completely devoured by flames. The heat radiating from it is so intense, it crashes against my skin in hot waves, while the deafening sound of its destruction fills the air.
“Dimitri!” I scream, the sound barely audible over the fire’s roar.
I catch sight of a body lying on the ground close by and I rush over to it. Flipping him over, I find a stranger staring up at me. The man’s dark skin is drenched in sweat and soot, and there’s a large patch of blood on his pant leg.
“Who are you?” I demand.
“My name’s Jacob,” he introduces himself in between small coughs and grimaces of pain.
Jacob…that’s the name of Dimitri’s FBI handler.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Dimitri?”
Jacob’s eyes slide to the house, and my stomach drops as Michael appears beside us. “He ran back inside.”
Devastation fills me, sending a chill washing over me that grips my heart in a vice of fear and disbelief. He can’t be in there. He just can’t. Why would he go in there? I have to find him.
I stand and take two steps toward the house before Michael appears in front of me. In the shadows of his face, his hazel eyes burn bright just like the fire behind him.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warns me in a grave tone.
“Let me go.”
“Absolutely not.”
“We can’t just let him die in there!” I shout. “I get that you hate him, I do, but I love him, Michael. Do you not understand that?”
I try to sidestep him, but he quickly grabs my upper arm and forcefully pulls me back to face him. Our eyes meet and it’s a battle I refuse to back down from. He’ll have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming if he wants to stop me. Finally, Michael sighs, his eyes shifting to the fire.
“I’ll go.”
“No,” I argue right away. “You can’t.”
“And neither can you,” he reminds me, glancing between my bump and my eyes. “I’ll find him.”
Unable to dispute his logic, I watch my big brother pull his shirt over his face and leap through a wall of fire, disappearing into the inferno. I stand frozen, my gaze darting across every inch of the burning house, searching for any sign of life. Now, two pieces of my heart are lost among the flames. When the wind shifts, it brings a plume of smoke with it, forcing me to turn away and cough. That’s when I remember Jacob. I may be helpless with the fire, but I can help him.
Sprinting over to Michael’s car, I grab the first aid bag and then run back to kneel by the man’s side.
“We should call 911,” he suggests as I cut open his pants to get a better look at his leg.
Digging my phone out of my hoodie pocket, I toss it at him. “Here. Help yourself.”
I force myself to narrow my focus to the task at hand. I’m good at this, at treating someone’s injuries, and providing them comfort. Still, it takes everything in me to concentrate while my life could very well be burning down behind me.
It’s a bullet wound with an exit wound, which means the bullet went right through. Unless it hit a bone, he probably won’t need surgery, which is good news for him.
“So,” I start when he hangs up with emergency services. I’m hoping by the time they make it here, we’ll be long gone, otherwise we’re going to need a hell of a story. “Who shot you?”
“My fucking boss,” he answers through clenched teeth when I press bandages against his wound.
“Not Dimitri?”
I feel his calculating dark eyes on me, but I stay focused on my task. “How do you know Dimitri? Who are you?”
“Gabriella DiAngelo.”
“You’re with the Italian family.”
“And you’re Dimitri’s handler.”
“How much do you know exactly?”
I finish wrapping his leg and sit back. Snapping my gloves off, I concentrate on what to say next that will get my point across without saying it. “Enough to know his cover was blown, and that he came here for safety.”
“I didn’t know his cover was blown,” Jacob admits, catching my drift.
“Then who—”
Jacob’s eyes go wide at the space behind me. “Watch out!”But his warning comes too late.
Suddenly, a hand seizes my hair and pulls firmly, forcing me to stand to ease the throbbing ache. The grip remains tight, keeping my head straight back so all I can see is the dark sky through the tree canopy above.
“Well, well, well,” a voice drawls in my ear and I recognize it immediately. “If it isn’t the youngest DiAngelo bitch.”
“Sergei.”
“What are you doing here?” he asks with a deep groan, like he’s in pain. Good.
“Could ask you the same thing.” My sass earns me a hard yank. Tears spring to my eyes at the sharp sensation, but I refuse to cry out. I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction.
“Let her go!” The sound of my brother’s voice fills the air and envelops me in a protective wave.
Sergei eases up on my hair, only to wrap one meaty hand around my chest and bring a knife to my throat with the other. The cool steel bites into my flesh. But all the pain and anxiety and fear disappear when I see Dimitri standing next to Michael. Well, he's more like leaning against Michael for support. My brother has his hand wrapped around Dimitri’s side, helping keep him vertical. It’s as much of a comical sight as much as it is heartwarming to see them together.
“Gab–ri–,” Dimitri struggles to say my name between coughing fits, unable to lift his head very much. He needs medical attention right away. He needs oxygen.
Michael has a gun pointed at Sergei with his free hand. His face is hard and his eyes burn with the promise of death. This man may resemble my brother, but it's one of Miami’s Grim Reapers standing before me. And the sight is as scary in person as the stories I've heard.
“Ah, Michael.” Sergei grunts and pulls me tighter into him. “I see you found Dimitri. Did you hear? He's an FBI agent. He's been undercover for years.”
“I know,” Michael says.
“You know?” I feel Sergei start to shake. “You know?” he shouts. “Then fucking kill him!”
“No.”
“So you’re working with him then. Is that it? Huh?” Sergei’s hand slips, causing the knife against my throat to bite even more into my skin, and I hiss at the sharp pain. “Kill him, DiAngelo, or I will kill your sister. You know I will. Choose!”
“Last chance, Sergei,” Michael warns in a steady and deadly tone. “Let her go.”
“Wrong choice.”
I feel his arm tense and his hand shifts as if preparing to slice my throat.Dimitri is fighting to get to me, but Michael holds steady. What I wouldn’t give for one more kiss, one more touch, one more moment with him. To watch him hold our children, love them, and teach them. To walk his daughter down the aisle and stand beside his son at the altar. I meet his eyes and mouth, I love you, and need to look away before the pain in his gaze kills me. Michael catches my eyes and then nods.
The sound of a bullet cracks through the air, and Sergei goes limp behind me. The knife falls from my throat as he collapses to the ground. I twist to see him lying dead from a gunshot wound to the head just inches away from where he had been using me as a shield. But it wasn’t Michael who pulled the trigger.
“I need a fucking vacation away from all you DiAngelos,” Enzo declares when he emerges from the treeline, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Your family will be the death of me.”
“Enzo,” I breathe out his name.
“Hey you.” He pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “Isn’t it your husband’s job to protect you?”
“You could have killed me, you know.”
“Never.”
He’s right. He has the eyes of a hawk and impeccable aim.
“A little help over here, please?” Michael calls out. “Said husband is bleeding all over me.”
I hurry over and slip under Dimitri’s other arm, taking some of the weight off of Michael long enough for Enzo to take his place.
“Hi…angel,” Dimitri whispers. His voice is hoarse, his face dirty, and his eyes bloodshot, but when he smiles, all is okay in my world. “Love…you.”
“I love you, too.”