Chapter 10 #2
“We did all that.” I replied, setting the shotgun down, my arm throbbing in pain.
She blinked a few times. “I guess we make a good team.”
“Except when you shoot me,” I teased.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “That wasn’t on purpose.”
I chuckled. “I know.”
She stepped closer until she was right in front of me. Her hands rose, trembling, hesitant, then settled on my shoulders. My muscles tremored, the adrenaline still burning through me. Her brows furrowed, her eyes softening as they ran over me. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re lying. I shot you.”
I exhaled, shaky, because she was right and because of the way she was looking at me. After all the violence and chaos, she was looking at me like I was something steady.
Something worth holding on to.
Her forehead touched my chest. Just lightly.
I felt her breath warm through my shirt.
“Don’t scare me like that,” she whispered.
I lifted her chin with two fingers, gently. Her eyes were bright and glassy but full of fire. “I’m okay, Gia. We’re okay. You saved my ass back there.”
She exhaled a shaky, fragile sound — half relief, half emotion she didn’t seem to know where to put. Then she stepped closer, burying herself in my chest, arms wrapping around me.
I held her tight, tighter than I’d held anyone in years, because now that the danger was gone, the fear hit me:
I could have lost her.
And I couldn’t lose her.
Not now.
Not ever.
Gia shook in my arms as she started to cry. I rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. “It’s all over now. You’re safe.”
After a few moments, her body relaxed and she pulled back to look up at me. Her face was splotchy and red, her eyes swollen and glistening with tears. She was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I cupped her face in both my hands and kissed her.
The urge to tell her how I felt made my chest tighten. I wanted to tell her that she meant more to me than just a charge I was paid to protect; that I wanted her long after we left the cabin.
But I didn’t. I kept it locked away like I always did, afraid to be vulnerable and put my heart at risk.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, swiping the tears from her cheeks.
We went back upstairs, stepping over the pile of bodies at the foot of the staircase. “I’ll take care of that later.”
Gia gasped when we entered the cabin. I frowned.
The cabin was trashed. Snow was tracked all over the floor and almost all the furniture was overturned. The front door was left open, allowing the cold air to come inside.
“Assholes,” I grumbled as I went to shut the door. Gia followed, lighting the fireplace to help combat the chill that had settled in the cabin.
I started righting the furniture until Gia stated, “Worry about that later. Sit.”
My ribs ached. The gunshot wound throbbed in rhythm with my pulse. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. I shot you.” She went to the hall closet with purpose, grabbing the first-aid kit. When she returned, her hands were trembling, but she knelt in front of me with more steadiness than I expected.
I rolled my eyes, snorting with exasperation.
“Take your shirt off,” she demanded.
I raised a brow. “You could say please.”
She glared — the soft, terrified kind — and I obeyed.
The cold air hit my skin, and the sting of the wound flared. She inhaled sharply when her eyes ran over the bruises already forming on my body.
“Enzo,” her bottom lip trembled. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“No, it’s not. Well, except for the gunshot wound.”
Groaning, she buried her face in my chest. I laughed, “I’m just teasing you. You did good, kid.”
Pulling back, she brought her gaze to mine. “I really am sorry.”
I smirked. “I know.”
She let out a small sigh as she picked up my arm and examined the bullet wound. “Is it still in there?”
I lifted my arm to look at the underside of my bicep. “No exit wound so yep.”
Her eyes went wide and her face paled. “Maybe I should call an ambulance.”
I snorted. “Sweetheart, I’m an EMT.”
Her cheeks turned pink as she gave me a sheepish smile. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
“Can you get my kit? It’s in the closet in my room.”
Gia hopped up and quickly went in my room, then returned a few seconds later with my EMT bag. She brought it over to me and I opened the kit; forceps, gauze, a small field scalpel. Thread and needle. Antiseptic. The familiar chemical smell filled the air.
“How can I help?” she asked, her voice anxious.
“You don’t have to—”
“I shot you, ” her voice cracked open, raw and shaking. “So let me help.”
I didn’t argue. She needed this.
I sterilized the forceps, the metal catching the kitchen light. My arm throbbed viciously, like it knew what was coming.
I pressed gauze around the wound until the bleeding slowed. Gia’s breathing faltered each time my face twitched.
“I need you to open the wound with your fingers so I can get the forceps in there. Can you do that?”
She nodded, her eyes watering again. Her hand shook as she brought it to the bullet hole in my bicep.
I clenched my teeth, preparing for the pain. “Do it.”
Pain ripped up my arm in a bright, blinding wave. My jaw locked. Her other hand grabbed my thigh immediately, steadying, grounding, even as she trembled.
“Enzo,” Her voice wavered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”
“Look at me,” I gritted out.
She did; eyes shining, guilt written across every line of her face.
“It was chaos,” I told her. “It was an accident.”
“But it happened,” she whispered. “Because of me.”
I didn’t argue; instead, I focused on extracting the bullet. I inserted the forceps, growling through the pain as the metal tips scraped something inside the wound. Not bone. Her bullet. My breath punched out hard.
I angled the forceps deeper, groaning in pain.
Gia’s free hand shot to my forearm, gripping tight. “Just breathe.”
I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself. “I’ve got it,” I gritted out.
She leaned close, forehead nearly touching mine. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I closed the forceps around the bullet and pulled.
Agony tore straight through my arm, ripping a low, raw sound from my throat. Gia held me steady, murmuring soft, frantic words I couldn’t even process.
Then, the bullet slid free.
I dropped the forceps into the metal tray, the bloody slug clinking loudly. Sweat dripped down my forehead. My breath came hard and uneven.
Gia stared at the bullet like it was something monstrous. “I did that,” she whimpered, voice breaking. “I hurt you.”
I reached for her hand and pulled her toward me. “You saved my life. If you hadn’t taken those two guys out, they would’ve taken me out.”
Nodding, she forced a smile. “Let me clean you up.”
When she pressed the disinfectant-soaked gauze to my arm, I hissed.
“Sorry!” She flinched. “Does it hurt really bad?”
“Not the worst thing I’ve felt today.”
Her eyes flicked up and she gave me that tiny, watery almost-laugh people made when they were right on the edge of crying, but trying not to.
Her fingers brushed my skin carefully as she cleaned the wound.
Each touch was soft, slow, almost reverent — as if she were terrified of hurting me more, or maybe terrified of acknowledging how close she had come to losing me.
I examined the wound after she was done cleaning it. “Gonna need stitches.”
“I can do it. I practiced on an orange in health class a few times.”
I snorted, arching a brow. “An orange?”
“Yeah, the teacher said an orange peel mimics skin.”
I chuckled. “Never learned that in my EMT classes.”
“When was that, the dark ages?”
I frowned. “Just sterilize the needle and let’s get this over with.”
She fought a smile, but did as I asked. Then, she threaded the needle and knotted the end before turning her attention to my arm. “Ready?”
I nodded, bracing myself for the pain. “Yep.”
Gia stitched me up slow and careful, her hands growing steadier with each pass of the needle. Every time she tugged the thread through my skin, her breath hitched — like she felt every ounce of the pain with me.
When she was finished, she wrapped a bandage around my arm slowly, the fabric brushing lightly over my skin, her hands lingering longer than necessary. When she tied the knot, she rested her fingers there, just for a second.
Then she noticed the bruising at my ribs.
“Oh, God. Lift your arm.”
“Gia—”
“Lift. Your. Arm.”
I lifted it.
She palpated gently along my side, checking for breaks. Her thumbs barely pressed, but the warmth of her touch sent a different kind of ache through me — not pain, but something heavier.
“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” she murmured. “We need ice.”
“Gia.” I closed my hand around her wrist — light, but enough to make her look up. “Slow down.”
She froze.
“You’re shaking,” I observed.
Now that she had stopped moving, I could see it. Her breath trembled, her eyes glassed over, and she swallowed hard, trying to fight the emotion back down. “I’m fine,” she lied.
“No, you’re not.”
The dam broke.
Her shoulders slumped, and she covered her face with her hands as she sobbed.
My chest tightened. I couldn’t even imagine what she was feeling. She may have been born into the mob life, but she definitely wasn’t exposed to the grittier side of it. I was overwhelmed and I was used to this shit.
I wrapped my good arm around her waist and pulled her into my lap. She came willingly, almost collapsing into me, hands clutching my back like she needed to feel the solidity of me to believe I was still there.
“I was so scared,” she whispered into my skin. “I kept thinking I’d look up and you’d be—”
I pressed my palm to the back of her head. “Hey.” My voice was rough, low. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You could’ve died.”
“But I didn’t,” I murmured into her hair, holding her tighter. “I’m right here.”
Her breath trembled against my skin as she pulled back to look at me. Our eyes met.
“And I’m not going anywhere.”
Something melted in her eyes — fear, relief, longing — all tangled together.
She inched closer, slowly, deliberately, until her thighs bracketed mine on the couch, and her hands cupped my jaw.
“Enzo,” she whispered.
I rested my forehead against hers.
Her breath mingled with mine. Her hands trembled where they held me, and I covered them with my own.
“This scared me too,” I admitted, voice low. “More than I expected.”
Her eyes flickered with understanding; with something deeper.
We stayed like that; breathing each other in, holding each other together.
Just us.
Alive.
Bruised.
But together.
And for the first time since this started, I let myself lean into her warmth instead of pushing her away.
Once Gianina fell asleep, I went to work disposing of the bodies. I didn’t want her to be reminded of that night so I stayed up until the job was done and they were all melting away in barrels.
Then, I cleaned up the blood and all the broken furniture. Why did these stupid assholes always have to leave a mess?
Once I had finished everything, the sun was rising. I found my burner phone and sent a text to Domenic:
They found us, but I took care of them. She’s safe.
I sat down in my chair and sighed. Even though we were out of danger, I wasn’t happy. I should’ve been excited to get back home and put all this shit behind me.
But I wasn’t. The thought of bringing Gianina back to her father and going on with my life like nothing had happened between us made my stomach heavy.
I didn’t want to let her go.
I’d said that whatever happened between us stayed in the cabin. At the time, I’d meant it. I’d only been thinking about getting my dick wet, but so much had happened since then; so much had changed about how I felt about Gianina.
I didn’t want to admit I’d fallen for her.
My eyes felt heavy, and I didn’t want to think any more about the inevitable, so I let sleep finally overtake me.
When I woke up, the cabin was still quiet. I’d kept my shotgun next to me just in case there were any stragglers, but it seemed like no one else was coming.
Yawning, I checked the burner phone to see if Domenic had texted back. He had.
Good. Things should be taken care of here tonight so you should be able to bring her back before the new year. I’ll text you when it’s time.
My chest tightened, and a lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t believe I would be taking Gianina back in less than a week.
I didn’t know whether I should savor whatever time I had left with her or push her away so it was easier when I took her home.
I glanced at the closed door to her room. My head and heart warred on whether or not to get in bed with her.
“Fuck it.” I slowly stood from the chair, every movement making my body ache.
I should do the smart thing and distance myself, but instead I went into her room. I deserved some happiness after all the shit I’d been through the last couple of weeks, especially last night.
And what happened in the cabin stayed in the cabin.