Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Julian
"Evelyn! Victor! Are you down there!"
I was on my knees on top of the ruined fallout shelter, screaming into the wreckage.
The air reeked of gunpowder. I couldn't stop coughing. The thick dust clogged my windpipe like someone had stuffed cotton down my throat. The temperature was wrong—too hot. The explosion had been recent. Heat still radiated from the ground.
But I was too late.
The shelter had collapsed. What used to be the entrance was now a massive crater, the ground caved inward, exposing layer after layer of rubble and twisted rebar. Luca's men had already cordoned off the perimeter. Flashlight beams swept across the surface of the debris.
I turned to Luca, no clue what to do. But Luca was more composed than me. He grabbed his radio.
"Send more men. Get all the heavy equipment over here. Contact the nearest—"
I grabbed his arm.
"Wait."
I dropped to the ground and pressed my ear against the rubble. People were moving around. Boots crunching on debris interfered with my hearing. I raised my hand. Everyone froze.
From beneath the rubble came a sound. Faint. Like hearing voices through several walls.
I lunged at the pile.
"Luca! Here! They're under here!"
Luca threw off his jacket and crouched beside me. We started moving stones.
The rubble was heavier than I'd thought.
Sharper too. My fingers dug into rough concrete edges, found a grip, then pulled.
When the first stone came loose, a jagged rebar end sliced across my palm.
It felt like someone had dragged a box cutter horizontally across my hand.
Blood poured out immediately, running down my wrist and dripping onto the hot stones.
I kept digging. Stone after stone. Some were so heavy I had to squat and use my legs to push them.
Some were tangled with rebar and other debris—I had to rock them back and forth to loosen them.
My fingernail tore on the third stone. The nail on my ring finger peeled back completely, exposing the raw pink nail bed underneath.
I couldn't stop.
The sounds below were getting weaker. The situation was dire. I had to move faster.
I don't know how long I dug. Time lost all meaning. Finally, we pried open the largest piece of the collapsed wall. We'd cleared a gap big enough. A flashlight beam shot down into the pit.
I leaned over and looked down.
What I saw was an image I'd never forget.
At the bottom of the pit. Two people holding each other. Evelyn and Victor. They were asleep in each other's arms, their expressions strangely peaceful. Like the world had collapsed around them, but as long as they had each other, they weren't afraid.
My eyes burned. Something hot surged from my chest and blocked my throat.
I used to hate Victor.
Hated him for taking Evelyn. Hated him for never being straight with me. Hated him for using his Don status to crush any resistance from me. Hated him for kissing my ex-fiancée at that gala in front of all of New York's elite, making me look like a clown on stage.
I used to think he was just playing with Evelyn. That he was just showing me his absolute power. That Evelyn was just another woman he could discard whenever.
But now, looking at this scene.
I realized their feelings were real.
He really loved her. They really loved each other.
A kind of love I'd never seen before—so heavy it could crush you. I'd slept with so many women, been to so many parties, said so many sweet nothings. I thought I understood love. I thought love was desire plus possession plus a little heart-racing.
But I was wrong.
"Move faster! Get the stretcher! Watch his spine! Don't pull too hard!"
Rescue workers lowered a neck brace and stretcher into the pit. They were professionals. Two men crouched on either side of Victor, carefully moving the last few stones off his back, then one stabilized his neck while the other supported his waist, slowly turning him over.
Evelyn's injuries were less severe. When the medics moved her, she regained consciousness. She insisted on staying with Victor, but I talked her out of it.
I knew she was pregnant. Pregnant women were fragile. She needed to think about her baby. Getting treatment or examined in another ambulance was better for her.
The ambulance screamed through New York's predawn streets. The vehicle lurched violently around corners, throwing me around my seat. A doctor knelt beside the stretcher, pumping Victor's chest nonstop.
The ambulance charged into the hospital's emergency bay and rushed into surgery. All we could do now was wait.
Evelyn was examined in another room. The OB-GYN used instruments to confirm the fetus was safe. She had no internal injuries—just severe shock and dehydration. The doctor put her on an IV and wanted her to take a sedative and rest.
But she ripped the IV needle out of her hand and insisted on waiting outside Victor's operating room.
"Sit down." I dragged over a plastic chair from the hallway. "You're pregnant. You can't keep standing."
Evelyn ignored me.
She just stared at the red indicator light above the operating room doors.
"Evelyn. He'll be fine. Victor's the hardest man to kill I've ever seen. Three cardiac resuscitations didn't kill him. A busted fallout shelter is nothing."
No response. Not a word.
I gave up.
Honestly, maybe letting her stay here was better than dragging her back to a hospital room.
At least she could see that light. At least she knew the surgery was ongoing, Victor was in there, doctors were fighting.
If I locked her in a room where she couldn't see anything, she'd probably collapse even harder.
I sat in the chair beside her.
Time crawled. The round clock on the hallway wall clicked with each passing second.
I called Luca a few times. The aftermath needed handling.
The scene needed cleaning. Marcus and Benjamin's bodies needed disposing.
The cash and flash drives scattered in the shelter needed recovering.
Luca's voice was hoarser than usual. He asked about Victor.
I said I didn't know, still in surgery. He said one word. Okay. Then hung up.
I did a bunch of things and came back. Evelyn hadn't moved.
A young nurse tried to get Evelyn to sit. Evelyn acted like she didn't hear. The nurse looked at me. I shook my head. The nurse left.
I sat back down in that plastic chair. Leaned against the wall, watching Evelyn's back.
Her hospital gown was too big. The collar had slipped to one side, exposing one thin collarbone and several purple bruises. Her hair was a mess, caked with dust and dried blood. Her bare feet had shallow cuts—probably scraped when they pulled her from the rubble.
But right now, she seemed more beautiful and admirable than ever.
I'd never realized love was like this.
Me, Julian, one of New York's most notorious playboys. Spent my twenties at high-end parties, never short of beautiful women. I used to think love was seasoning, something nice to have. Great if you had it, no big deal if you didn't. Tomorrow, there'd always be a new face in my passenger seat.
But now, my thinking had changed.
I leaned back in my chair, looking at those closed operating room doors.
I'm not a religious man. Never have been.
But if God was really listening, I'd trade all my good luck, all my future parties and champagne and pretty girls' phone numbers—package it all up and hand it over—for these two people to get their happy ending.