Chapter 28 #2
Our weapons are all equipped with silencers.
When we come up the stairwell, we take down the security patrolling the hall quickly, with muffled shots.
The sound of the bodies hitting the floor will alert any other security inside the suite, and we move fast, flanking the door as I shoot the lock and then rear back and kick the door, hard.
Three strikes, and the door breaks open as I burst in with Finn, Colin, and the other men at my back.
Rocco’s security is alert, but not enough for them to not take down two of his men before the shooting even starts.
I leave them to handle Rocco’s security, going straight for the man himself as I see him emerge from the back of the suite, wearing an expensive suit with his dark hair slicked back.
His eyes are cold, a cruel smile on his face as he looks at me. "Ronan O'Malley.” His voice carries a faint Italian accent, his speech more Boston than European. "I was wondering when you'd arrive. Is the girl dead yet, or do I still have some chance of collecting on my loss?"
“I’m going to kill you.” I stalk toward him, my hand tight on my gun.
I’d thought of all the ways I was going to ensure he died slowly, but suddenly, I’m no longer so sure I want to draw it out.
I want him dead, plain and simple. Before, a quick death seemed too good for him, but now all I want is the surety of seeing him bleed out in front of me.
Of knowing he’s gone and can never threaten me or mine again.
"A man like you doesn't hide while his woman fights for her life. Not when he could be out here, seeking vengeance." Rocco's smile is thin, humorless. "Admirable.”
I raise my gun, shooting him in the kneecap as I hear the sounds of my men taking out his behind me. His scream sends prickles of satisfaction over my skin as he falls to one knee, clutching his thigh. “She’s going to live. Unlike you."
“Fuck!” Rocco curses in a string of Italian, fumbling for his gun, but the next bullet goes into his wrist. I keep walking toward him, taking a shot with every stride, until he’s crumpled on the carpet bleeding from his knees, his hand, his shoulder.
I loom over him, aiming my gun at his head. “I was going to make this last longer. But all I want now is to see the light leave your fucking eyes.”
He smiles at me, his eyes cold. “As long as you die, too, O’Malley.”
I see the knife a split second before he strikes, his movement faster than I expected from a man bleeding out with shattered joints. The blade slices across my calf as I dodge backward, my gun still aimed at him.
He lurches toward me, pushing himself up in one desperate attempt to take me down with him. He’s fast and good—if he weren’t injured, this would have been a deadly fight. He’s no pampered crime boss; he’s a violent killer, and I knew that.
But I also knew that he didn’t stand a chance against me tonight. Not after what he’s done.
The room narrows down to the sight of Rocco swinging at me, his face set in grim determination, pain etched in every feature. I aim the gun at his face, my finger squeezing the trigger in the instant before his knife can reach my abdomen.
I feel the tip tear my shirt. I see him jackknife backward, the hollow sound of the silenced shot seemingly louder than it is as blood blooms over his face, pieces of meat and bone flying as he falls back to the carpet.
I keep pulling the trigger as I advance toward him until the gun clicks empty and his face is a mess of exposed flesh.
For a long moment, I stand over him. The shooting behind me is finished, and I can hear the sounds of my men securing the suite. I wait to feel a sense of satisfaction, of vengeance achieved, but all I can think is that it’s done, and I need to get back to the hospital. Back to Leila.
I turn abruptly. “Get this cleaned up,” I order, striding back toward the door. “I’ll be at the hospital. Call me when it’s done.”
“Yes, boss,” Colin says, the other men nodding their agreement, and I stride out into the hall, walking past the dead bodies of Rocco’s security.
Dawn is breaking over the horizon when I get back to the hospital. The doctor meets me outside of Leila’s room, stopping me before I can go in. I can see her through the window, small and fragile and pale in the hospital bed, and every part of me is screaming to go to her.
"The surgery went well," the doctor says, and I feel my legs nearly give out with relief. "We removed all the fragments and repaired the internal damage. She's stable."
I can feel my heart hammering against my ribs. "And the baby?"
“The pregnancy is stable as well, and the prognosis is encouraging. The trauma to your wife was significant, but..." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "She’s strong. She fought hard to stay alive, and I feel confident in saying she’ll remain so.”
My throat feels tight. "Can I see her?"
"She's unconscious. The anesthesia, combined with the blood loss..." The doctor softens slightly. "She'll wake up, Mr. O'Malley. But it might be a few hours. You can sit with her, but I wouldn’t expect a response."
The room is quiet except for the steady beep of monitors.
Leila looks impossibly small in the hospital bed, her face pale against the white pillows, tubes and wires connecting her to more machines than I can guess at what they’re for.
I take her hand—careful not to disturb the IV line—and sink into the chair beside her bed.
"It's over," I tell her quietly, hearing the exhaustion in my voice. "Rocco is dead. He can't hurt you anymore. You're safe now. You're both safe."
Her fingers are warm in mine, and I imagine I feel them tighten slightly.
"I killed him for Siobhan, for the child I had before, but more than anything, I killed him for you. For us." My voice cracks slightly. "To make sure that when you wake up, you wake up in a world that’s safer for you than it was before. A world where this won’t happen to you again. Whatever I have to do, I will never let this happen to you again.”
I press her hand to my lips, breathing in the antiseptic smell that can't quite mask her familiar scent.
"Wake up for me. Please. Wake up and tell me we can figure this out together.
Tell me there's a way to keep you safe without losing you.
Tell me..." I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against our joined hands.
"Tell me you love me, even after everything that's happened because of who I am. "
“I love you,” I whisper, looking at her pale, still face. “I love you, and I should have told you before. Wake up, so I can tell you. So I can say it for the first time.”
All I need is for her to wake up.
All I need is another chance to get this right.