Page 39 of Vicious Rule

“Hang in there. Alex can be hard to deal with, but he gets the job done. I know you will too. Be sure to tell him to call me the moment he gets in.”

“I will. Thanks, Helix!”

After the call ends, I sit back in my chair as concern starts to fill my brain. Why is Alex so late? Yes, it’s normal for him to not pay attention to the time, but he’s generally not this late coming back from meetings.

Or is it because the meeting was with the contessa? Did it turn into something else?

I immediately stop that train of thought before I spin out of control with jealousy. He’s not with her. That’s not why he’s late. I can’t let myself get mired down in ideas like that.

Closing my eyes, I silently hope it isn’t the explanation for why he’s not back yet. Then again, there are so many other even more horrible reasons why he’s late, not the least of which is that business partnership with Nico Olivetti.

From the first floor, I hear someone yell, “Call a doctor! Mr. Rule’s been hit!”

I rush down the stairs to find Andre holding Alex sagging against him. He looks as pale as a sheet, so I hurry over to him to see if I can help. “What happened?” I ask as I search his body for an explanation.

It doesn’t take long to see what’s making Alex look so horrible. A gunshot through his shoulder is seeping blood, even though he has his hand pressed against the wound.

“Oh my God! You’ve been shot!” I cry out as Alex begins to close his eyes. “Andre, keep him awake. I’m calling the doctor right now.”

As I explain what happened to the doctor, Andre lifts Alex up and walks toward his room on the second floor. I follow behind, terrified the shot did far more damage than we know.

“Alex, can you talk? Say something,” I plead as Andre sets him onto his bed.

He nods and gives me a tiny smile. “I’m fine. Just a little hole in my shoulder. When the doctor takes the bullet out, I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

“Do you want me to do anything? Tell me and I’ll do it,” I say while I sit down beside him.

Shaking his head, he smiles again. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

I take his hand in mine and give it a sympathetic squeeze. “How did this happen?”

Andre stands on the opposite side of the bed frowning. “It was that guy who I knew was up to no good. I should have taken him down when I first saw him.”

Alex waves away that idea, but I ask Andre, “What guy? Who? Where?”

“Right before we got to the contessa’s villa. I saw this dark-haired guy lurking around. I knew he looked wrong. I thought about going to see what he was up to, but I dismissed it as useless worrying. My ex always said I worried about nothing. What the hell did she know?” Andre says shaking his head.

“It’s okay,” Alex says in a low voice barely above a whisper. “I saw him too and didn’t think to tell you to do anything.”

A knock on the bedroom door is followed by the doctor Alex always uses walking into the room. Older with gray hair and a white beard, he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Doctor Abruzzi, I’m so glad you got here so quickly. It’s a gunshot,” I say, not caring that I’m stating the obvious.

It’s always a gunshot when he comes to help. The nature of Alex’s work here in Italy means it’s never anything else.

The doctor sets his jacket on the chair over near the door and comes around to where I’m sitting next to Alex to look at him. I hurriedly move out of the way but watch as he pulls back Alex’s shirt to reveal a bullet wound and more blood than I’m used to seeing.

Twice since I started working for him he’s gotten shot, but neither time looked this bad. Those two wounds were in his lower leg and his forearm, the result of some bad shooting by men who didn’t live long afterward.

But this is different. This time it’s in his shoulder, and with the amount of blood coming out of him, I understand why he looks so pale and can’t speak above a whisper. As I watch the doctor work his magic, I can only hope those don’t mean he’s too far gone to help.

Alex reaches out his other hand, so I quickly move around the doctor to take it in mine. When I look into his eyes, I’m terrified I’m seeing him drift away.

“Stay with me,” I say softly, but he doesn’t respond.

I look over at the doctor as he continues to dig the bullet out of Alex’s shoulder. His expression intent, he’s completely focused on the task at hand, so I don’t ask him all the questions I want to so I can believe Alex isn’t going to die right here in this bed holding my hand.

Silently, I say a prayer begging God to let him live. I know he isn’t the best person in the world. He’s a criminal on his best days. But I’m begging you, God. Let him live. Please don’t take him.

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