Page 38 of Borrowed Bride

A fresh wave of tears overtakes me, and I sink down to the floor, sobbing into my hands. This should be good news, butunder the crushing weight of my guilt and my fear of Cherry, it feels like the end of the world.

I need to tell Marco.

I cry until I can cry no more, then I return to my vigil by Tara’s side until a little after midnight when Anton eases himself into the room.

“Gianna?”

“Go away.”

“Marco is coming,” Anton says. “He wants to take you home to wash and eat. You’ve been here three days.”

“I’m not leaving until she wakes up.”

“He’s not taking no for an answer.”

I stare up at Anton, searching his face for the answer to all my problems but there’s nothing other than a soft sadness in his eyes.

“Ben will stay and watch her,” Anton continues. “She won’t be alone.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

I kiss Tara’s head and promise to return the moment I’ve appeased Marco, then I follow Anton out of the room. Ben flashes me a sympathetic look as he heads inside to take my place, then I numbly follow behind Anton as we head out of the hospital.

Marco has Tara in a secluded wing with an entire private medical team at her disposal, at my request, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

My mind spins, weaving between grief, guilt, and the shock at the results of the pregnancy test I left in the trash.

It’s too much.

Maybe I do need to sleep.

Out in the parking lot, a light rain drifts down from the sky as Marco’s black limo pulls up from the street, flanked by twoother cars. His door opens, and the sight of him with the wind in his hair and his silver shirt ruffling around his body causes a squeeze of tension through my chest.

I need him.

I need to sink into his arms and have him comfort me.

Life has a different plan.

Marco takes two steps toward me, and suddenly, several cars around us turn on their headlights, blinding Marco and all the other guards around him. Gunfire erupts through the parking lot, and I can only watch in sickening horror as three explosions of blood erupt from Marco’s chest.

He stumbles back with a cry and then disappears from view as Anton’s body slams into me. We crash to the ground and he uses his body to cover me as guns fire, men yell, and tires screech.

No. No no no!

It replays in my head like a loop. The crimson splashes, the twist of pain on Marco’s face.

Not Marco.

Not him too.

Anton lunges upward, opening fire over the top of the car we are hiding behind. As he does so, his trouser leg rides up and exposes the gun strapped to his ankle.

I don’t think. I just grab it.

Then I’m on my feet and sprinting toward Marco while firing in the direction of anyone I don’t recognize. I can’t tell who is shooting at who, my only target is Marco.

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