Page 100 of Third Degree

“I can help you look.” The girl was shaking. I looked over at the guy and told him to go out the back door.

“Find Julian now!” I barked at Chelsea, my voice laced with urgency and a hint of desperation. She nodded, her eyes wide with fear, and hurried off to locate him. But before she could leave, I grabbed her arm, my grip firm. “Tell Julian it’s a matter of life and death when you find him,” I emphasized, the weight of the situation pressing down on us.

With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I stormed through every corner of the club, my eyes scanning frantically for any sign of Gianna. Within the chaos, my men attended to the wounded, their urgent efforts pulling them away from the grim task that fell upon me—searching for my wife amid the fallen bodies.

“Gianna!” I bellowed, my voice reverberating through the smoke-filled air.

But all that echoed back were the anguished cries of the injured. Fuck, this was all my fault. She had wanted a night with me, a night of celebration, and I had put work above everything else.

I knew I shouldn’t have left her alone. It was my fucking mistake.

A surge of fury and sorrow coursed through me, consuming my very being. I hurled one of my guns against the wall, the metallic crash punctuating my anguish. I threw the other gun against the wall and screamed out again, a mixture of desperate agony and grief.

I refused to accept this fate. I wouldn’t allow Gianna to meet the same tragic end as Bea, not at the hands of some fucking shooter inmyclub.

I was cursed, damned to suffer. But I vowed to rewrite this grim narrative. Gianna would survive. I just needed to find her.

“Gianna!” I screamed when I saw Julian barreling in. “Is everyone safe?” I asked him quickly, and he nodded before we both searched for Gianna.

Julian started to direct people where to go as the police also started to file in. There was no access to the basement, and it wasn’t written into any city plans, thanks to my other son, so I wasn’t worried about them investigating. They would find that the shooter had fled.

While I started to search the corner by the stairs, I heard a faint murmur. It sounded like someone was wounded back there, so I immediately ran toward the sound.

“Gianna,” I cried out, but nothing but a pained moan came through the shadows.

That was when I recognized the red dress.

I immediately sprinted over to her.

“Julian!” I bellowed as I dropped to my knees beside her, the sight of her drenched in blood confirming the horrific truth.

There was no time to waste. I had to locate the wound and find the source of the bleeding. My hands moved urgently over her body, searching for the bullet hole that threatened to steal her away from me.

“Rosa mia,” I whispered through gritted teeth, my fingers tracing the contours of her trembling form, finally landing on the spot she was clutching, the bullet still embedded inside her. The realization hit me like a freight train.

She needed medical help, and she needed it now. With a surge of adrenaline, I hoisted her into my arms, and there, before me, stood Julian.

My son, normally composed and unshaken, wore a haunting expression I had only seen once before when I delivered the news of his mother’s demise.

“Papa.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I want the fucking ambulance here first,” I growled, ensuring no one would dare question my command. Julian swiftly retrieved the weapons, placing them in the hands of my loyal men to conceal. “The motherfucker responsible for this is mine,” I muttered and noticed that Julian’s eyes gazed downward.

There was no time to decipher his actions. I bolted toward the back door, where a swarm of people and eager newscasters had already gathered. To the right, I caught sight of Gianna’s friends, their faces now mirroring the same shock that enveloped me as I sprinted toward the waiting ambulance.

“We need to get to the fucking hospital. Now!” I shouted, leaping into the back of the vehicle.

The first responders understood the urgency, immediately taking Gianna from my arms and applying pressure to the wound as we raced toward the nearest hospital.

Within the ambulance, I sat beside Gianna, reluctant to let go, even as they urged me to do so for her treatment. I held her hand tightly, her once-warm touch now growing cold against my trembling grasp.

“Please, rosa mia,” I pleaded, my composure shattered within the confines of the cramped automobile.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I sobbed as the first responders started to hook up machines. I sobbed when her hand went limp against mine. I sobbed, thinking of the last time I’d ended up in the hospital and what the result of that was.

When we pulled up to the hospital, they had her strapped to a gurney and started to wheel her out. A few nurses rushed toward us. One of them had the fucking nerve to put his hands on me.

“Sir, you are going to have to wait here until we can have her immediate family come.”

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