Page 66 of A Life Chosen

From the lamp, the woman hung a bag of blood attached to an IV. She took the needle and inserted it into Rayan’s wrist as the doctor bent over, easing the forceps into the hole in the man’s shoulder.

Rayan tensed beneath him, an animal cry tearing from his throat. Mathias held him down, teeth clenching. The doctor’s forehead creased in concentration as he pressed deeper into the wound. Rayan’s eyes opened, staring blindly at Mathias, his face twisting in anguish.

He could say nothing. There was nothing to say. Mathias could only look back at him, knowing it wasn’t enough. There was a clink of metal as the doctor dropped the bullet into the tray. Glancing down, he saw that Rayan had slipped away again, his body going slack in his grip.

“It’s surprisingly clean. Missed the bone, so there’s minimal fragmentation,” Martin murmured. “But we need to get this bleeding under control.” His assistant passed him a handful of gauze pads, and he began to pack the wound.

Only then did the woman take a sack of morphine and hook it up to the IV. Mathias felt the relief as if it were his own, realizing how afraid he was of the man’s eyes opening once again, revealing the pain within. The doctor dismissed him and Jacques as he and his assistant worked to clean and bandage Rayan’s shoulder.

Mathias stepped back, hands curling into fists to still the shake. His phone began to ring in his pocket. He knew who it was. He knew on the other end of the line was a looming crisis that needed his attention. The board had been hurled to the floor, the pieces sent flying. But he could think of only one. His shirt stuck to his chest with a growing coldness.

Martin turned to him, his expression grim. “He’s stable for now.”

Mathias pocketed his phone after listening to Giovanni’s message. Once the doctor had finished dressing the wound, they’d moved Rayan to the empty bedroom in the apartment. Mathias stood in the living room as if stuck between two realities. He needed to go. He couldn’t allow it all to fall apart now—not after everything that had happened. At the same time, the thought of leaving Rayan bleeding and unconscious, his fate unknown, was as impossible a task as doing nothing.

Martin appeared in the doorway, shrugging on his coat. “He’s sedated. The bleeding has slowed, but Camille will continue administering transfusions. He lost a lot of blood. She’ll call me if there’re any concerns.”

“You’re staying.” It was a command, one he expected the doctor to follow.

Martin sighed and clasped his hands, carefully choosing his next words. “Mr. Beauvais, I’m afraid I can’t stay longer than I have. The man is stable. Camille will remain with him overnight to monitor his vitals and administer pain medication, but there’s not much more I can do. As I said, call me with any concerns, and I’ll—”

Mathias grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “And if he dies?”

“That’s always a possibility, Mr. Beauvais,” Martin said slowly. “But short of admitting him to the hospital, I think you should take your chances with him here.”

Mathias released the man, the strength sapped from him.

The doctor straightened his coat and gave Mathias a quick nod. “Call me if anything changes.” He stepped into the hall, letting himself out.

Standing outside the door to the spare room, Mathias cracked it open to reveal Rayan lying motionless in the dim light, a thick swath of white wrapped across his chest and around his shoulder. The doctor’s assistant glanced up, but Mathias said nothing, simply closing the door. His phone began to ring again, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Mathias no longer trusted himself on the phone. He needed to see Giovanni in person.

He’d completely forgotten about Jacques until the man stepped out from the kitchen as Mathias made his way back down the hallway. “He’s gonna pull through?”

Mathias found his presence an imposition, and the question even more so. He nodded curtly.

His second appeared momentarily relieved. “What should I—”

“Stay here,” Mathias instructed, moving to the front door. “Wait for me to come back. Don’t let anyone in.” He reached for his jacket, but it wasn’t on the coat hook. It lay instead in a bloody clump on the kitchen floor.

“Boss,” Jacquessaid. “Your shirt.”

Mathias looked down at his shirt as if seeing it for the first time. He placed a palm on the wall to steady himself, suddenly overcome. He grasped for anger, only to discover it missing. Instead, he found a jarring blankness. If he was to be the leader they were expecting, Mathias couldn’t arrive in this state—fear lingering on his face and his greatest weakness painted in blood across his chest. Wordlessly, he walked past his second to the bedroom to change.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

When Mathias stepped into the sitting room at the safe house on Maisonneuve, it was like waking from a dream, as though the events of the past few hours were simply an illusion and he’d been transported back to the start of the evening.

The Quintino had left—hastily, by the look of the unfinished drinks dotted around the table—disappearing into their various bunkers once the news had reached them. The seat meant for Tony remained empty, the glass untouched. Giovanni stood at the head of the table, smoking. Neither of them said anything.

A wave of exhaustion caught up to Mathias, flooding his body. He gritted his teeth. This was only the beginning.

“Henri called it in,” Giovanni said finally, breaking the silence. “We’ve moved Tony somewhere safe.”

The image of his former boss face down in the car park flashed through Mathias’s mind. He pushed it down, out of reach.

“Nadeau… did he make it?”

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