Page 101 of Her Dark Salvation

She sniffled.

I turned to her, unable to watch the paramedics lift Anna onto the stretcher.

Siobhán’s face was wet with tears, her black eye makeup smeared in their wake. Her pale blue eyes were red and puffy, but they bored into mine with all the determination of one of my fiercest men. “It wasn’t the Shaughnessys.” Her voice dropped an octave, and there was steel in her accented words, so hard and so final, I didn’t dare question them.

I searched her face for the source of her conviction.

“They’d never come this far north. And never into your territory. Just like you and Vinnie would never set foot in Southie. It’s not done.” She’d dropped the affected accent I knew she used, and her harsh South Boston pronunciation made the words land with unquestionable impact.

My mouth snapped shut, and I narrowed my eyes.

She smiled sheepishly like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar and brushed an errant hair off her face. She edged closer and lowered her voice. “Before I tell you this, know that my loyalty lies with you.” She stared up at me, eyes wide and waiting for acknowledgement. I nodded. “My mother’s name was Shaughnessy, but I never wanted that life.”

I grabbed her arm, hauled her forward, and shoved my face into hers. “What the fuck, Siobhán?” I growled, teeth bared, control hanging by a thread.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the clatter of the stretcher screamed for my attention. I looked over my shoulder. The medics hoisted Anna into the back of the ambulance.

I faced Siobhán, furious, but I didn’t have time to deal with her shit. “We’ll talk about this later,” I snarled, a promise I intended to keep.

She nodded, and tears spilled down her pale cheeks.

“I’m with her,” I called and jogged to the back of the ambulance, a don’t-fuck-with-me look plastered on my face. The medic lifted both hands in surrender. I climbed in after him, sat on the bench, and took Anna’s limp hand in mine.

Sirens blared and rounded the corner. Two black-and-whites.

“Vito!” He looked up. “Deal with it.” He nodded, and the driver closed the ambulance doors. Seconds later, we sped off to Mass General.

* * *

The surgeon sat nextto me in the waiting room at seven in the morning.

“I’m not going to sugar coat it,” he said. “There was a lot of damage. She was bleeding internally. Her spleen ruptured. Five broken ribs and a punctured lung. On top of that, she has a concussion, probably from hitting the ground. She made it through surgery—she’s tough, I’ll give her that—but the next twenty-four hours are critical.”

His clinical explanation made me want to strangle him. I focused on caging my anger, knowing he’d probably saved her life.

“Can I see her?”

“Yes. She’s sedated, and you’re only allowed fifteen minutes in the ICU, but you can see her.”

“Where is she?”

“Down the hall.” He turned and pointed. “Room two fifty-one.”

Without another word, I left him for Anna’s room. The heart monitor beeped and blinked, the glowing display of signals and numbers bright against the room’s low light. She looked so fragile lying there, tubes coming out of her nose, the side of her face black and purple with bruising, IVs taped to each arm leading back to bags of fluids and sedatives. I sank into the chair next to her bed and rested my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands.

How the fuck had I let this happen? My carefully controlled world was crumbling around me. Luca stealing from his own family. The Source racket at risk from the feds. The Irish starting a turf war. And now this…

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. I’d wanted to shelter her, keep her light away from my darkness. Instead, she’d been caught in its relentless undertow.

You can’t save everyone, Marco. No matter how hard you try.

And the Lord knew I’d tried. I’d done everything I could to keep Anna safe—had her tailed, forced her to use a driver, even told her we couldn’t have a future—and it still wasn’t enough.

I’d failed her. Just like I’d failed Tony and Gina. Like I’d failed Luca. Like I’d failed myself.

I sat back in the chair and closed my eyes. Gina was right. The tight rein I held over my empire was a charade, a way to convince myself I had control when in reality, I had none. All I had to do was open my eyes to see the evidence of my hubris lying before me, unconscious, bruised, and broken.

“Mr. DeVita,” a nurse said from the door. “Your time is up.”

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