Page 37 of Forced Bratva Bride

“Those Marotti bastards,” Achille spat in anger. “I’m going to get them.”

“We'll get to that,” Gio said, trying to calm the situation, but then he took another sharp swerve, telling me he was anything but calm. “First, we get to mine. It’s the closest and safest.”

We sped through the streets, and every minute felt like an hour. At last, we arrived at Gio’s.

Gio pulled up to the porch. “Get them inside,” he ordered to his two able brothers before making his way to my side, even though I had already opened my door. When I stepped out, he sighed and furrowed his brows, running a hand through his hair. “If anything happens to them…” his voice trailed off.

In that moment, I saw just how affected he was. Just how much he loved his brothers. I took his hand and quickly rushed him through the doors of his house. “Don’t worry,” I tried to calm him. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

He nodded, a look of gratefulness washing over his face.

Inside was another level of chaos altogether, one seeped in panic. The brothers laid Dante and Luca on two separate couches in the living room. Federico immediately pulled out his phone while Achille disappeared down a hallway, returning with a black medical bag.

“We need to get them to a hospital,” Federico insisted, dialing some numbers.

Gio walked over and took the phone from his hand. “That’s too risky. If the Marottis are as hurt as you are, they’d be mad. It’s only a matter of time before they have their cars on the streets, waiting to ambush us.”

“Are they?” I asked Federico. When he looked at me quizzically, I followed up with my question. “Hurt as bad as you?”

“Worse,” Federico grimaced.

“Then we have to handle it here,” Gio said, just as Achille began opening the medical kit.

“So what's your plan? They can’t just bleed out to death here!” Federico's voice rose with panic.

“I'll call our doctor,” Gio offered, and I watched Achille pale as he tried to work through the contents of the medical kit, clearly looking out of his element.

“That'll take hours! Dante needs that bullet out now!” Federico insisted.

Gio let out a sigh of panic and exasperation. “You think I don’t know that?” Gio screamed at Federico.

I had never seen Gio like this. He was a man who always maintained his composure, but he was unraveling right in front of us all. It made him seem more human, and for some reason, I had this strange urge tohelphim feel less of the panic he was experiencing.

I cleared my throat and declared I had an idea, and all three standing men whipped around to face me, as if they'd forgotten I was there.

“I can help,” I said quietly. “I was a first aid volunteer throughout college. I'm not a doctor, but I can stop the bleeding and clean the wounds until your doctor arrives.”

Gio’s eyes flashed with surprise, and he gave me a small, single nod as I saw respect flicker across his face. He exchanged a glance with Federico, who returned a reluctant nod.

“What do you need?” Gio asked.

“Hot water, clean towels, alcohol—the stronger the better—and that med kit,” I answered, already rolling up my sleeves. “And someone needs to cut away Dante's shirt to expose the wound.”

To my surprise, Gio was the one who moved first, heading to the kitchen. Federico approached his younger brother on the couch, murmuring something in Russian as he carefully peeled back Dante's bloodied jacket.

I knelt beside Luca first, whose facial wound was still bleeding freely. Achille hovered nearby, ready to help.

“Hey,” I said softly to Luca. “I'm going to clean this up, okay? It's going to sting.”

He gave a weak nod and closed his eyes.

Gio returned with everything I'd asked for. Our fingers brushed as he handed me a stack of clean white towels, and I felt a jolt travel up my arm that had nothing to do with the tension of the moment.

“Tell me what to do,” he asked, wanting to help and I could tell it would kill him if he couldn’t.

“Pressure on the wound on his side,” I instructed, dipping a towel in the hot water and beginning to gently clean the blood from Luca's face. The cut was long but not too deep. At most, it would leave a scar.

Gio followed my instructions carefully, his touch surprisingly gentle as he applied pressure to his brother's ribs. The room fell into a strange rhythm of activity—me cleaning, bandaging, and instructing while Gio followed my lead.

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