Page 99 of Tormented Oath

I punch in Tomasso's number from memory, pressing the phone to my ear as I cradle Stefano's head in my lap. The connection crackles, static filling the line, and I bite back a sob of frustration.

"Come on," I plead to no one and everyone. "Please connect."

The ringing finally gives way to a voice. It’s Tomasso's, sharp with urgency.

"Where are you?" he demands without preamble.

"The warehouse," I gasp, relief making my voice shake. "East side industrial district. Stefano's hurt—badly. The Fiori brothers are dead, but their men are trying to break in and?—"

The sound of splintering wood punctuates my words as the warehouse door gives way another inch.

"We're already on our way," Tomasso says, his voice nearly drowned out by the roar of an engine. "Five minutes, maybe less. There's a back exit through the loading bay. Can you get there?"

I look at Stefano, at the blood soaking through his clothes, at the unnatural pallor of his skin. "He's unconscious. I can't move him by myself."

"Try to barricade to door. We're coming."

The sound of screeching tires comes through the line, followed by muffled shouting. Then, clearer, "Just hold on. Both of you."

The call ends abruptly, leaving me alone with the silence and the growing pool of blood beneath the man I love. The man I might lose.

"Tomasso's coming," I tell Stefano, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His skin feels clammy, cold. "He's bringing help. You just need to hold on a little longer."

I glance at the door, where the pounding has momentarily ceased. They're regrouping, probably planning a more coordinated assault. Do they know about the loading bay?

I need to buy us time.

I force myself to stand on shaky legs. The room spins briefly, my body protesting every movement after the fight. But there's no time for weakness. Not now.

I scan the warehouse for anything I can use to barricade the door. A stack of pallets stands against one wall. They're heavy, awkward, but might buy us precious minutes. I drag them one by one, piling them against the entrance, ignoring the screaming pain in my muscles and the warm trickle of blood from where Carlo's ring cut my cheek.

The Fiori brothers lie where they fell, Marco with his throat cut open, Carlo with his head caved in from Stefano's relentless assault.

I try not to look at them as I work, but it's impossible to ignore the coppery smell of blood that permeates the air, or the way my shoes leave crimson footprints across the concrete.

I did this. I killed a man.

The thought feels distant, detached, like it belongs to someone else. There will be time for horror later. Time for regret, for nightmares, for processing what I've become in this moment of desperation.

But not now. Now there is only survival.

When the last pallet is in place, I grab a length of rusty chain hanging from a nearby hook and thread it through the makeshift barricade. It won't hold forever, but it might give Tomasso enough time to reach us.

I return to Stefano, kneeling beside him, pressing my hands over the worst of his wounds to slow the bleeding. His skin is ashen, his breathing increasingly shallow and irregular.

"Don't you dare die on me," I whisper fiercely. "Not after everything we went through. Not when I finally admitted I love you."

The words hang in the air between us, more honest than anything I've said in years. Maybe ever.

I do love him. Despite the lies, the manipulation, the forced marriage. Despite everything. Or maybe because of it. Because beneath the monster everyone fears, there's a man who would tear the world apart to protect what's his. A man who saw me, really saw me, when everyone else just saw a pretty face or a useful tool.

I press harder on his wound, willing the bleeding to stop. "You have to live, Stefano. We're having a baby, remember? Your heir. The next generation of the great Rega family."

My voice cracks on the last words, tears spilling down my cheeks, mixing with the blood and grime. I lean closer, my lips brushing his ear.

"I'll even let you build me that ranch in Montana. The one with the wraparound porch. But you have to live, you hear me? You have to fight."

For a moment, I think I see his eyelids flutter, but it might be wishful thinking. He remains still, his life literally seeping away between my fingers.

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