Page 71 of Ruined By the Enemy
Me? Did they see me as I ran from the winery, or did the taxi I entered have something to do with them?
The cold steel of a gun touches my chest as Dom hands it to me. It’s a small one, but it’ll do. “Stay here,” he repeats, “and don’t fire unless you absolutely have to.”
“Okay,” I nod, though my voice trembles and my knees aren’t far behind.
He steps out quietly, moving like a shadow, and closes the door behind him without a sound. There’s nothing for a long while.
I crouch low behind the door, clutching the gun with both hands, trying to steady my breathing, trying not to imagine him bleeding out just beyond this wall.
The silence stretches so long that it becomes unbearable, and I start to think they might’ve gotten him in some other way.
Three sharp pops.
I flinch hard, heart rocketing to my throat. One of the bullets slices through the wood just inches above my head with a dull, whistling sound. I drop lower, shaking, fingers white around the grip.
And then I hear it.
“Fuck,” Dom groans. The sound he makes is low, breathless, and pained. My heart stops for a moment.
He’s hurt.
I move, flinging the door open with the gun raised, breath rushing like wind in my ears and adrenaline coursing through my veins.
He’s on one knee just down the hallway, a smear of red blooming through the side of his shirt. One hand braces against the wall for balance. The other points his gun toward the man lying in front of him. Dead.
Dom doesn’t see me, and I start to go for him, when I see another one rounding the corner, his gun raised to fire.
“Dom! I yell to warn him, but the other man’s head jerks in my direction, his gun shifting. I fire.
The sound splits the air, and he jerks backward and collapses, his weapon clattering to the floor just before his body does. I feel nothing, except the ringing in my ear.
And the reality that I just killed someone. I look down at the gun in my hand, adrenaline draining as my body begins to shake.
I shot him. But I saved Dom.
Dom looks up at me, eyes wide as he staggers to his feet. “Sophie,” he rasps. “Are you hurt?” He stumbles as he makes his way to me, legs wobbling.
“So—” He holds a hand out, and I gasp when he crumbles to the ground, racing to him.
“Dom,” I gather him in my arms, cradling his head to my chest. “Dom!”
***
“I’m with him,” I say, jumping into the back of the ambulance as they load him in, an oxygen mask over his face. My eyes are awash with tears… tears I shed when I thought I’d lost him.
As the ambulance pulls away, I hear the sound of sirens.
Police. They finally arrived. My fingers dig into my thigh, unconsciously, pressing down hard, right where the blood from my palm stains the denim. A deep, ugly imprint from when I tried to stop the bleeding at his side.
The mark feels like it’s still pulsing, like he’s still there, bleeding under my hands.
He paid them off. My uncle.
Disgust curls low in my stomach, and rage chokes my throat with bile. I’d thought of everything while growing up… the look of horror on Domenico’s face when I take everything that belongs to him, the feeling of finally avenging my parents death.
I even thought of holding a gun to his head, once or twice.
But this… cold, ruthless, and evil.
