Page 151 of Dangerous King
I don't even look up. "Doc."
"Yeah, yeah," he growls, dropping to one knee beside me, the hem of his pants soaked in blood and wedding champagne. "Let me see."
He peels back the torn fabric near her ribs, and I swear if he winces, I'll kill something.
But he doesn't. He's calm. Focused. Cranky as fuck.
"She's lucky," he mutters, and I nearly snap at him.
Lucky?
He pulls out gauze from the trauma kit that one of the guards must've shoved into his hands. "Another inch to the left and we'd be talking about a collapsed lung. As it is, she'll hurt like hell, but she'll breathe."
My breath leaves me all at once, and I press my forehead to hers again. "You hear that, Piccolina? You're going to be fine. You're strong."
Doc doesn't look up. "Don't talk to her—talk to me. If you distract her, her muscles tense, and Ican't do my job."
I flinch as she winces.
"Careful!" I bark.
"Iamcareful," he snaps back, not even pausing. "You want speed, or you want precision?"
I grit my teeth but shut my mouth. Barely. He keeps working, muttering to himself as he applies pressure. "Next time you want her safe, Romeo, maybe try not letting her near flying shrapnel."
"I said stitch it, not give me a lecture," I snap, barely restraining myself from grabbing the suture kit myself.
He huffs but keeps working. "Well, then maybe shut up and let me do the part where I keep your wife from bleeding all over your Italian marble."
"She's not going to bleed anywhere," I growl, eyes locked on every inch of Cat's pale face. "You're going to fix her."
"No pressure," he deadpans. "Give me your bow tie."
"What?"
"Your goddamn bow tie, Sartori. I've got gloves slick with blood and vodka, I need traction."
I tear the bow tie from my collar and slap it into his hand. He folds it with a speed born from too many years doing this shit under fire and tucks it just beneath the glass shard to steady the skin. "I'm not pulling this out until we have her in the car. If it shifts, we could be leaking from a major artery."
"She's not leaking anything," I grind out. "Just get her safe."
He meets my eyes then, steady, even. "I will."
And for the first time since I heard the fucking boom, I breathe.
Behind me, Toni's barking orders, Silvano's yelling into a radio, people are crying, groaning, and limping. But all I can focus on are two things: the girl in my arms, the woman I just promised forever to, bleeding into my chest as the world burns down around us—and the ancient, irritable bastard keeping her alive.
Pain blooms in the darkness, sharp and sudden in my side, a white-hot stab that makes it hard to breathe. I open my eyes to find the world tilted sideways. Smoke curls like fingers in the air, tasting of sulfur and scorched velvet. Somewhere nearby, glass crunches under someone's boots. My ears ring and my vision blurs.
Eliza's beautiful dining room is gone.
Or at least, it's unrecognizable—half caved in, chairs overturned, a chandelier dangles by a single chain like a broken limb.
My hand scrabbles against the floor. Fabric. Dust. Blood?
I try to sit up and nearly scream. The pain punches deep under my ribs. Something's wrong. Maybe broken.
"Stay down," Enrico growls, and I suddenly realize he's beside me, crouching and bleeding from his temple.
