Page 82 of Sexted By a Stranger
"Clear the room!" I barked.
Gunfire and screams erupted around us as Sheila, drained from her strike, swayed and pitched forward.
"Sheila!"
I lunged, catching her just before she hit the ground, pulling her into my arms. Her body was cold, her face pale, the bruises and blood on her skin searing into me like a brand.
"It's okay, stellina. It's over," I said, my voice shaking, repeating the words like a prayer. I wanted to crush her against me, to shield her from every second of fear she'd endured.
"I'm here. I'm right here. Look at me, Sheila. Look at me."
"Lu-Luca." Her cracked lips moved, her voice a faint, kitten-like whimper.
"It's me," I said, nodding fiercely, my thumb gently brushing the blood from her mouth. "You did so good, Sheila. So damn good."
My voice broke, pride and fear tangling in my chest. She wasn't some fragile flower—she was a goddamn thorn, tearing through the dark.
"Hurts…" she whispered, her brows knitting together as she curled tighter in my arms, her hands clutching her stomach.
That small movement hit me like a freight train. A terrifying thought clawed at me—was she…?
"Sheila!" My voice cracked, panic flooding me as I stared at her hands pressed against her abdomen. "Where does it hurt? Tell me."
She didn't answer. Her long lashes fluttered, falling shut like broken wings. Her hand, still guarding her stomach, went limp, slipping to her side.
"Sheila—!"
Chapter 26
Sheila
I struggled to open my eyes.
Soft light filtered from above, my vision blurred for a long moment before slowly coming into focus.
The sharp scent of disinfectant hit me immediately. I was lying on a soft mattress, bone-deep exhaustion seeping from every pore.
This was the medical wing of Luca's estate.
How fitting. Two months ago, it was Luca lying here.
"Sheila? Thank God! You're awake. How do you feel?" Mom's tear-stained face was the first thing I saw as she leaned over me anxiously, her warm hand touching my forehead.
"Water…"
"Water! Quick, water!" Mom fumbled for the cup and straw on the nightstand.
As she turned away, my gaze drifted past her to the other side of the bed.
He was there.
Luca Bellomo.
The man who controlled everything, who could break opponents at negotiation tables without batting an eye—the mafia don looked nothing like I'd ever seen him before.
His suit jacket was draped carelessly over the chair back, his shirt wrinkled beyond recognition. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. Dark stubble covered his jaw, his black hair disheveled, damp strands clinging to his forehead.
Those eyes that were always so sharp and penetrating were now bloodshot, with heavy dark circles underneath them.
