Page 87 of The Bonventi Rise
"Ma'am, we're doing?—"
I hang up the phone.
I stare at the TV in disbelief, my mind refusing to process what I've just witnessed. Marco, my Marco, lying in a pool of his own blood. The image burns itself into my retinas, a nightmare I can't wake up from.
"No, no, no," I mutter, my voice rising with each repetition until I'm screaming. "NO!"
This can't be happening. This can't be happening, I tell myself over and over as I rock back and forth on the couch.
The shock gives way to a surge of adrenaline, and my body moves before my mind can catch up. I'm off the couch, knocking over the remnants of my pathetic dinner, barely registering the sharp crack of my knee against the coffee table.
I grab my phone, clutching it like a lifeline, and spring toward the entryway. My bare feet hit the cold tile floor as I unlock the door with my keycard. I don't care that I'm wearing only his old t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I don't care that my face is swollen from crying, that my hair's a mess, or that I have no makeup on. None of it matters.
The hallway spins as I run, disbelief and determination pushing me forward
"Come on, come on" I chant under my breath, punching the elevator button like it will make it move faster.
The digital display shows it's stuck on the 12th floor. Too slow. Too fucking slow.
I spin toward the stairs, shoving through the heavy door with my shoulder. The stairwell echoes with my footsteps as I take the stairs two at a time.
My foot catches on a step. I stumble, slamming against the wall. The rough concrete scrapes my palm, but I don't feel it. All I can see is Marco's face, his confusion, the blood spreading across his chest.
Nine floors to go.
Eight.
Seven.
My lungs burn, and my legs shake, but I keep running. The baby protests the sudden movement, sending a wave of nausea through me. I swallow hard and push through it.
"Don't you dare die," I sob between gasping breaths. "Don't you fucking dare die before I can tell you..."
The lobby door crashes open, and the night doorman jumps to his feet, startled by my sudden entrance.
"Ma'am! Are you?—"
I don't stop. I bolt across the lobby, ignoring the shocked gasps of the staff and guests. I burst through the front doors into the cold Chicago night. The sidewalk is rough, but I don't stop. I can't stop.
"HEY!" I yell at a taxi.
I jump in and give him Marco's campaign address. It's only a few blocks, but it feels like an eternity.
As we approach, there is total chaos. I can hear the sirens wailing, see the crowds of people being held back by police barricades. I hop out of the car, leaving the door open and the driver yelling for payment.
I run up to the front of the building. "Ma'am, you can't go in there," a police officer says, stepping in front of me.
"You don't understand," I gasp, trying to push past him. "I'm his fiancée. Please, I need to see him!"
The officer hesitates, and I seize the opportunity to duck under his arm. I sprint toward the entrance, my heart in my throat, and I see him on the gurney coming toward me.
"Marco!" I scream one last time, my voice breaking. Please God let him be okay.
43
ALINA
Just as I am about to reach Marco, a hand comes out and grabs me.
