Page 116 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“Mia,” he wheezed, a tear trailing from the corner of his eye. His hand lifted toward his wife, crouched behind a pew, sobbing. Then, it dropped lifelessly to his side as his eyes fluttered closed.

“No!” I yelled, pressing my hand to his chest, trying to quell the bleeding.

The church went deadly silent, and then I heard Dante call out, “Clear! Who’s down?”

“Here!” I yelled, pushing up on my knees. Niccolò’s chest was still. I started frantically pumping, desperate to save my brother. “Now!”

I could hear sirens in the distance, but they were too far away. Leaning down, I breathed for my brother, willing him to return to me. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. I couldn’t lose another person I loved.

“Niccolò!” Mia’s gut-wrenching cry echoed through the chapel as she fell at her husband’s side.

Cosimo dropped to his knees next to me, giving breaths to his twin. “Come on. Come on!”

Mia looked skyward, mascara-blackened tears streaming down her face. “No! You can’t take him from me! I won’t let you!”

She took on God himself for the life of her husband.

I realized the heat on my face was my tears as I worked furiously to keep my brother with us. For us. For Mia.

“Give me your sweater,” Riona ordered Mia, nearly ripping it off the woman herself. She balled it up and shoved it hard against Niccolò’s blood-soaked shirt as I continued with CPR.

It seemed like forever before paramedics rushed through the door, and Mia screamed at them to help her husband. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I tried to punch the first person who attempted to pull me away from my brother. Didn’t they understand?

“Romeo!” Cosimo shook me and yanked me back, dragging me to my feet and holding my face in his hands. “They have to take him to the hospital.”

“He’s not breathing,” I rasped. “We have to help.”

Cosimo’s cheeks were wet with his own tears. He looked away when he spoke. “I know. They’re going to help him. I promise.”

I knew a lie when I heard it. Cosimo didn’t believe they could save Niccolò. He’d lost so much blood. It had pumped from his chest with each of my compressions, coating my hands. I looked down at the bloody mess, trying to wipe it off on my pants. It was no use.

“Stay with him,” Cosimo told Riona as he led Mia from the building, flanked by two Neretti guards.

I felt helpless. I’d failed. “I couldn’t save him.”

“Don’t say that,” Riona said, wrapping her arms around me. “You worked so hard. You did everything you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

There were no words left to say.

My vision cleared, and I saw the carnage around the sanctuary. Bullets caused so much destruction in so little time. My father lay on the floor in front of the front row of pews, his leg coated in blood. He was pale but alive. People rushed around, helping the injured out of the church.

More paramedics raced in, this time to the O’Connor side. I watched as they lifted a limp, lifeless Sean from the floor onto a gurney, rushing out while operating lifesaving equipment, Shane running behind them, blood on his face. They had been sitting together. Sloane and her mother wept in Seamus’ arms as Sam rubbed their backs.

Two men. Strong. People I considered invincible. Taken down in only a few minutes.

And for what?

Dante stepped to my side, his face grim and hands stained crimson like mine. He uttered a single word with vitriol. “Bratva.”

As far as my father was concerned, the Russians had declared war on us with their actions. Our men had been hunting down anybody they could for information and retaliation.

War was violence.

There were no innocents.

Death was inevitable.

I looked at my big brother for reassurance. Guidance. Anything.

His palm fell heavily on my shoulder, eyes dark with deadly promise.

“The streets will run red with Russian blood.”

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