Page 9 of His Deadly Lies

This is the only life any of the three daughters of Edward and Nicola Balestra have ever known, and we’ve been integrated so thoroughly that any other way of being is, at this point, anathema.

I’m trapped, pain taking my nerves from raw to dull.

Panic rises and clutches at my throat with icy fingers. I reach for the back of my head to check for injury and find myself unable to move. Rafel. It takes more than simple thought to push aside the fear and panic and focus on my next step, to brush them all aside at this point, but whoever shot at me wants me panicked.

It’s always the way.

The reaction is just as important as injury, as death.

Thinking about the gunshot clears the path for me to slide into numbness, free of worries, emotions, and that ever-present fear.

Rafel groans, his muscles shaking and blood seeping from his shoulder onto me.

“Rafel. Are you okay?” A stupid question and my voice quakes. Dislodging my arm from my side, I reach for him, patting him down like I’ll somehow be able to feel the source of his injury.

“Please, talk to me.”

Friends are rare in this world. People I trust are rarer yet, and Rafel is the one bleeding all over me. He’s the only one who’s been hit because he stepped in front of me and took the bullet. Rather than let it take me down.

His groan cuts off in a strangle when I press too close to the entry wound.

“Shit. Shit! I’m sorry.”

The weight of his entire body keeps me trapped against the cold cement, and I have to buck and shove with all my strength just to roll him to the side, apologizing the whole time. Somehow I manage to roll him onto his side, and my fingers tremble as I hurry to grab his head to keep it from hitting the way mine did. Any small movement sends shockwaves of pain spiraling from the back of my skull through my limbs, and a glance down at my knee shows it scraped and raw.

Rafel doesn’t scream at being moved. Eyes closed, his breathing turns shallow, and his hands now clench around his shoulder. Blood, black in the gloom of night, seeps through his fingers and colors everything it touches.

“I’m so sorry for this, Rafel!” My voice comes out as an undignified screech of sound, and I clap a blood-soaked palm against my mouth.

I have to get a grip.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a man get shut. Just the first time whoever held the gun had it aimed at me.

If I lose Rafel—

He’s my friend, not just my employee. I’ll never forgive myself.

The longer we sit here, with people on the sidewalk screaming at the sight of us and running in the opposite direction at all the blood, the greater an opportunity our enemy has to finish the job.

Desperate and full of apologies, I crouch over Rafel and search for my clutch. There are no more car engines or screeching tires. Nowhere for a gunman or woman to hide in any direction. No other signs or sounds of a threat.

Rafel gasps, coughing, and blood spatters the side of his mouth.

We need help now.

My clutch is only a few feet away, and I carefully wiggle my dress free from beneath Rafel, trying not to stare at the gaping hole in his shoulder. If he hadn’t jumped in front of that bullet, then I would be the one bleeding out on the ground. There’s no doubt in my mind.

“Hold on.”

I crawl toward the clutch and struggle to open the latch, my fingers unfeeling and uncooperative. The face recognition to unlock the cell doesn't want to automatically unlock the phone, either, forcing me to type in a code before pressing the button to dial the emergency line.

The one I have yet to need, although he has it set up for each of his daughters to access.

“Mia?”

It’s not my father’s voice, but I recognize the dulcet tones of his second-in-command.

“Uncle P. We need a car. Immediately.”

---