Emilia Pov
I gripped the wheel tighter and drove faster. "I need to get you to a hospital."
"It'll be the first place they look. Take me to the cabin. I'll be fine."
We barely made it to the safehouse before Linda passed out.
I half-carried her inside, her weight dragging me down, her blood soaking through my jacket—the trucker's jacket, the one he'd given me. I laid her on the old couch and pressed a wad of torn bedsheet against the wound.
"Wake up," I begged.
Her eyes fluttered. Didn't open.
I pressed harder. Blood soaked through the sheet. I grabbed another. And another. And another. They all soaked through.
I didn't know anyone could lose that much blood and still breathe.
The thought hit me clear and cold: Linda was going to die if I didn't do something.
I looked around the fucked-up safehouse. Nothing in here could save her. But maybe something out there could.
I opened the door. It was raining. When did it start raining?
I stepped outside, holding the knife out, blade down.
"Help," I whispered, and stepped into the rain.
I have never been a praying person. It was hard to believe in God when your own father was the devil—and for some fucked-up reason, he was religious too. I'd never even been to church. Subconsciously or not, I always turned away from anything Vittorio Conti touched.
He tainted the concept of believing in something greater. Because I was taught to believe that he was something greater. Something eviler. Something mighty.
His mightiness was absolute. I know that now.
But when it got bad—and it did—there was only one person who could make it better. Someone who had the ability to stand toe to toe with the biggest monster I know. Someone I had been angry with for a very long time.
"Help," I choked out, suddenly finding it difficult to speak. "Paolo."
All I felt was overwhelming grief trying to strangle me.
"Help me."
I stumbled on a rock and fell, the muddy ground soaking my dress. I didn't get up. What was the point?
"Paolo. Pao… lo."
It was like I was five years old again, and he was telling me he would do anything for me. He would stand in the way of anyone.
I needed him to stand in the way of Vittorio Conti. But most of all, I needed him to stand in the way of Linda and death.
The cry tore out of me. It shook everything. Every fucking thing.
"Pao… lo." It was all I could say. All I could say out loud. "Help… me."
Nothing.
So I screamed it.
"Why won't you fucking help me?! Huh? Stupid! Stupid! Weak! Stupid brother!"
A sound interrupted my tantrum. I raised my head. The giant was standing there, his form only visible when the lightning flashed.
How long had he been standing there?
"Emilia. Wait, please?"
I stood up fast, my grip tightening on the knife as I raced back into the cabin. I slammed the door shut and held the knife up, ready to stab whatever came through. Which was ridiculous—a lot of pressure to put on a rusty-ass knife.
He was a giant.
He appeared at the window. I could hear him breathing.
"Emilia."
I closed my eyes and fought dirty. You promised, Paolo. Death is not going to be your fucking excuse. You need to help me right fucking now.
"Emma-Emilia."
My eyes snapped open. It was Luca's voice.
"Luca?! I'm in here! We're in here!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
"Open the door, sweetheart. You can let him in. Teddy's going to keep you safe till I find my way to you."
The giant held his phone to the broken part of the window. And there—really, right there on the screen—was Luca.
"Open the door, sweetheart. Let Teddy in."
I vaguely remember Linda opening her eyes and whispering the word "don't" when I pulled open the door. I grabbed the phone from Teddy.
I cried harder now, sliding to the floor with the phone.
"Hey, baby. Look at me?" he said, trying to get me to stop shaking long enough to talk.
"Where are you?" I asked, still shaking.
He exhaled so long it seemed to hurt. "Doing my damn best to get to you, sweetheart. Look at me."
I shook my head, crying even more.
"She's right. You're not coming. She's going to die, and it'll be my fault. No one comes for me except Paolo, and he's dead. No one comes for me."
I cried harder, shaking harder.
"Look up, baby. Just look up."
I did.
A white car came driving like a bat out of hell straight toward the cabin. It stopped a foot away from me, and someone stepped out.
Luca.
I stood up and raced toward him. I slammed into him so hard I thought he would at least stagger and fall. He didn't. Instead, he scooped me up like a little girl, enveloping me instantly in a hug.
"You came through," I murmured into his chest. "You came through for me."
"I will always come for you, Emilia Conti."
That was a good promise.
But I wasn't talking to Luca.
I was talking to my brother.
Paolo sent help. He sent Luca.