Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
At the sound, Lucky lowered me down, pulling me against his chest, anchoring an arm around my back, the other holding the back of my head, just letting me purge it all out.
The shock.
The disgust.
The terror.
The worry.
The pain.
All of it.
I don't know how long we were in that elevator, how many people we inconvenienced when Lucky wouldn't let anyone else on, but by the time I finally pulled away, my face felt swollen, my skin burning from the salt of my tears.
"Come on," he said, leading me out of the elevator on the emergency room floor once again, giving a nod to Bishop as he led me out the doors.
This area was familiar.
It was where I had hung out that night I ran away from Lucky and Matteo and the whole of their family.
It was the place Luca had come to pick me up, take me home, welcome me into his life, start to build something with me.
"Luca's tough, Romy," he reminded me as we walked up to the railing looking over the water.
I could see Luca's apartment building across the water. And my heart crushed to dust in my chest at the idea of him never going there again, never making his coffee way too early in the morning, never going through the process of getting dressed, never pulling me to his chest in bed.
"He was shot a lot, Lucky," I told him, feeling tears spring to my eyes again, but they didn't break free.
"I know he was. But he's strong. And you protected him. And you kept the pressure on. He's going to be alright."
"You don't know that," I insisted.
"No," he admitted, shaking his head. "But I have to believe it. And you do too."
"I can't stop picturing it," I admitted.
"It's traumatizing to shoot someone," he agreed, speaking from experience.
"No," I said, shaking my head. I hadn't even thought about that since leaving the scene. "I mean when he passed out. I saw the light kind of go out of his eyes right before."
"No, Romy. You didn't. If the light went out, he would have been dead when they brought him in. He wasn't. His vitals were pretty strong, considering. They just need to get the bullets out. And repair the damage. And then he will be in recovery for a while. And then they will move him onto a normal floor where you can visit him."
"Oh, somebody is going to make sure I can visit him before then." I told him, chin lifting.
"Well," he said, giving me a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I guess we owe you that," he agreed. "Are you okay? How's your arm? It looks gnarly."
"Twelve stitches. It was a graze. I'm fine. I don't feel anything."
'Yet," he told me. "You're still in shock. And worried about Luca. Once you know he's okay, it is going to hurt like a motherfucker."
"Speaking from experience?"
'Yes."
Eventually, we moved to a park bench, sitting there for hours, watching the sun start to lace its fingers across the sky, Lucky getting the occasional update of the He's still in surgery variety.
Around five a.m., Bishop came by, handing us each coffee before walking away again.
"Is he just going to be here now? Until Luca gets up?"
"Likely for a while after too. When Uncle Ant brings in Blake, he is a fixture until he is sure the whole thing is over."
"That's not how lawyers work though."
"It is when you pay them the kind of retainer that we do," he told me grimacing at the coffee as he took a sip.
"He seems young to be Antony's lawyer."
"He's in his thirties. But Bishop Blake, the senior, was the family attorney for many years first. He handed it off to his son when he retired. If you are still worried about the police on this, don't be. Nothing will ever stick even if they tried to throw something at you."
"I shot my sister last night," I told him, watching as several things crossed his face. Concern, anger, acceptance.
"You did what you had to do to survive. I know this is going to fuck with you for a while, but remember that. If you didn't act when you did, Luca would be dead. And so would you. And that monster of a woman would be walking free."
She was a monster, too.
There was no denying it.
She'd been a rotten apple for years, and maybe I had just kept painting over the ugly bits because that was what you did when you loved someone. But eventually, all the rot took over completely. And there was no more denying its existence.
Lucky's phone dinged in his hand, drawing his attention there, and my attention to him, trying to gauge his reaction.
"He's out," he said, relief washing through his body in a wave, making me see how tense he had been all night alongside me. "He made it, babe," he added, giving me a weak smile. "The doctor said he is going to be fine. He's still out, though. They will let us know when he wakes up. Do you want to go home for a bit?" he asked. "Get cleaned up? Get some food?"