Inferno [Part 4]

by T. K. Leigh

  I peered at Dante. “For Lilly. Please,” he begged.

  As much as I hated watching him suffer, I couldn’t let it be for nothing. Meeting Marjorie’s eyes, I subtly shook my head.

  “Well, then, I have another option for you to show just how empathetic I can be.” She stepped away from me and looked at Bradley, her stare turning icy. “Give me your gun.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “You heard me.”

  A moment of hesitation passed. Bradley looked to me, then to Dante. Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw the faintest hint of a nod from Dante, as if saying it was okay. It struck me as odd. Returning his attention to Marjorie, Bradley sighed, handing the pistol to her.

  “Go ahead.” She grabbed my elbow and hoisted me back to my feet. “End it.” She gestured toward Dante as she shoved the gun into my hand.

  I studied the heavy weight, my mouth growing dry. “End it? How?”

  “Use that brain of yours, Ellie. If you refuse to end your boyfriend’s suffering by telling me where Cynthia is, you can do so by putting a bullet in him.”

  I shot my eyes back to hers, my pulse skyrocketing. My legs shook as I struggled to maintain the little strength I had left.

  “Or we can all stand here and watch him slowly die.” She looked to Miguel. “How long did it take Blake to finally die?”

  “Five hours.”

  She turned back to me. “Do you want to watch him suffer for five more hours?”

  “I’m not going to do your dirty work for you,” I bit out as my stomach rolled, bile rising in my throat. I hated the thought of Dante enduring any more brutality, but how could I be the one to end it?

  “Are you sure about that?”

  I swallowed hard, looking at Dante. His chest heaved, agony visible on every inch of him. Blood streamed from his abdomen. There was no surviving that wound without immediate medical attention. He’d bleed out soon, but how soon? How long could I make him suffer unimaginable pain? How long could I listen to his moans and pleas for relief?

  “It’s okay, Elle.” He briefly closed his eyes, his complexion as white as a ghost, the life draining from him with every strangled breath. I continually shook my head, tears streaming from my eyes. “Game over.”

  His words hung in the air between us, a chill washing down my spine. “Dante, I—”

  “Please. It’s too much. I need you to do this. I can’t… It’s too much.” He closed his eyes, struggling for air. “I know I’m not making it out of this. I’ve made my peace with God.” He met my eyes, his voice low, pained. “I’m ready to go home. I’m ready to be with Lilly.”

  My chin quivered as I listened to his words.

  “I’ll see you there, amore mio,” he reminded me. “I’ll see you in your white sundress, my beautiful angel. And we’ll spend our days among the vines, making love at sunset.”

  I continued shaking my head, every inch of my body trembling. I hated the idea of saying goodbye, of admitting this was over, of being the one to end it.

  “Sempre e per sempre, my beautiful Eleanor. Please. Let me go. I beg you. Make it stop hurting.”

  I returned my eyes to his. “Sempre e per sempre,” I replied, drawing strength from the pledge we made to each other back in Italy, the same pledge we continued to make to each other nearly every day.

  “No matter what.”

  “No matter what,” I repeated, the seconds stretching, every sound amplified as I raised the gun with a shaky hand. I tuned out everything else… The satisfaction crossing my mother’s face. The background noise of conversation and sinister laughter while the show of the century played out in front of this group of sadistic people. The half-dozen pairs of eyes glued to me as I hesitantly pointed the gun at the man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with, the man who would father my children, the man I’d never stop loving.

  My chest rose and fell in a quicker pattern, the sound of my breathing echoing in my ears. Dante kept his eyes glued to mine, not looking away, telling me without words this was the right path, that he couldn’t withstand any more torment. Then he began to pray in a low voice.

  “Ave, o Maria, piena di grazia. Il Signore è con te. Tu sei benedetta fra le donne e benedetto è il frutto del tuo seno, Gesů. Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori, adesso e nell’ora della nostra morte. Amen.”

  “God won’t save you now,” Marjorie sneered, but that did nothing to dissuade him. He continued, switching to the English version of the prayer.

  “Hail Mary, full of Grace. The Lord is with thee.”

  Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I knew the verses to this, so I joined in, both of us praying as I continued to point the gun at him. I hoped our gesture to God would cause some sort of divine intervention.

  “Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

  We continued muttering the same prayer over and over. I noticed some of the men standing off to the side grab a cross necklace out of their shirts, kissing it.

  After uttering those lines for the third or fourth time, Dante gave me a reassuring nod, falling silent. Seconds stretched. My hand itched with the weight it carried. My heart thumped against my chest.

  “Just get on with it already,” Marjorie huffed, pushing me.

  I stumbled on my unsteady legs, taking a moment to right myself, then returned my finger to the trigger. I met Dante’s eyes, trying to imprint everything about the way he looked at me to my memory, knowing it would be the last time I’d ever see it. I hated the idea of doing this, of saying goodbye, but we weren’t making it out of this. I couldn’t let him suffer. I knew the course I needed to take. And Dante was right. He would see me again. I would make certain of that.

  “It’s okay. I’ve made my peace,” he said once more, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Please, Elle. The pain… Make it stop. Please.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I slowly raised the gun again, everything seeming blurred and unfocused…except for that gun. The gun that would tear us apart. And the gun that would reunite us again.

  Applying more pressure, I flinched when a loud shot pierced the empty space. I looked down at the pistol in my hand, then at Dante, confused. Instantly, all hell broke loose as Bradley tackled me to the floor, covering my body with his. The sound of rapid percussive shots echoed throughout the building.

  “Stay down,” he ordered, then jumped up, moving quickly.

  I lifted my head to see Miguel and his men rushing toward the entrance as the entire place filled with agents wearing FBI vests, who fired at the half-dozen cartel members with incredible precision.

  Unsure what was going on, I remained frozen in place, bewildered as I witnessed cartel member after cartel member slump to the ground. Gunshots blended together and reverberated against the walls as the FBI methodically took out every last one. When I felt a pair of arms around me, I jumped.

  “It’s all right. It’s just me,” a familiar voice said.

  I looked up, furrowing my brow. “Steven?”

  “You’re okay, Ellie.” Relief covered his expression as he pulled me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. “You’re okay,” he breathed. It sounded like he said that more for his benefit than mine.

  “It was Marjorie,” I managed to say, spying Bradley securing a pair of zip ties around her wrists.

  “I know.” He wrapped a blanket around my body as I kept my eyes glued to Marjorie.

  “You’ll regret this,” she hissed, struggling against Bradley. “I hope you kissed your daughter goodnight because you’ll never see her again.”

  With incredible speed, he retrieved a knife he had hidden beneath his pant leg and raised it to her throat, his face reddening, every muscle in his body seeming to tighten. A new wave of nausea formed in my stomach when I remembered what he’d said to me when I’d first gotten here, that he did it all to keep his daughter sa
fe. He really was just a pawn in Marjorie’s game, too.

  “If I didn’t want you to suffer in prison every day for the rest of your life, I’d slit your throat right now, you pathetic excuse for a human. But I won’t. Because you need to pay. You need to spend every day looking over your shoulder, praying someone isn’t coming after you, praying someone isn’t lurking in the shadows. You need to know what it feels like to suffer through what we have for months, years!” He handed her off to an agent, then fell to the floor, exhaustion from everything he’d been forced to endure seeming to finally take its toll on him.

  Still dazed and having difficulty processing what was going on, I looked back at Steven. “How did you know?”

  “James.” He gestured a few feet away.

  I followed his line of sight to where James Harrison stood, watching as paramedics attached an IV drip to Dante’s arm, concern and regret visible in every line of his face. “Oh god. Dante.” I immediately snapped out of my shock, stumbling to my feet.

  “Hold on, Ellie,” Steven said, trying to keep me back, but I slipped out of the blanket he’d wrapped around me, rushing to Dante’s side as he was transferred to a stretcher.

  “Eleanor,” Dante’s voice croaked out the instant I clutched his hand in mine.

  “I’m so sorry,” I offered, kissing his dry lips, his cheeks, his nose, everywhere I could. Paramedics hastily checked his vitals, shouting orders left and right as they prepared to roll him out of there.

  “Stop apologizing,” he managed to say.

  “I almost killed you, Dante.”

  “But you didn’t. Everything happens for a reason,” he said, his voice becoming lazy from what I assumed to be the pain medication he was given. “Fate knew our time wasn’t up yet. It was in the cards.”

  I smiled as tears of relief streamed down my cheeks, keeping his hand enclosed in mine, even when the paramedics began rolling him out of the warehouse. Insisting all their attention and resources be devoted to Dante, I stubbornly refused any medical treatment as I kept up with the EMTs, barely paying any attention to the bodies lying around me.

  We rushed to a waiting ambulance. Within seconds, the driver sped out of where I thought I would take my last breath. I peered out the back window, vindication filling me as I observed Marjorie being forced into the back of a waiting police cruiser, lights flashing.

  “Now do you believe in fate?” Dante managed to say.

  I returned my gaze to his, squeezing his hand just as it went limp. I brought it to my lips. “I have since I met you.” I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears as paramedics shouted frantic orders to each other, pushing me out of their way. “You can’t leave me now. Please, Dante. Don’t leave me now. You promised. Sempre e per sempre. No matter what.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I FOLLOWED THE MEDICAL team from the medevac helicopter, which had been waiting for us after we sped away from the warehouse, my eyes trained on Dante’s pale face. He’d gone into respiratory arrest during the short flight to San Diego from wherever we’d been held. All I could do was look on in terror as the paramedics did everything to save him, praying he’d make it through.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” a tall blonde wearing blue scrubs said to me as we approached a freight elevator on the roof of the hospital. She grabbed my elbow, preventing me from following the medical team. I looked at her name tag. Emily. A trauma nurse.

  With more sympathy than I thought possible for a complete stranger, she led me out of the way, then took one of my hands in hers as I watched the stretcher carrying Dante disappear beyond the elevator doors.

  “They’re taking him to the OR. It’s a sterile area. No one other than medical personnel is allowed in there. I’ve been told to bring you to an exam room so you can be checked out, as well.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, freeing myself from her hold, heading toward the elevator and pressing the down button. “I need to be nearby in case…” I trailed off, swallowing hard. My face heated, feeling lightheaded at the thought of Dante going through everything he had and not surviving. I reached out, holding onto the stucco wall to steady myself, my legs weak.

  “Ma’am?” Emily looked at me, seemingly assessing my appearance with her analytical eyes.

  “I’m okay,” I struggled to say, the world spinning around me now that the adrenaline of everything I’d endured the past few hours and days started wearing off. I clung tighter to the wall, spots obscuring my vision. The last thing I remembered was the sound of Emily’s muddled voice calling for a wheelchair as my face hit the hard cement of the roof.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  MY EYES FOUGHT TO open, beeps and whirring machines slowly rousing me. I looked around what was obviously a hospital room. I squinted, trying to focus on a whiteboard on the wall across from me with the name of my nurse and other medical personnel scrawled on it. Below that was a date. November 10th. Saturday.

  Scanning my body, I saw I was dressed in a hospital gown. A needle attached to a narrow tube was secured to my arm, delivering some sort of fluid through the IV drip. Everything still felt foggy, my eyelids heavy.

  The door opened, a tall man with dark hair striding toward me. “Ah, awake at last.” A smile broke out onto his face as I propped myself up in the hospital bed. “My name is Dr. Hayes. I’m one of the trauma unit’s attending doctors.”

  “Trauma unit?” I squeaked out, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

  “Yes. We figured it was best to keep you here, just in case.” He sat in the chair beside me. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I haven’t slept in weeks. Like I could sleep for a month and still be tired.”

  “It’s going to take a few days for your system to right itself again. When we performed a tox screen, we found high levels of clonazepam in your system. The effects were only worsened by dehydration. We administered an IV drip, as you can see, to return nutrients to your body, as well as gave you a muscle strengthener to help counteract the effects of the drug.” He placed his hand on my arm. “But other than that, it doesn’t look like you’ve suffered any additional physical trauma.” He paused, narrowing his compassionate gaze on me. “Psychological is a different story. I’m going to insist you speak to one of the hospital psychologists before I sign your discharge papers.”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “Good. Now, I’m going to send a nurse in to do a quick check of your vitals. As long as everything looks good, we’ll discharge you tomorrow afternoon. I’ve instructed the FBI to refrain from questioning you until then.” He stood, heading toward the door.

  “What about Dante?” I pressed. I’d barely heard a word he’d just said, preoccupied with one thing and one thing only…whether Dante was okay.

  He slowly turned around, exhaling a long breath. My muscles tightened as I braced myself for the news that he didn’t make it, that the laceration to his abdomen was too deep and he’d lost too much blood.

  “Mr. Luciano suffered through a great deal of trauma,” Dr. Hayes began.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” I shot back, every inch of me shaking as I stared at him, trying to swallow through the pain in my throat. “I was there. I saw all of it. Every slash of the blade. Every stab of the knife.” I blinked back the tears as the horror I’d witnessed flashed before my eyes. “Every bit of blood that fell from his body. I…saw…it…all. So don’t tell me he suffered a great deal of trauma. I know exactly what he suffered. Please,” I managed to say through my tears. “I need to know. Did he make it?”

  Dr. Hayes returned to the chair. His shoulders fell and he hung his head. When he peered up at me through sad eyes, bile rose in my throat, a chill washing over me.

  “He was in surgery for nearly eight hours. By the time they wheeled him into the OR, his pulse was extremely weak. I knew his chances of survival were slim going in, but a guardian angel must have been watching over him because, miraculously, he pulled through.”

  “He’s alive?” I blinked repeatedly,
holding my breath.

  “Yes, but his road to recovery isn’t going to be an easy one. His small and large intestines were punctured, and several of the other lacerations to his body, while not life threatening, were severe enough to require several hundred stitches. Not to mention three cracked ribs, a dislocated jaw, and a broken leg. We performed surgery on the punctures to his intestines. He did go into cardiac arrest, but we were able to revive him, stem the loss of blood, and get his organs functioning again.”

  “So he’s okay? He’s breathing on his own?”

  “Yes.”

  I made a move to get out of bed, but Dr. Hayes placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. “You can’t see him yet. No one can. He’s currently in ICU. Standard protocol for the first twenty-four hours after major surgery. He’s heavily sedated for the moment, and probably will be for the next several days.”

  “But once he can have visitors, you’ll tell me?” I asked frantically, hating I was in the same hospital as Dante but couldn’t see him, couldn’t watch his chest rise and fall, couldn’t hold his hand and listen to his heart beat.

  “I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”

  I briefly closed my eyes, allowing the fact that Dante had pulled through to comfort me, like a baby’s blanket. “Thank you.” I returned my eyes to Dr. Hayes.

  “Of course.” He hesitated, studying me. “There’s something else I should tell you.”

  My heart caught in my throat as I lifted my worried eyes to his.

  “I was going to wait until you were a little less drugged up, but since we’re on the subject, I may as well tell you now.”

  “What is it?” I swallowed hard, searching his expression for a hint as to what he was about to say.

  He licked his lips. “Your father…”

  I closed my eyes, blinking back my tears as the image of his body growing limp replayed in my mind, the callousness Marjorie demonstrated in shooting him with absolutely no remorse.

  “Unfortunately, the bullet nicked his spinal cord, so he’ll require extensive physical therapy to be able to walk again.”