𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗧𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵

8 - Scuse Nascoste.

Yasenia was frozen, eerily still, like the whole world had stopped just for her.

"Yasenia, look at me," I pleaded, grabbing her by the arms. I could feel her pulse, fast and frantic, beneath my hands.

Suddenly, she wrenched free and bolted toward the flames. "Yasenia, for fuck's sake, stop!" I yelled, my voice straining, desperate to reach her. But she didn't stop, didn't even hesitate.

When she reached the inferno that used to be Alessandro's car, she froze again, as if the fire had stolen the last bit of strength she had left. I ran after her, catching up just as she stood before the wreckage, eyes locked on the flames. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her back, holding her close, but she didn't resist this time. She just stood there, staring blankly at the blaze. Her face was pale, almost ghostly, and her eyes... they looked dead, drained of all life. Watching her like this, I realized just how deeply she loved him, and that truth knocked the wind right out of me.

A part of me wanted to throw her love for him right back in her face, march up to that burning car, and shoot whatever was left of Alessandro—the fucker who had dared to take Yasenia from us and challenge me. I wanted to make sure he was gone, make sure the bastard never got to touch her again, never got the chance to hurt her or come between us. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. As much as I hated to admit it, Yasenia loved him, for reasons I couldn't fucking wrap my head around.

Then, out of nowhere, she started crying out, "He's not in the car. He's not in the car!" She spun around, her eyes wide, panic flooding back into her.

I looked closer at the wreck, the flames dying down just enough for me to see through the thick smoke. The car was barely recognizable, burnt to a char, but the driver's seat... it was empty. A wave of disbelief washed over me. Could he have gotten out? A weird sense of relief mixed with dread hit me. The bastard was still alive. I found myself hoping for it, praying that he wasn't dead yet, even though it made no fucking sense.

Life sure had a fucking morbid sense of humor.

Yasenia started frantically scanning the area, looking for any sign of him. A faint glint of blue light flickered in the distance, making her sprint toward it.

"Miguel!" she called out urgently "Veña! (come!)"

I followed her and found Alessandro lying on the cold asphalt. He looked still, lifeless. Yasenia stood frozen over him when she saw the blood staining his clothes. He'd been shot.

"Alessandro!" she screamed, dropping to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she tried to shake him awake. "Oh my God, Miguel, he's been shot!"

I knelt next to them, feeling for his pulse. "Está vivo (he's alive)," I muttered, more to calm her than anything. Her shoulders slumped with relief, but panic still gripped her.

"Call an ambulance!" she begged, her voice trembling.

"No," I said firmly, barely believing the words coming out of my mouth. "He's losing too much blood. They'll take too long."