I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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I couldn't move. My feet had turned to concrete, rooted to the asphalt while the smoke rolled into the sky and the flames crackled and the heat pressed against my face like a warning. Somewhere behind me Miguel was shouting my name but it sounded far away, muffled, like he was yelling through water.
"Yasenia, look at me." His hands closed around my arms firmly, trying to ground me. "Look at me."
I ripped out of his grip and ran straight toward the fire.
"Yasenia, for God's sake, stop!"
I didn't stop. I sprinted toward the burning wreckage, the heat getting worse with every step, the smoke stinging my eyes and scraping my throat raw. The car was a shell of itself, flames chewing through metal and glass, spitting embers into the black sky. The heat was unbearable. My skin screamed. And then, all at once, whatever had pushed me forward just drained out of me. My legs stopped. My body locked up. I stood there staring at the fire and felt nothing but empty.
Miguel caught up and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back from the heat. This time I didn't fight him. I let him hold me there, my eyes fixed on the blaze, my brain refusing to process what I was seeing.
That's when I noticed the driver's seat.
Charred. Empty.
"He's not in the car." The words came out of me before I even believed them. Then louder, ripping out of my throat. "He's not in the car!"
I tore free and started scanning the darkness, my eyes straining against the smoke and the shadows and the spots dancing in my vision from staring at the flames. That's when I saw a faint blue glow on the asphalt. His phone.
I ran.
Alessandro was sprawled a few feet from the phone, half-hidden by the dark, his white dress shirt soaked black with blood. He wasn't moving. Wasn't conscious. Wasn't anything.
"Miguel!" I dropped to my knees so hard the asphalt tore through my stockings. My hands flew to his shoulders, shaking him, my voice breaking apart. "Over here! He's been shot. Miguel, help me!"
Miguel crouched beside me and pressed two fingers to Alessandro's neck. The pause that followed lasted approximately ten years.
"He's alive."
The relief hit so hard I nearly face-planted into the pavement. Then I saw the wound on his chest, blood seeping through my fingers the second I pressed my hands against it. Too much blood spreading too fast. The panic surged right back up my throat.
"Call an ambulance!"
"No," Miguel said. "He won't make it if we wait. He's bleeding too fast."
He hauled Alessandro onto his back and carried him to the car. I scrambled into the back seat and pulled Alessandro's head into my lap. Blood soaked through my dress immediately, seeping into the fabric.
