Angel's Mafia (gxg) ✓

XVII | Silver Wounds

THE MOMENT THE PLANE HITS the runway, I leap to my feet.

I want to be anywhere but near Angel. Her threat still lingers in my ears, and there's a strangle prickling in my stomach. Apprehension.

"Dante?" I whisper, trying to shake him awake. "Are you okay?"

His head lolls to the side. His breathing rasps, becoming weaker and weaker. Panic stirs in my chest. Immediately, my gaze snaps to Dominic, and I say, "Please, carry him?"

We have finally landed in London, England. Our destination until we can figure out what happened to the Crown Jewels.

But right now, I don't care about anything but Dante. I think about his rogue grin, his smoldering stare, reduced to this―blue-and-black eyes, split knuckles.

How can I forgive Angel for this?

How can I ever see her as anything more than a monster, ruthless, heartless?

Who is willing to let someone die?

I brush past her on the way out of the airplane, making sure Dominic, who is carrying Dante in his arms like a sleeping child, is able to exit first. This is my fault. If only I hadn't forgotten about Dante, if I hadn't let him slip from my mind after that leering, awful man knocked me unconscious . . .

Following Dominic, I step out onto the concrete of the private landing. It is afternoon now, and bold midday sunlight stabs my eyes.

I try to blink away the hot light, my hand instinctively going up to shield my face.

Which is why, when the first bullet zips past me, all I can do is hear the whiz of it cutting through the air. Close enough to my ear that I can hear it.

Gunshots ring out, slamming into the metal side of the airplane.

Fear spikes, and my first thought is for Dante, injured, incapable of defending himself―

I hear cries ring out when I am wrenched to the side. My shoulder collides with the pavement, and I taste gravel and blood.

The sun is too bright to see where the shooters are, but I see the silhouette of Dominic's tall, muscular body. Dante struggles in his arms, finally awake, and Dominic lets go of him―I see Dante, stumbling.

The gunshots are louder, booming in my ears. I see blood pooling on the concrete. Whose is it?

Suddenly, as Dominic moves to the side―where he's going, I don't know―and Dante's lean form lurches.

"Get down! Get down!" I scream.

I try to stand up, but there is a sizzling coming from my arm, some kind of radiating heat. With something that feels like liquid shock, I realize the blood on the ground is mine.

I was shot.

But as Dante stumbles, an easy target for the people shooting, my thoughts clear. "Dante!" I roar. "Down! Please!"

He doesn't seem like he hears. I don't know where the rest of Angel's Mafia are, but I do know he is the only in focus, standing like a lunatic, like he wants to be shot―

I hear the telltale crack of another gunshot.

Before I can scream again, a slender, lithe form dives toward Dante. But it's too late: I see the arch of striking impact. Angel shoves Dante to the ground. I can see it slowly, as though I am trapped in a never-ending moment. Her mouth opens once, twice. Her chest is thrown forward. Her black hair is thrown over her shoulders, and I see a smear of blood on her face.