Page 56 of His Savage Vow
“You didn’t ask.” His tone is firm, but there’s genuine warmth in his eyes. “This is my gift to you, Constance. Think of it as a way of trying to make amends for everything you’ve lost in this war.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I force a shaky smile. “When the settlement comes through, I’ll repay you. Every dollar.”
He shakes his head. “No, you won’t. This isn’t a loan. It’s me showing you that what matters to you matters to me too now.”
My heart feels like it’s swelling up in my chest, choking me. I have no words, only the overwhelming urge to believe him, to let his promise hold me and comfort me.
Some part of me knows that accepting his help, his generosity, binds me to him in ways I haven’t fully acknowledged.
And yet I can’t bring myself to pull away.
The car slows as we pull up outside the towering glass facade of the Luciani Financial Group headquarters. A podium is already in place, microphones clustered aroundwaiting expectantly. Cameras flash constantly as reporters jostle for position. Maximo orders Enzo to get his men into position, and they spread out from the three other vehicles, forming a hard wall around the perimeter, sharp-eyed and steady.
Maximo steps from the car with the effortless confidence of a man born to command, then turns to offer me a hand stepping out of the vehicle. I then walk with him, with Enzo close to my other side.
He mounts the podium and leans into the microphones. “Thank you all for coming. I don’t want to waste your time, so I’ll get right to the point.” His voice is polished for the cameras, but there’s an unmistakable steel beneath it, the kind that warns anyone listening that this is not a man who loses territory. “Today, I’m announcing a new initiative, one funded by the Luciani Financial Group, to support the city’s police department in creating a dedicated task force to combat the recent surge in gang violence. Vicious Russian gangs have flooded our streets with illegal drugs, threatening our children, our neighborhoods, and the future of our great city.”
Maximo’s voice carries over the crowd, firm and clear. He outlines the plan with precision, weaving his empire into civic duty, spinning himself as a benefactor. For a moment, I almost believe it myself.
I’m so caught up in the delivery of his speech that I almost miss the sudden movement from the edge of the crowd. A man steps forward, his hand hidden under his jacket.
I see the man’s eyes first, flat and determined, before the muzzle flashes. My heart stutters and skips a beat just as the world shatters into noise and confusion.
The rattle of gunfire splits the air, bullets tearing into the line of men at Enzo’s flank. I feel the burn in my arm before I understand that I’ve been hit. The pain doesn’t register rightaway. It’s just heat and pressure and the surreal thought thatthis can’t be happening in broad daylight.
The shock steals my breath. Blood blossoms on my sleeve, and I’m suddenly knocked to the ground. Screams erupt all around us from the crowd.
Maximo moves so fast, he’s just suddenly there, throwing himself over me, his weight pinning me against the ground as more shots ring out. Enzo’s men retaliate, their return fire dropping the assailant in a hail of bullets.
My ears ring as Maximo’s voice cuts through the chaos, low and desperate. “Constance! Are you okay, firefly? You have to be okay!”
Emergency sirens wail in the distance, growing louder. In a blur, Maximo scoops me into his arms and carries me through the chaos, shouting orders I can’t hear over the ringing in my head. Cameras flash, but now it’s madness as blood pools on the pavement.
Enzo and his men circle around us, forming an impenetrable wall. Maximo holds me close for the next few minutes until an ambulance appears at the corner and begins making its way towards us through the crowd. When the ambulance doors open Maximo immediately jumps inside with me and places me on the gurney, his hand never leaving mine.
And then a few minutes later we’re gone, sirens carrying us away from the scene. I watch the bloody dais and podium shrinking behind us through the rear window of the ambulance, then sink back into the gurney as the emergency technician examines my arm and starts an IV.
“How bad is it?” Maximo demands.
“Gunshot wound to the upper left extremity, entry wound is in the bicep, no obvious exit wound.”
I can’t tell if he’s talking to the driver, who is on the radio relaying information to the hospital, or replying to Maximo. Awave of nausea sweeps through me, so hot and desperate it’s all I can do to concentrate on not vomiting.
When the ambulance screeches to a halt, the team has me out the back and in through the doors. Shock turns everything thin and unreal. I don’t have a chance to do more than raise my hand to wave goodbye to Maximo.
The last I see of him, there’s a look on his face that promises more violence is coming, and soon.
28
Maximo
Hospitals have never rattled me.I’ve walked through doors like these covered in other men’s blood without flinching.
But today is different.
The antiseptic-scrubbed walls burn my nose, and every echoing footstep down the corridor pounds in my head like a war-drum.
Constance is somewhere beyond the double doors. The doctors rushed her into surgery almost the second we arrived, leaving me pacing restlessly, every inhale stoking the fire under my skin.
