Bound by Hatred (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles #3)(73)

I exhaled, relief slamming into me like a hammer. Still alive. He was still alive. Thank God. With a sizzle and a pop fire shot out under the hood of the car. I gripped the door handle and pushed but it didn’t budge, distorted from the crash. Panic spread in my chest as smoke and heat filled up the car, and I started clawing at the door. I shifted, tugged my sleeve down my hand and roughly cleaned the window frame from broken remains before I climbed out of the car head first. When I finally felt solid ground under my feet, I almost dropped to my knees because my legs were shaking like crazy. The entire hood was burning now and Matteo was still in the driver’s seat. I rushed around the car, toward his door, praying that it wasn’t stuck like mine. I didn’t think I could drag Matteo through a narrow window without his help. I gripped the car door and tugged as hard as I could. With a screech it flew open and I landed on my butt. I caught my breath, then stumbled to my feet and grabbed Matteo’s arm. He hadn’t been wearing a seat belt so I could pull him out of the car without trouble. He plopped down on the asphalt a bit too hard and I winced, then quickly hooked my hand under his armpits and pulled him away from the car that was catching fire way too quickly.

Matteo was heavy and dragging him away from the car with my aching body hurt like hell, but I didn’t stop until I was sure he was a safe distance away in case of an explosion. I let go of him before I straightened and wiped the blood from my palms on my pants. Matteo’s eyes were closed, his face turned to the side, showing his striking profile. Strands of hair stuck to his bloody forehead and a puddle of red was quickly spreading around his head, trickling from his head wound. I could see his chest rising and falling. My eyes searched our surroundings. The car of the Russians was already a flaming mess, dark plummets of smoke rising into the sky. We were in the middle of nowhere, an abandoned industrial area nobody set foot in without reason. But the smoke would certainly attract attention. Somebody would find Matteo before it was too late.

Right?

I should run. I should want to run. I started backing away from Matteo’s unmoving form on the ground, ignoring the way guilt corded up my throat. He’d forced me into a marriage I’d never wanted. He knew I would use the first chance I got to escape. I took another step back. Matteo had chosen a path of danger and death. Even if he died today, it was what he’d chosen for himself.

This wasn’t the life I wanted.

I turned around, then paused. I closed my eyes. Distantly flames crackled. Someone would find Matteo in time. And even if they didn’t, I shouldn’t care.

I didn’t care about him. I didn’t. And I definitely shouldn’t.

I should hate him. I should hate what he was and what it meant for me. I should that he couldn’t give me up no matter how often I pushed him away. Why couldn’t he give up?

I started walking away, one small step after the other. Once I was out of town, I would call Aria and ask her about Matteo.

It will be too late for him then.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Matteo was tough. A head wound wouldn’t kill him.

I chanced a look over my shoulder, my eyes finding Matteo’s unmoving body, sprawled out on the concrete. Behind him the cars were burning, tingeing the illuminated city sky black with their smoke.

Funeral black.

The pool of blood around Matteo’s head looked black from my vantage point, and it had grown even more. “I don’t want to love you,” I whispered as I jerked to a halt, clenching my eyes shut. But I did. I did love Matteo.

My eyes flew open, I whirled around and begun walking back, then started running, getting faster and faster, until I was racing. I dropped to my knees beside Matteo, fumbling in my pockets for my phone but coming up empty. It was in my bag. My gaze went to the burning car where I’d left my stuff. Stupid Gianna.

I reached into Matteo’s pocket and exhaled a shuddering breath when I grabbed his phone. Not wasting time scrolling through his contact I hit speed dial.

“I’m not in the mood to talk to you, Matteo. You acted like a major * tonight,” Luca’s sharp voice rang in my ear.

I let out a sob.

“Gianna?” I could hear Aria in the background but couldn’t hear what she was saying.

“He’s dying,” I said after a moment, sound flat and voiceless.

“What are you talking about? Give me Matteo.”

“I can’t. Russians attacked us. There’s so much blood, Luca, so much blood.”

“Is Matteo alive?” For the first time since Aria almost died, Luca sounded worried.

My eyes darted to the body beside me. To my husband.

Was it my imagination or had Matteo’s chest stopped moving? I pressed my palm against his blood-soaked shirt. There was nothing. “He’s not breathing. He was a moment ago, but he’s not anymore.” Hysteria found its way into my voice.

“Gianna, you have to do CPR. I’ll be there soon. I have your GPS coordinates. But you’ll have to get him breathing or it’ll be too late.”

I didn’t say anything, only stared at the man I loved. I’d wanted to hate him, had given it my all, and in the beginning there had been hate, so much of it, but not all of it had been directed at Matteo, and now hardly any seemed left, and it felt ridiculous to hold onto what little I still harbored.

“Gianna?” Luca’s voice sliced right through me. I could hear commotion in the background, the sound of a car springing to life. I put Luca on loudspeaker and cupped Matteo’s face, then pressed my lips against his and blew air into his lungs. I tried to remember how often to press as I rested my hands against his ribcage. I didn’t know the first thing about CPR except for what I’d seen on TV. Why had I never paid better attention? What if Matteo died because I was doing something wrong?