With a stiff smile, I walked over to Clifford and greeted him with a quick peck on the cheek before he could kiss me on the lips, then sat down across from him.
His blue eyes flitted between me and Santino. “Everything all right?”
“Of course. My bodyguard is only counting the days until he’ll be freed of me. He hates the job.”
Clifford narrowed his eyes in thought. “You’re a very good liar, but he carries his emotions on the sleeve. Will he cause problems?”
My smile became thinner. “You can stop asking me that. I told you he won’t. Let’s talk about the reason for this meeting.”
“There have arisen some safety concerns regarding the wedding, so we might have to switch the location to prevent an incident.”
My mouth fell open. “You want to switch locations three weeks before our wedding?”
“It’s necessary. My father is very concerned for his, and possibly my safety.”
“Is that the reason for the two guards?”
He nodded.
I leaned forward. “Is this because of your father’s pro-choice stance?”
“It is. He got several threats on his life since then and because I stand by him on this, I got them too.”
“You’re marrying into the mob. This wedding will be safe, don’t worry. My father has arranged the highest security measures possible.”
“Still, the location has been public knowledge for a long time. A last-minute change will make possible attack plans even more difficult.”
“If someone wants to kill your father and you, they won’t pick a mob wedding for that. Even a fanatic will pick a more successful option.”
“It would be a very public statement.”
“Any time someone attacks you or him will be a public statement.”
I caught Santino moving across the room. He was running like a madman, his gun drawn.
Our eyes met and in his, I caught pure determination but also blank fear. A shot tore through the room, and blood splattered my face. Santino collided with me, tearing me to the ground, toppling over my chair. I landed on the floor, my ears and head ringing from the impact. Santino shielded me with his body, completely covering me and trying to drag me away.
More shots rang out. Santino hissed.
I was disoriented, confused. Warmth spread on my stomach and thigh. For a second I wondered if I’d peed my pants from fear, but I wasn’t that scared. I was… I didn’t even know.
Santino kept dragging me away and firing. My ears rang painfully. I glanced down and saw my white blouse completely red.
Had I been shot? Then I saw Santino’s shirt, which was soaked with blood.
Another shot rang out and he jerked again and groaned. Blood now dripped from a shot in his shoulder as well. With a grunt, he shoved up and aimed at something.
A man with several shot wounds hiding behind the bar. He fired and the man’s head jerked back before he fell to the floor dead.
Santino breathed heavily. Slowly he turned to me, his face ashen and eyes slightly unfocused. “Are you hurt?” he rasped.
I shook my head, trying to sit up but Santino shoved me back down. Then had to support his weight on one arm, obviously too weak to straighten. “Stay down in case there are more.”
“You need an ambulance! You’re shot!”
He smiled wryly. “I told you I’d die protecting you.”
“Don’t say that!” I whispered harshly. More blood was dripping down on me. He didn’t look good.
“Give a dying man a last kiss so I can pretend you are mine?”
“Santino,” I croaked, but he silenced me with his lips on mine. I cupped his cheeks, kissing him back but then he slowly slipped from my grip and fell to his side.
“Santino?” I shouted, kneeling beside him. I shook him but he didn’t move.
“We called an ambulance,” one of the guards said. The other was still shielding Clifford and pressing down on a wound in his shoulder.
I only half-listened. I picked up my phone and dialed Dad’s mobile, my fingers leaving bloody marks on my screen.
The second Dad picked up, I began talking, “Dad, Santino was shot. Several times. It doesn’t look good.”
“Where are you? Are you safe?” Dad asked. In the background, I could hear him move. “Valentina, alert every guard!”
“Santino was shot, Dad.”
“Calm down, Anna. Are you safe?” Mom talked in the background, and an engine sounded.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m at the Lincoln Café.”
“Stay put, I’ll send the men closest to you over.”
“Dad, I think Santino is dying,” I whispered softly as I stroked Santino’s unruly dark hair. His face was so very still, no anger, no frustration, no joy or love.
“We’ll be there soon. Stay on the phone with me, all right?”
Dad’s voice was calm and controlled.
“Okay,” I said quietly, clutching the phone harder to my ear.
“Help him, he looks worse than I do,” Clifford muttered.
One of his bodyguards kneeled beside Santino and felt for his pulse, then bunched up a cloth napkin and pressed it down on a wound in Santino’s back.