Chapter 7 - Blood on the Marble
The smell of cordite and pulverized plaster filled the suffocating dark. Shouts echoed across the grand hall, punctuated by the rhythmic, deafening pops of Vinnie Gallo returning fire with his tactical sidearm.
Bella was pinned beneath Aleandro’s heavy frame. He had shielded her completely with his own body, his hands cupping the back of her head, pressing her face against his chest. Through the silk of his shirt, she could feel the thundering rhythm of his heart—not frantic, but dialed into cold, lethal adrenaline.
"Are you hit?" he demanded in her ear, his voice slicing through the chaos.
"No," she gasped, her hands grasping his broad shoulders. "No, I'm okay."
He pushed himself up slightly to assess the room, and as the emergency red lights kicked on, Bella saw the crimson stain spreading across the shoulder of his midnight-blue jacket. A bullet had grazed the meat of his upper arm, tearing through the fine fabric and painting it black with warm blood.
"You're bleeding!" she cried out.
"It's a scratch," he growled. He pulled a compact black sidearm from a holster inside his cummerbund, clicked the safety off, and turned to look at the service corridor behind the bar. "Lucchese coordinated this. The power was cut from the main substation. They’re breaching the east doors."
"We can't stay here," Bella said, adrenaline surging through her veins. "The kitchen service dumbwaiters—they run to the underground brewery tunnels. My friend worked the catering crew here last year. If we get past the pantry, there’s an exit leading to the storm drains."
Aleandro looked down at her, his eyes blazing with fierce respect. "Lead the way."
They moved low and fast, crawling behind the service counter while Vinnie and the Moretti loyalists laid down a thunderous wall of suppressing fire. A stray gunman stepped into the pantry door, his rifle raised, but Aleandro fired two shots with terrifying speed and precision. The man dropped without a sound.
Bella stumbled over a broken tray of glassware, a shard slicing deep into the palm of her hand. She gasped, clamping her fingers shut, refusing to cry out.
Aleandro caught her by the waist, dragging her through the narrow pantry door into the utility tunnels beneath the building. He kicked the heavy fire door shut and threw the manual deadbolt, sealing them in the damp, quiet darkness of the old city catacombs.
He slid down against the brick wall, breathing heavily, the loss of blood finally making his face look pale in the dim emergency lighting.
Bella didn't hesitate. She ripped a long strip of silk from the hem of her expensive gown, knelt between his knees, and grabbed his bleeding arm. "Hold still," she ordered, her voice trembling but authoritative.
"You're ruining an eight-thousand-dollar dress," he murmured, a faint, strained smile on his lips as he watched her work.
"Shut up and let me stop the bleeding," she snapped, wrapping the silk tight around his wound and securing it with a firm knot. "You can't die yet, Moretti. My brother's second cycle is due on Tuesday."
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Aleandro reached out with his uninjured hand, catching her bloody, trembling palm. He looked at the cut on her skin, then lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the bloody scrape with an intensity that made the breath catch in her throat.
"I won't die, Bella," he whispered, his eyes burning into hers. "Not before I make you mine."
