Page 90

With that, I pulled the trigger. The eruption of metal and sound was quick and brutal.

One shot for Stefano.

One for Markos.

In that moment, the frightened crowd dispersed like leaves caught in a whirlwind. I barely registered the shock or the disapproving stares that ensued. The only thing that mattered was Laya.

“Where is she?” I shouted, spinning around.

Not far off, I spotted Pavlos behind the jagged shards of the storefront glass.

“Inside,” he said firmly as soon as he saw me.

He quickly moved aside, and I jumped through the broken window. The chilling air mixed with the scent of shattered glass and despair as I rushed into the shop. My eyes immediately found Cali and Laya on the floor amid a heap of toppled poetry books. What had once been a serene space was now marked with crimson, resembling a tragic poem written in blood.

I sank to my knees beside Laya, my heart pounding as I reached out to her lifeless body.

“Laya,” I cried, taking in her condition.

Her skin was stained with blood, and every shallow breath she took seemed labored.

“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed.

Pavlos’s gravelly interruption cut through the tension. “The ambulance is on its way, Niko. Don’t move her.”

Cali’s face blurred with tears as she spoke through her sorrow. “She’s okay… I think so. She was talking just a few minutes ago. She’s so fucking stubborn!”

Her desperate hope clashed with the grim scene before us.

I could only manage a weak, “I know…” The pain inside me felt like it was eating away at every part of me. Gently, I leaned closer and brushed strands of blood-soaked hair from her cheek while whispering, “Laya, baby, hold on, sweetheart.”

I couldn’t hide my fear and desperation as I gripped her hand and clutched the ring I had lovingly chosen for her, trying to offer her some of my hope.

“I love you, Laya. Please stay with us.”

Cali placed her hand on my arm, her features awash with despair as she shook her head.

“We need to get her to the hospital,” she pleaded, just as the distant wail of a siren cut through the heavy air.

I pulled Cali close, my face buried in her tear-streaked hair.

“She’s going to be okay, Cali, don’t cry,” I said, even as I lied to myself.

A mix of dread and helpless anger churned in my stomach as I glanced at Pavlos.

The pain in his eyes spoke volumes. With a resigned shake of his head, he rushed off to meet the approaching ambulance.

Twenty agonizing minutes later, I watched numbly as paramedics hurried my wife through the familiar hospital corridors. This place, where I had often made donations and exchanged quiet words of loyalty, now felt like a battleground of hope. Every bump and jolt in the ambulance felt like another stab of fear as I saw Laya drift further into unconsciousness.

Inside the ambulance, paramedics worked meticulously around her still form while monitors beeped persistently. I stood frozen, praying to any god who might listen that my wife would hold on, even if it meant taking my fate along with hers.

Once we arrived, they whisked her away into the sterile chaos of the operating room, leaving Cali and me to sink into the cold waiting area, accompanied by Pavlos and several security personnel whose somber efficiency deepened our despair.

I began to pace, each step echoing like a restless heartbeat in a quiet room. The anger that had fueled me when I confronted those responsible still burned within me, but now there was no outlet—only a tide of emptiness and profound grief. It felt as though I were reliving the loss of my mother and sister all over again—the sting of guilt and regret that nothing could bring them back.

I silently cursed myself. I should’ve been there to stop it. I should’ve protected them. I should’ve been the one to prevent this nightmare. Every memory of that unbearable loss seared through me, fueling both self-loathing and despair.

I yearned to burst into that operating room and alleviate the pain myself, regaining even a portion of the power I felt I had lost. But deep down, I knew that her life was now in the hands of professionals.