Page 134 of Devil's Azalea

“Mr. Lombardi has her,” he reports.

“She’s being taken care of,” I tell her, and some of the tension leaves her face. But her eyes are drooping again, and I give her another shake. If she falls into a coma— “Stay awake!”

“B–but… I’m so tired.” Her words come out in slurs. “So tired… Just… want to rest my eyes… Just… a minute.”

No. No, no, no.

“No!” I press harder on her wound, and she lets out a pained groan that breaks something in my chest. “Talk to me. Tell me what the hell that press conference was about. How could you risk your life like that?”

She looks up at me with honey eyes so soft, my breath snags in my throat. “It was… the only way to stop… Stacey. T–the only way I could protect… you.”

“But you love Stacey.”

“T–turns out… I love you more.” A tear slides down her temple. “And she’s–she’s been trying to have me killed.”

My brows draw together, my heart clenching as I stare down at her. I file away her second confession of love for later. “How did you find out?”

“F–found out a lot of things, Rafael,” she mumbles, blinking slowly. “I know everything that happened… ten years ago… with my dad. Romero told me.”

So that’s what they were doing at the courthouse.That son of a bitch.I’m going to kill him. Obviously, I already knew she knew—she’d laid it all out during that fucking press conference. What I didn’t know was how she found out. “Keep talking.”

“K–Katie gave me… the video I played today. St–Stacey had been threatening her… to spy on me. She felt… horrible. Needed to pay me back. So during that meeting last week… she secretly recorded them. Even–even if it meant… she lost her little sister.”

Her little sister? Was Stacey using her sister against her? “You shouldn’t have risked your life like that. I hate that you put yourself in danger.”

“It’s okay, Rafael.” Her voice grows weaker. “Couldn’t protect Dad... but I p–protected you. Just like… you’ve been protecting… me. That’s what you do when… you l–love someone. Even–” Her breath shudders, and her eyes slip closed for a terrifying second before she forces them open again. “Even if they don’t love you b-back.”

My fingers tighten on her body. “And who the hell said I don’t love you back? I feel so much for you it scares me to death. Why do you think I rushed our wedding? I couldn’t risk you changing your mind and backing out. Couldn't let you go.”

A heart-wrenching smile blooms on her face. “Are you–are you saying that because–” She swallows weakly. “Because I’m dying?”

“NO!” The word explodes from me. “No,” I repeat a little more calmly. Cold sweat rolls down my body, and I glance out the window desperately. “You’re not dying,amorina.Never. I’m not going to let you go that easily after I finally have you. We’re almost at the hospital. I only said what I should have told you last night.”

“I feel… so weird. My side was hurting… and now… nothing. Like I’m numb and… floating.”

Paralyzing terror claws up my spine. Numbness isn’t good. Floating isn’t good. I apply more pressure on her side and bark at Enzo to go faster. Why the fuck is this taking so long to get there?

Emilia lifts a trembling hand up to my face. “D–don’t lookso sad. Makes my heart hurt.” Then her hand falls limp to her side, which makes her frown, like she doesn’t understand why she can’t lift it again.

Hot drops of sweat drip down my face.No,not sweat—tears. “I love you.” My voice is a tight whisper. “I love you, Emilia. Stay with me.Please.”

“I thought you never beg.” She manages a weak tease, but her voice is fading and her lips are turning blue.

I tighten my grip on her like that would somehow anchor her to this world, to me.

“I’mbeggingyou now, Emilia. Don’t leave me. Or I’ll follow you after I burn this entire fucking city to the ground,” I vow darkly, and her brows furrow.

But we’re finally pulling into the hospital, racing down towards the emergency department where I can see the doctors already waiting for us with a stretcher and medical equipment.

When I look down, Emilia’s eyes have slipped shut, and this time when I shake her, she doesn’t respond.

A raw, anguished roar fills the car just as we screech to a stop and the doors fly open. The burning in my throat tells me that sound came from me.

“She’s lost consciousness,” I say numbly as I place her on the stretcher. “She’s lost consciousness.”

The doctors nod grimly and push me out of the way. One climbs onto the moving stretcher to place an oxygen mask over her nose and attach wires to her body. I jog alongside them through the hospital corridors, watching the monitor that shows her vital signs, trying to read the lines and numbers that will tell me if she’s going to live or die.

And then—sliding doors.