Page 104 of Devil's Iris

Each cry felt like she was ripping pieces off my soul, shredding me from the inside out.

My eyes drift to her arm, still wrapped tightly in my jacket to stem the bleeding, but I can’t unsee what it looked like when the blood had gushed out. That could’ve been her throat. Her chest. If she hadn’t had her hands raised up, waving at me, it would have been her skull. One inch higher and?—

No. Fuck no, I’m not going there. Stop.

Limbs jittery, I shoot up from the chair, pacing the room like a caged animal. I can’t sit. Can’t breathe properly. Can’t think straight.

How the hell did I let this happen? How did I get so fucking careless?

I’d brought her into my world, married her, claimed her publicly—thinking the ring would protect her. ThinkingIcould protect her. That nobody would be reckless enough to make a move on my wife.

But someone just did.

Because I was too confident. Too blinded by my arrogance. Too sure my name would be enough to stop any fool.

What a joke. What a goddamn joke.

And then it hit me like a punch to the gut. I’ve come to care about her.

Too much.

Somewhere between getting her out of jail, pretending to bein love, between our conversations, her smart mouth, and her unwavering faith and trust in me, I’d fallen for her.

Fuck.

This is the worst possible time to discover I have a heart.

But I guess almost losing someone—someone who matters—has a brutal way of stripping away all your comfortable lies and showing you exactly what they mean to you.

“Have Ethan and Amelia brought here,” I order Sandro when he walks into the bedroom with Blake, the private doctor I keep on payroll for situations like this. “She needs to see them. Do it quickly.”

He nods, phone already in hand, and disappears back through the doorway. My attention shifts to Blake as he approaches the bed, moving carefully towards Leni.

When my wife finally blinks her eyes open, the emptiness I see in them clamps down on my throat.

Fucking hell.

She doesn’t speak as Blake introduces himself, doesn’t flinch when he opens his medical bag on the mattress beside her. Just stares through him, through me, while he works on her arm, cleaning and bandaging like she’s a mannequin instead of the vibrant woman I married.

By the time Blake finishes, declaring she needs rest but will be fine, her family is already waiting outside the bedroom. She doesn’t react when they walk in. Doesn’t smile at Ethan, doesn’t roll her eyes at her mother. She just keeps staring past them with those dead, red-rimmed eyes.

I pull them aside, speaking in low tones as I bring them up to date about what happened. Their faces go through the same cycle mine did—shock, horror, rage. Amelia’s hand flies to her mouth. Ethan looks like he wants to put his fist through the wall.

Join the club.

“Take care of her,” I finish quietly, hating how helpless I sound.

My gaze drifts back to Leni. She’s closed her eyes again, still pretending we don’t exist, and I have to swallow the lump in my throat before nodding Ethan over.

Once he’s moving towards his sister, I fix Amelia with a warning stare. “Don’t upset her.”

The thin woman bristles, her clear gray eyes flashing like I’ve offended her. But I don’t give her a chance to argue. I’m already walking away, leaving them to do what I can’t—bring Leni back to herself.

I have shit to do. Someone needs to pay for putting that emptiness in her eyes.

The stairs disappear under my feet as I take them three at a time, heading straight for my office, where Sandro is waiting with a bottle of scotch already uncapped. He pours a generous measure into a tumbler, sliding it across my desk as I settle into my chair.

I don’t touch it. Won’t. As tempting as it is, I don’t deserve the relief alcohol might give me. Not until I find the bastard who dared to aim a gun at my wife.