CHOSEN BY A SINNER (Completed)

...

It hurts much more this time, the ache spreading through

my heart worse than the period cramps.

Being overemotional also doesn't help because a sudden rush of tears threatens to burst free. Slipping off the stool, I go upstairs, scared I might actually

cry today, which is not something I do often. I put my heat pack on charge and go to the bathroom. After taking care of business, I wash my hands. A flash of red catches my eye and frowning, I crouch by the slim waste bin.

That's not my blood.

I pinch the toilet paper with my fingers, and when I lift it, something falls from it. The metal pings on the tiles.

Jesus.

I pick up the bullet, the sight of it making an icy wave of fear rush through me.

Oh, Jesus.

I dart up and run out of the bathroom. I fly down the stairs,

and it has Luca's head snapping my way. "What's wrong?" he

asks.

I almost barrel into him, my eyes searching for the wound. "Where did you get shot?" Panic coats my voice as I start to tug at his sweater, yanking the fabric up and over his head.

"I'm okay," he mutters, watching me as if I've lost my ever-loving mind.

My gaze locks on the white bandage wrapped around his bicep, and a wave of nausea threatens to hit. "Jesus, Luca," I almost whimper, my heart stopping at the thought that if the bullet was a couple of inches to the right, I could've lost him.

The thought rips the ground beneath my feet.

Sure, I've grown up in the bratva, but none of the men I love have ever been shot.

That I know of.