The Mafia Boss

Ch. 22: I finally have something worth living for.

I watch Maeve soundlessly sleep, unprepared to take my eyes off her for even one second. After tonight, I might just never let her out of my sight ever again. When Torin and I arrived back at the house, the place was in total chaos. Even now, the energy has yet to settle. Reaper is missing and Fiona is out looking for him. Torin is currently in the process of handling security measures and delegating his men. Presumably, with great difficulty. Everyone was already on edge and tonight has only made matters worse. Because while casualties are minimal, Shane's attack is a message. A warning.

War!

"Someone get me the fucking doctor!"

Torin's voice—urgent and desperate—has me bolting from my bedroom, despite not wanting to leave Maeve. I rush to the top of the stairs, reluctantly looking over the banister. I sense that what I'm about to see will be unpleasant. Torin rarely shouts. Rarely loses control. For him to have used such a demanding tone means something is extremely wrong.

"He's on his way!" someone yells.

I eventually spot Torin amidst the gathering crowd, cradling Eva to his chest. She's alive, but she's withering in pain.

"Oh my god!"

I run to her, practically leaping over each step to reach her quicker. Her skin is pale and clammy, hair sticking to her neck in ungraceful clumps. Her dress—although a little creased—is still in immaculate condition. In fact, had it not been for the painful groans leaving her lips, I would've assumed she was fine.

"What happened?" I ask.

"Fiona found her," explains Torin, taking her up the stairs, towards one of the guest bedrooms. "She says it's her stomach."

I rush ahead, opening a bedroom door for them. Torin carefully positions her in the centre of the bed, lightly stroking her hair as a way of comforting her.

"Where's Reaper?" she asks, clutching her stomach as she groans.

I quickly look to Torin, his expression bleak.

"He's out on a mission, babe," I explain, not wanting to add to her worries. "We've sent Fiona to get him."

She curls into herself, crying as the pain in her stomach intensifies.

"I want Reaper," she sobs, head buried in the pillow.

Tilly enters with cool flannels and a jug of water.

"Thank you," I sign, taking one of the flannels and pressing it to Eva's damp forehead.

She sighs as the coldness registers, enjoying the brief reprieve it offers. I repeat the action, lightly caressing her hair as I do so.

"Imogen—"

Torin's breathless whisper barely reaches my ears. He's staring at the blood-soaked sheets between Eva's legs, the colour draining from his cheeks. I do my best to comfort Eva, but her panic is inevitable.

"What is that?"

Her body trembles.

"Have I been shot? Am I dying?"

Silence.

"Torin, have I been shot?"

"I—I—"

"You haven't been shot," I soothe, gently tilting her chin. "You're bleeding."

"Where?"

I feel sick to my stomach and instead of answering, I instruct Tilly to get me some towels.

"Imogen, what's happening?" cries Eva, scared half to death.

"It's the baby," I answer, truthfully. "You're under a lot of stress."