Borrowed Bride: Chapter 26

I can’t breathe.

I can’t move.

My limbs are heavy. My lungs clog with brick dust and ash. Pain throbs through me, pulsing in time to my sluggish heartbeat, but the sensations are oddly distant, more like a memory than anything else.

How has it come to this? Another explosion just when I was close to getting Leonardo.

Leo, who claims to know nothing about the assassin and now I have to believe him because there is no way he would blow himself up.

I need to get up.

I need to find him and talk to him and get to the bottom of this once and for all, but I don’t have the energy. I can barely even open my hands.

Hands grab me, pulling in all directions and I don’t have the strength to resist. I’m shunted back and forth like a piece of meat and while a distant voice in my mind screams at me to do something about it, I can’t.

I just … can’t.

“Boss?” Anton’s familiar voice drifts toward me, and I finally crack open my eyes, glimpsing a light blue sky and then Anton’s sweaty, dirt-streaked face. I want to thank him for always being by my side. For taking care of me and never doubting me. For giving me such unwavering loyalty.

My lips don’t move.

“You’re gonna be okay, boss!” Anton says distantly. “We’ll get you to a hospital!”

The blue sky vanishes and a white ceiling takes its place as I’m loaded onto something. Anton is gone, and the crash of doors closing is muffled to me.

I’m tired.

I close my eyes.

Is this it?

Is it finally going to be over?

I yearn for peace. Deep down, it’s been my only goal ever since I lost Gianna. I crave to be with her, and yet loyalty kept me alive and eager for a decent death.

An explosion isn’t a bad way to go. I survived one. I’m pretty sure that’s all the luck you get.

My mind drifts, keeping the pain at bay as things touch my face and something sharp pricks my arm.

In my mind, I dream.

The sharpness is suddenly Gianna as she wakes up beside me in bed and stretches out like a long cat enjoying the warmth of a sunbeam. Sleep calls to me, but the duties I face today force me to sit up with a groan. She grips my arm and her nails pierce into my flesh, drawing a gasp from my lips. Giana laughs and it’s a warm sound that makes my soul cry out for her.

I face her and she nestles into the pillows with her hair framing her head like a halo.

“Hi,” she grins.

“Hi.”

“Stay in bed,” she pouts softly. “It’s too early to get up.”

“I’m sorry. I have to. I have stuff to do.”

“What kind of stuff?” She walks her fingers slowly up the back of my arm.

“Stuff that you don’t need to worry about.”

“But I’ll get lonely.” Gianna pouts once more so I lean down and capture her perfect lips in a sweet morning kiss.

“I’ll treat you to lunch. That will cure your loneliness.”

She rolls her eyes and loops her hands around my neck, toying with my hair. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

The dream lurches suddenly and melts away from me, like sugar dissolving in water. My chest hurts so much, and I open my mouth to cry out, but no sound comes.

I want to go back.

I want to stay in bed with her.

But the dream is gone. Gianna is gone.

And I am still here.

Something jolts me, and I would roll to the side if not for the straps holding me in place. There’s distant gunfire, a squeal of brakes and yelling, but it’s all too far away for me to care. I just want to return to the dream with Gianna and spend the rest of my time there.

Warmth envelops my left hand, moving in slow circles. Then it moves up my forearm and something about that touch makes my heart break. It’s familiar in a way that makes my chest crack open and I beg for death in the darkness of my mind.

Opening my eyes, everything is bright and white. Am I still in the ambulance? I think so. The ceiling looks the same. The world is so blurry and the bottom half of my vision is obstructed by a mask over my face. I blink, wincing at how heavy my eyes feel, and then suddenly, like a ghost, Gianna is here.

Her face floats right above me with eyes filled with tears, and the brightness grows glaring.

“Heaven?” I whisper weakly. “What did I do to deserve heaven?”

Darkness consumes me not long after, and I sink into its cold embrace, safe in the knowledge that Gianna came to greet me at the pearly gates.

This is not heaven.

When I first open my eyes several days later, the first sight I’m struck with is a pale yellow lace curtain clinging to the frame of a gnarly old window. The curtain and the window clearly haven’t seen any love in years, and the sight of it immediately puts all thoughts of heaven to rest.

This is definitely still the real world.

Nothing else smells so musty and old than the mortal plane, and I groan softly then close my eyes.

Maybe I’ll be lucky and the next time I open them, I will be dead.

No such luck.

Grunting, I gaze around the room. There’s a worn wardrobe in the corner near the window and several shelves on my right-hand side piled high with books mostly covered in dust. A few show obvious signs of interaction, meaning someone has been in here since the last layover of dust. The bedside table holds several bottles of water and orange pill bottles.

Right. The explosion.

I lift the covers and glance down my body to see several stitches and patches of gauze littering my torso and left leg. Seeing my ribs alerts me suddenly to the throbbing ache that rises each time I breathe in, and doing that alerts me to the burning need to piss.

“Fuck,” I grunt, bringing one hand to rub at my eyes. Soft bandages greet my fingertips around my head, and when I sit up fully, I glimpse my reflection in the mirror next to the door.

I look rough.

Tired.

My hair is sticking up at all angles and the bandage around my forehead is the cleanest thing in this room.

Wait a second … why the fuck am I not in a hospital?

That thought spurs me upward and I heave my aching body out of bed. Clad only in black boxers, I shuffle toward the door and my sluggish mind slowly plans some kind of escape. Maybe I can open the door and rush whoever is outside.

They’ll either kill me or I’ll get away.

Assuming I can do anything with a body that throbs like a skinned knee. Grasping the handle, I wrench open the door and freeze.

On the other side stands a woman holding some blue linen and her hand is poised toward the handle as if she was about to enter.

Her eyes widen and her lips part as we stare at each other, and for the first time in five years, the breath I take seems to fully reach my lungs.

“Gianna?”

I can barely get her name out. It feels forbidden to say, and even more forbidden to taste but it’s true. Gianna stands in front of me and the world screeches to a halt.

My heart breaks.

She looks exactly like I remember. Sure, there are a few more laughter lines around her eyes, and she looks worried and stressed, but it’s her. It’s definitely her.

I don’t understand.

“Marco,” she says, and hearing my name in her voice kills me. I break down as a sudden, overpowering wave of emotion crashes over me. Tears fall, my chest cracks like my heart is fighting to break free, and I sag forward with a wet gasp.

“How?” I croak as I take her in my arms. “How is this possible? How are you here?” I’ve never sobbed in my life, but in this moment it’s all I can do.

She cups my face, letting my tears run over her thumbs and then she very gently kisses my lips.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “I’m right here, Marco. I’m alive.”