My heart seems to stop beating for a second, bile crawling up my throat as I look over at his body sprawled awkwardly on the ground.
Three shots.
Why is it always three gunshots?
My scars prickle painfully, and I crawl over to Dominic, grabbing one of his legs and pulling him back behind the cover of the statue’s base. His face looks blurry in the darkness, and I realize with a start that’s because tears are welling in my eyes.
“Dominic? Dominic!” My fingers slide over his neck, feeling desperately for a pulse. “Caleb!”
His eyes flutter open. His features are shadowing in the dim light, but moonlight gleams in his eyes as he looks up at me. A trickle of blood trails from the corner of his mouth, and I can’t tell if it’s because he bit his tongue when he went down or for a far worse reason.
“We have to stop him,” he murmurs, the words choppy and broken. “We can’t… let him go.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. Luca is probably making his way to his car right now, and if he leaves the cemetery, we’ll never get another chance to end this. Not without an all-out war.
But blood is pouring from the wound in Dominic’s chest, and I don’t know where else he got hit. I don’t know how long he has.
He needs pressure on the bullet wound. He needs a fucking doctor. He needs—
Dom pushes my hand away roughly as I try to press it to his chest. “Don’t,” he rasps. “Just… stop him.”
My skin feels cold, even though I can feel sweat trickling down my back. I don’t have time to decide. Time to think.
He shoves me again, the movement forceful even though the strength behind it is weak. “Go!”
I grab his hand, squeezing it so hard it makes my own hand ache. “Do not fucking die. I’m not losing my brother again.”
Then I snatch up my gun from where I dropped it on the grass, sliding my finger over the trigger as I scramble over to peer around the statue again.
I was right. Luca is about to escape. I catch a glimpse of him and his remaining bodyguard sprinting the remaining distance to his car, and my heart lurches.
Gunshots and shouts still ring out from the cemetery around me, and I hope like hell that all of Gabriel and Michael’s people are otherwise occupied—and that my men managed to take out their snipers already. Saying a prayer to whatever god might be listening, I grip my weapon and sprint across the grass, keeping my head ducked low.
I hear the thud of car doors and see the taillights of Luca’s car as it starts. Before I reach it, it speeds off down the road.
Shit.
My mind races, flashing back to the maps of the cemetery I studied earlier in the day. The network of roads that crisscross the large space are designed to give people access to their loved ones’ graves, but none of the roads cut straight through. They all take winding, circuitous routes.
If Luca is heading for the south entrance, maybe there’s a chance I can cut him off.
Chapter 22
I don’t pause to debate the wisdom of my plan. I don’t stop to give myself time to think of all the ways it could fail.
When I reach the spot where Luca’s car was, I just keep running, sprinting across the road into the darkness of the cemetery beyond. If I’m remembering the map right, the entrance should be directly south of where we are now, but Luca and his guard will have to drive around in a wide arc before cutting over to the road that will lead them out of the graveyard. They can’t cut across the grass because the headstones are placed too close together to allow a car to pass through.
Air drags in and out of my lungs, the gun locked tight in my grip and my ruined arm pumping as furiously as my whole one. My foot catches on a tree root, and I almost go sprawling, recovering my balance at the last second. Gravestones and statues loom out of the darkness ahead of me like ghosts in the night, and I dart around them. The edge of one wide and narrow headstone catches the side of my knee, and I grunt as pain flares.
But I don’t stop running.
This is our last chance.
I left my men behind to do this.
I left my brother behind.
I won’t fucking fail.