The Woman in the Wrong Place (Grassi Framily)

He hadn’t exactly said it at all; he’d barked it at me.

I was moving to comply before I was even cognizant of doing so.

My bare feet slapped down the hallway as I ran into the spare bathroom, yanking as hard as I could on the liner until I had it in my hands, then rushing back.

“Okay,” I said, getting Massimo to open his eyes again.

“Spread it on the floor next to him. Then you’re going to roll him onto it, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed, following instructions because he clearly knew more than I did about what was going on. “Why?” I added as I got it laid out, then got on the other side of the guy who was a lot bigger than I’d initially thought.

“You need to lock him up.”

“Shouldn’t you just…” I said, waving toward his gun as I wedged myself between the man’s unconscious body and the island, using the wood as leverage to help me push his much larger body over.

“We need to question him,” Massimo said.

Visions of torture moved through my mind.

And, oddly enough, I didn’t really even recoil from them.

Because, if these were the same guys who’d beaten me, who’d maybe shot Aurelio and definitely shot Massimo, I guess I figured they had it coming.

“Okay,” I said, giving the guy one more shove, and he finally rolled over onto the shower liner.

“You can’t drag him like I could,” Massimo said, taking a breath and shoving a hand against his thigh where the blood was spilling out. “The liner will help.”

“Where do I…” I started, and then it came to me. “The basement.”

“Just drag him over and shove him down. He should live. And if he doesn’t,” Massimo said, shrugging. “Then lock him up, put something in front of the door and get back here to help me put pressure on this,” he said, looking paler and sweatier. “I’ll call for help while you do that,” he added as I scrambled up, grabbing the bottom of the liner, and squatting down for leverage as I started to pull.

It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as hard as I was worrying it might be. Massimo was right. The liner was slippery and made it a hell of a lot easier to get the man through the kitchen and toward the door for the basement.

Taking a deep breath, I ripped the door open and moved the guy more into place before squatting down behind him.

“Arghhh,” he started to groan, body moving.

“Shit,” I hissed, heart leaping up into my throat.

I didn’t think.

I just shoved with absolutely everything within me.

And the guy started to tumble.

Did the sound make a little sick to my stomach? Sure.

But there was no time to harp on that as I slammed and locked the door, then ran out into the living room to grab the console table that had been delivered a few days before since I couldn’t move the hutch by myself.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it would just have to do for a couple minutes before the help Massimo called for came running to take everything over.

I was practically patting myself on the back as I made my way back into the kitchen.

“I did it. He’s down there. So what can I…” I started, cutting off when I made my way around the island and saw Massimo’s head lolled to his chest. “No!” I shrieked as I dropped down next to him. “No no no no. You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” I cried, slapping his face, trying to make him wake up.

He was still alive.

Alive was good.

Breathing.

But it was a little shallow.

Okay.

Okay, I had to focus.

It wasn’t the pain that made him pass out. It had to be the blood loss. That was what he’d said. That I needed to help him put pressure on his leg.

Reaching up to the island, I snagged one of the dishtowels, balled it up, and shoved it against the bleeding wound in his leg.

Unconscious, Matteo let out a grumble, the sound giving me a little hope as I fished the phone out of his hand.

He’d managed to find Matteo in his contacts, but not actually dial.

I needed to call the police.

But there was some voice in my head telling me that I had to call Matteo first.

So I went ahead and listened to that voice as Massimo’s blood stained my hand, as my heartbeat thumped so hard I was a little worried I might have a stroke or something before I could get help.

Thankfully, Matteo wasn’t too busy to answer the phone.

“Mass, what…” he started.

“Matteo,” I cut him off, hearing the frantic desperation in my own voice. “They came. And… and Mass is shot. In his leg. But but… but he’s lost a lot of blood. And he’s unconscious. I don’t know what to do. Or if I should call the police. And we don’t know if Aurel…”