Scarred Regrets (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 5)

31

SCAR

Her eyes closed.

Her head lolled to the side as the last of her energy faded from her body.

“Butterfly,” I said, my voice foreign. Panic filled me, absolute fear like I’d never known claiming every part of me. “Irina!” I repeated, tapping harsh fingers against her face. If it meant she lived, I didn’t give the first fuck about the pain it caused her.

“Scar,” Enzo said from the front seat. His eyes locked on mine in the rearview mirror, his mouth tight before he tore his gaze away and turned back to the road.

I knew what that look said. I knew what the damage to her body said.

I knew what it meant when things didn’t hurt anymore.

No.

“Come on, Butterfly. Please wake up,” I begged, my touch turning gentle. I pushed her hair away, staring down at the peaceful face that was still beautiful under the swelling.

That could never not be perfect.

“Please don’t leave me here without you,” I begged, touching my forehead to hers again. I waited, feeling for breath, feeling for the almost nonexistent beat of her heart in her chest. I curled myself over her broken body, covering her with mine as Enzo hit the gas harder and sped through the city, all fear of hurting her forgotten.

I shifted, burying my face in her neck and breathing in what remained of her. Of the scent that was so impossible to replicate, that nobody else would ever achieve. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” I whispered, her skin growing wet as my tears soaked her. The dried blood staining her body washed away, leaving pink streaks as I pulled her body closer.

And I wept.

For all that I’d lost. For all that I hadn’t appreciated while I had it. For the woman the world needed and the light that was now gone.

For the fact that I’d lost my only chance to be whole again.

Enzo barreled into the end of the driveway at the Bellandi Estate, the guards rushing to get the gates open when he didn’t bother to hit the brakes. He blew through, taking the corner so fast that Irina and I shifted along the seat.

Still, there was nothing from her, no reaction to the overwhelming pain that must have shot up her leg when her foot knocked against the door. As soon as the car stopped, Enzo was out and tearing the door open.

I maneuvered Irina out into his grip, letting him take her for the moment it took me to climb out of the seat. He handed her back the second I was free, running behind me as I took the front steps three at a time with her in my arms.

The front door was open as we approached, Ivory’s tear-stained face meeting me as she covered her mouth with her hands.

“Where’s the doctor?” I demanded, not bothering to greet her or acknowledge what I saw written on her face.

We were too late.

Irina’s head hung back at an unnatural angle as I stepped into the living room I’d destroyed. “Second guest room on the left,” Ivory said, pointing to the stairs. I took the winding staircase as quickly as I could, skipping an odd number of steps as I raced up.

I was only vaguely aware of Enzo talking to the girls, who watched from the entry to the kitchen as I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and strode to the bedroom Ivory had indicated.

“Get her on the bed,” the doctor said. I did as ordered, placing her gently so that her head rested on the pillows. “Fucking Christ.”

Doc moved toward her, placing his stethoscope in his ears and leaning forward to touch it to her chest. He paused, waiting in absolute silence as he listened.

What remained of my heart leapt into my throat, everything inside me tightening while I waited.

He turned to me, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s alive,” he said, going to his bag on the chair.

I fell, my knees giving out beneath me at the side of the bed. I dropped to the floor, the thud echoing through my body as the overwhelming relief of her being alive claimed me.

Ivory sobbed as she stepped up next to me, lowering herself to her knees at my side as I rested my forehead against the mattress.

For the first time in my life, I wished I believed in God. I wished there was someone I could pray to, to fix my broken butterfly.

“She’s going to be okay,” Ivory said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

“Look at her!” I yelled. “She will never be okay after what they did to her!”

Ivory’s eyes fell on the wounds in Irina’s stomach. On the carvings in her skin that labeled her as something that she would never be.

“She’ll get through it, because she has you,” Ivory whispered, leaning her head on my shoulder despite the way my body vibrated with my rage.

I hadn’t been enough before all this. Hadn’t been able to give her what she needed and what she deserved then.

How the fuck was I supposed to do that now?