I run into the penthouse suite and throw open the double doors to the master bedroom. I tear the pristine, dark charcoal sheets off the massive bed, tossing them to the floor so the mattress is bare.
The guards carry Cassio in a second later. They lay him flat on the mattress, panting from the exertion of carrying two hundred pounds of dead weight up the stairs.
"Get out," I order the guards, pointing to the door. "Matteo, you stay."
The soldiers don't argue this time. They file out, leaving Matteo and me standing over Cassio.
I climb onto the bed, straddling Cassio’s hips so I can reach his chest without slipping on the blood. My hands are shaking again, but I force myself to focus. I grab the lapels of his ruined tuxedo jacket and pull them off his shoulders, tossing the heavy garment aside.
"Give me your knife," I demand, holding my hand out to Matteo.
Matteo doesn't hesitate. He pulls a sleek, black tactical blade from his belt and hands it to me.
I slide the sharp edge under the collar of Cassio’s soaked white dress shirt and slice downward, ripping the expensive fabric open, exposing the brutal, heavily tattooed expanse of his chest.
The wound is horrific.
The sniper round entered just below his right collarbone. It’s a jagged, torn hole in his flesh, bubbling with dark blood.
Carla bursts into the room, flanked by a maid carrying a massive silver tray. True to my orders, there is a basin of steaming water, stacks of pristine white towels, two bottles of clear alcohol, and the heavy green metal box of the armory’s trauma kit.
"Put it on the bed. Everyone out," Matteo orders, taking the tray from the maid and setting it on the mattress next to my knees.
I throw the knife aside and grab a towel, plunging it into the hot water. I wring it out and press it firmly against Cassio’s chest, wiping away the thick, coagulating blood so I can actually see the damage.
"It missed the artery," I whisper, a hysterical, breathless laugh escaping my lips. "If it had hit the subclavian, he’d be dead already. The bullet... it went clean through."
I lean over him, pressing my hand beneath his right shoulder blade. I feel the slick, hot tear of the exit wound in his back. The sniper round was armor-piercing, it didn't lodge, it tore straight through muscle and tissue and exited the other side.
"It's a through-and-through," I tell Matteo, my voice steadying. "He’s losing blood fast, but the bullet isn't inside him. I need to pack the wound and bind it."
I pop the latches on the green trauma kit. It’s fully stocked for exactly this kind of nightmare. QuikClot combat gauze, heavy sutures, pressure bandages, surgical scissors, and hemostatic forceps.
I crack the seal on the first bottle of alcohol.
"This is going to hurt him," I warn, my heart twisting painfully in my chest.
I pour the clear liquid directly into the gaping hole in Cassio’s chest.
Even unconscious, his body reacts to the blinding agony. Cassio groans, a deep, guttural sound of pure torment, his back arching violently off the mattress. His massive hands curl into fists, his muscles locking up in sheer agony.
"Hold him down!" I shout at Matteo.
Matteo lunges forward, throwing his weight across Cassio’s left arm and chest, pinning the thrashing Don to the bed. "I got him! Do it!"
I tear open three packages of the combat gauze. With bloody, trembling fingers, I use the forceps to shove the chemically treated packing directly into the bullet hole. The gauze is designed to forcefully clot the blood, but getting it deep enough into the wound cavity is a brutal, barbaric process.
I have to push my fingers inside the torn flesh of the man I love.
Tears blind me, falling onto Cassio’s chest, mixing with the alcohol and the blood. I am sobbing openly now, the emotional dam completely breaking.
"I’m sorry, I’m sorry," I chant over and over, weeping as I pack the wound tight, forcing the gauze deep into the muscle to stem the horrific bleeding. "Cassio, I'm so sorry, please."
Once the front is packed, I grab a thick pressure bandage and press it down with the heel of my hand.
"Roll him," I command Matteo.
We heave Cassio onto his left side. I repeat the barbaric process on the exit wound on his back, pouring the alcohol, packing the gauze, applying the pressure bandage. My hands are slick, the tools are slipping in my grip, but I refuse to stop. I refuse to let him die.