He’d looked into the killer’s eyes, seen the fear and determination there even as the younger man raised the gun in a trembling hand and pointed it at Leon before firing. The shooter’s expression had turned to one of abject horror when it was Carla, having thrown herself in front of Leon, whose body jerked from the impact of the bullet biting through her flesh.
That had been fifteen minutes ago.
Fifteen minutes during which Leon had caught the unconscious Carla before she hit the floor. He had then swung her up into his arms, uncaring of the rich red blood gushing from her temple and soaking into his own clothing.
He’d shouted for his men to capture the shooter before he stepped back into the elevator, and it ascended at what felt, in his agitation and need to get medical help for Carla, like a snail’s pace in comparison to its earlier descent.
Thank God it was late. The corridor with the private elevator to the penthouse had been deserted, and the gun had been equipped with a silencer. Otherwise, Leon knew he wouldn’t now be pacing up and down his bedroom in the penthouse apartment while waiting for the fucking doctor to get off his ass and arrive. In all probability, Leon knew he would instead be answering a lot of questions from the police about the shooting, because the authorities would have been alerted to the incident by either a hotel guest or receptionist.
The first thing Leon did when he—finally—reached the penthouse had been to shout for Killian to call for the doctor Matteo kept on call, while Leon carried Carla through to his bedroom.
The same doctor who was going to have his balls cut off, slowly and with a blunt knife, if he didn’t soon make an appearance!
Natalia, with far more presence of mind than Leon was capable of right now, was keeping a towel pressed against Carla’s temple, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
Leon paled as he saw there were already two towels stained bright red with fresh blood, discarded and lying on the floor beside the bed.
Carla’s blood.
Which should have been his blood.
He took out his cell phone and pressed a couple of buttons. His call was answered one second later. “Do you have him?” he snarled.
“It’s a fucking maze out here, boss,” Jericho snapped his frustration. “And the little fucker knows how to use every inch of it to elude us.”
Leon thought quickly. “Come back to the hotel and I’ll arrange for you to check out the security footage.” The Mafia owned this hotel, so there would be no problem with them doing that. If they were lucky, the shooter would turn up on at least one of the security feeds. “If he’s on there, we’ll find him.” And once they had…
Leon was then going to take great pleasure in “questioning” the bastard himself.
When Carla next regained consciousness she felt numbed all over rather than in that earlier excruciating pain.
A medically induced numbness?
She had a feeling that might be the case. She appeared to be lying in a bed, her head resting back against slightly elevated pillows. She also seemed to recall Leon mentioning something about waiting for a doctor to arrive. To be precise, he had demanded “Where the fuck is the doctor?” in that arrogant, gravelly, and utterly furious voice.
Her eyelids still felt too heavy to lift, and she was actually too afraid of the pain returning to try to turn her head.
Instead, she moistened the dryness of her lips with the tip of her tongue before speaking. “Leon?”
“Thank God!” It was a rasp of relief, and there was a dip of the mattress on the right side to indicate someone was now sitting beside her on the bed.
“What time is it?” She could sense low lighting in the room through her closed lids.
“Two o’clock in the morning.”
“Oh.”
“Is it okay to hold your hand?” the same voice prompted gently.
She managed to move several fingers on her left hand. “Please,” she invited weakly. “Leon?” she prompted again once her hand had been gently taken into his much larger one.
“I’m still here,” he confirmed. “How are you feeling?”
“As if I’ve been run over by a truck!”
“Can you open those beautiful eyes?”
“Flattery will get you— My God, you look terrible,” she gasped as, having finally managed to force her lids open, she’d gotten a good look at his face.
His skin was almost as gray as his beard, and there were deep lines grooved into the flesh beside his mouth and eyes. He was also still wearing the white shirt, waistcoat, and black trousers from the wedding. The shirt and waistcoat were stained a dark red.
Dried blood.
Her blood.
Rueful humor now lightened Leon’s grim expression. “Back atcha.”
“You’ll never seduce a woman with that sort of honesty!”
Leon didn’t want to seduce a woman, he wanted this one, in his arms, where he could keep her safe. “Again, back atcha,” he drawled.
Humor gleamed in those dark brown eyes. “I don’t think I’m in any condition right now to seduce anyone.” She sobered as she glanced down at herself. “What the hell am I wearing?”
“One of Natalia’s nightgowns.” Leon grimaced. “She has a fuller figure than you.”
“I noticed.” The froth of satin and lace gaped at the already low neckline. “But why am I wearing one of her nightgowns, and why does my head hurt so much?” She raised her hand. “Why do I have a gauze bandage on my right temple?”
His jaw tightened. “To keep the wound from becoming infected.”
“What wound?”
“You took a bullet earlier meant for me.”
Her brows rose. “I did?”
He scowled. “You don’t remember?”
“Not a thing after we walked to the elevator as we were leaving the penthouse.”
“In that case… Someone tried to shoot me, but shot you instead. Because of the way you threw yourself sideways in front of me, the bullet creased along your temple rather than penetrating flesh or bone.” Thank God!
A mortally wounded
