Celeste;
"Are you dumb?!"
I wince, unsure what hurts more—Angelo's enraged yelling or the aftershock of the bullet lodged in my shoulder.
"Ouch, careful!" I shoot him a glare that's far too weak to pass as a threat. His hands work skillfully, wrapping a strip of cloth around the wound as they grow slick with blood.
My blood.
I frown as nausea crawls up my throat and I turn my face away.
Angelo's gaze lingers on me while he tightens a firm knot just above my shoulder blade.
I pointedly ignore him.
A sharp intake of breath fills the vehicle as we speed down the dark road.
"Sometimes I don't even know what goes through your mind," he mutters, sounding more resigned than angry now.
"Why did you do that?" I throw the question back at him instead, my eyes fixed on the window as desolate trees blur past in bleak streaks of darkness.
"What?" Confusion has never been so plainly written on a face.
"Shoot him." My voice comes out breathless, pain ricocheting through my body. I should feel numb—but I don't.
"He would have gotten you if I hadn't, Poppy," he says defensively.
"Greg's warning was clear. No casualties." I finally turn to look at him, brows drawn tight. "Does he even know you're here?"
Angelo leans back against his side of the seat.
"No," he murmurs. "There was no time to inform him. As soon as I learned Caruso was still in the mansion…" He pauses, trailing off into a whisper I almost miss. "I couldn't imagine."
My lips part on a slow sigh. Shadows obscure his face, making it impossible to read his expression.
I turn back to the empty road.
Silence settles between us like a tyrant.
But that's the thing with Angelo—even the heavy silences don't feel unbearable.
"You're not taking me to a hospital, are you?" My voice cracks in the quiet.
He smirks, letting out a light chuckle.
"Of course not. I'm not that stupid."
I say nothing, allowing the silence to reclaim the space as my mind replays everything—dragging me back into a hell of my own making.
Those green eyes.
Piercing through layers of armor I've spent years building. Reinforcing. Perfecting.
All of it cracking under one familiar glare.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. Despite my weakness, anger churns violently inside me.
My knuckles blanch as I force pressure into them.
The drive takes twenty minutes before we reach the base.
Angelo steps out first, then strides around to my door. He helps me out, a steady hand braced against my lower back.
Every step sends a sharp jolt through my nerves.
He notices.
"This won't do," Angelo murmurs softly—and then I feel my body lift, suddenly horizontal in midair.
I don't have the strength to argue.
He nods briefly to the base driver before carrying me deeper inside, his footsteps echoing through the underground parking lot.
"Oh—before I forget." He stops abruptly.
"Judy is super mad at you." The dim ceiling lights catch his toothy grin and playful eyes.
I huff out something that might pass for a laugh.
"Well… I better pray this bullet finishes me off instead."
He shakes his head and resumes walking. My head lolls against his chest.
It takes a while before we reach the Medical Unit.
"Hey, Matt!" Angelo shouts as we approach, calling out one of the doctors in our arsenal. "Matt!"
"What's all the fuss about?" Matt's voice drifts out casually as he steps into view.
"What the fu—what happened?!"
The shift is instant. Concern spikes sharply in his tone.
"We'll explain later," Angelo replies quickly as Matt rushes forward to help.
"She needs treatment now. That damn bullet—it has to come out."
"Does Greg know about this?" Matt asks, suspicion edging his voice.
"There's no time for questions, asshole. Just fix her first!" Angelo snaps.
I can't blame Matt. Nothing happens in this base without Greg's approval.
Him being wary of this entire mess is logical—especially given his almost irrational loyalty to Greg.
Something about Greg pulling strings when Matt's medical license was revoked.
A setup, he'd claimed.
"Man, I don't know, I—" Matt sounds torn.
"She's going to bleed out if you don't get your ass moving," Angelo says sharply—his anger contained, deliberate. His outbursts rarely spiral.
Matt hesitates, but it hardly matters.
My head grows light. The edges of the room blur, dissolving into nothing.
I'm already in a ward, stretched out on a bed.
I feel warmth spreading beneath me—blood soaking into pristine white sheets.
But I can't die.
Not yet.
I haven't taken what's mine.
I haven't claimed 'his' life.
…My revenge.
Summoning what little strength I have left, I force my mouth to move. "I… Angelo," I whisper. The sound barely exists, but it draws their attention.
He rushes to my side, bending low when he sees me struggling.
"Some… mansion," I murmur, eyes fluttering shut.
"Something about the mansion?" Angelo pieces together urgently.
I try to nod. I can't.
"…Greg. I need… to inform him… Giordano's—"
Darkness claims me faster than I anticipate.