BLAINE
The car slowed to a stop in front of Crimson Garden.
I adjusted my grip on her, careful not to jostle her wound. Her stillness unnerved me more than any bullet ever could. I slid away from her, easing her limp form gently off my side. The moment her body leaned toward the door, I was already outside, opening it and slipping my arms beneath her knees and back.
I lifted her without effort—Gabe, a shadow behind me—silent, always there, always one step behind.
Claire stood waiting by the open door.
“The doctor’s in the medical wing,” she said as I crossed the threshold.
“No,” I said sharply. “Tell him to come to my room.”
She blinked. “Your room, Capo Bastone?”
“I don’t want her in a sterile hallway surrounded by steel and fluorescent lights.” My voice was lower now, jaw clenche
