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He drops to his knees in front of me, his face twisted with a terror I’ve never seen on him.

“You’re going to be all right,” he says hoarsely. His gaze lands on the hook through my shoulder, and murderous rage flashes across his face. “Jesus Christ, baby,” he chokes. He slides an arm behind my back to gather me in his arms. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

Panic flashes though my system.

“Dad—Dad, wait!”

“Shhh, I’ve got you, honey,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle, like I’m a little kid crying out after a nightmare. His arm slides under my knees. “I’m getting you out of here. And I swear to fuck, no one is ever going to hurt you⁠—”

“You’re not hearing me!!”

“You're okay now,” he says, almost a daze. His eyes are locked on the thick hook through my shoulder, and there's a frantic wildness in them that scares the shit out of me.

“Dad!!”

He starts to lift me. I do the only thing I can think of to stop him.

I jam my hand into the back pocket of his jeans and yank out the switchblade he’s kept there since before I can remember.

And when that blade flips out with a metallic schnick and gleams in front of his eyes?

Now he's listening.

“If you think there is any fucking reality where I leave here without him…” My raspy voice breaks as tears roll down my face. “Then you don't know me at all.”

He blinks, his gaze locked with mine for a long moment.

Then his eyes drop to the man lying on the pavement behind me.

Damiano’s face is pale. His lips are blue, his eyes glassy and unseeing.

His chest still isn’t moving.

“I can’t get him breathing!!” I choke. “Dad, please!! He’s not breathing and I need him to breathe!!” I sob. “I can’t get the air into his lungs, I’m too weak and…” My voice breaks into a thousand shards as my tear-filled eyes hold his. “He’s fucking dying, Dad!!”

For one awful, frozen second, Dad doesn’t move. I swear I can see the calculations and arguments playing out over his face as he holds me in his arms.

Me, the one he’s always put first, and protected, and loved.

His gaze slips past me to the man lying motionless on the ground as an invisible clock ticks like doom in my head.

“He saved my life, Dad.”

He sets me down abruptly and shoves past me, getting on his knees and leaning over Damiano, tilting his head back, pinching his nose and covering his mouth with his own.

Dame’s chest slowly rises.

He’s fucking breathing.

A strangled cry wrenches from my chest—part sob, part broken laugh. Dad breathes into Dame’s mouth again, forcing his chest to rise.

Then he quickly shoves his arms under my husband, his jaw tense and his muscles bulging as he lifts Dame in his arms with a grunt.

“We need to move!!” he roars, running for the idling Mustang. “He needs a fucking hospital, now!”

I stumble after him on unsteady legs, yanking the passenger door open and collapsing into the front seat. Dad heaves Dame into the back bench seat and crawls in after him, grabbing his nose again and covering Damiano’s mouth as he forces another breath into his lungs.

Dad glances at me over his shoulder. “He needs a breath every five seconds.”