Chapter 35: Breathless.

The bullet cracked the night wide open. Screams shattered the gala-like glass. Security dove. Guests hit the floor. Champagne flutes exploded on impact and Sherry couldn't move.

The air left her lungs in one strangled gasp as she turned- She was just in time to see Enzo stumble, blood blooming across his white shirt like a rose with thorns.

No.

He dropped to his knees.

No, no, no-

She ran.

People screamed and scattered, but she tunneled through them like a woman possessed. The moment slowed. Sound drowned beneath the pounding of her heart.

She dropped beside him. His body slumped into her arms, blood slick between her fingers. His eyes fluttered. His lips were pale. "Sherry..."

"Stay with me," she begged, her voice breaking. "Don't you dare leave me again?"

His breath hitched. He gripped her wrist.

"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Blood pooled across the floor. Around them. Through them. Like fate written in crimson.

Ethan barreled through the panicked crowd, shoving past people without apology, eyes locked on the crumpled figure on the ground.

"Sniper's neutralized!" he shouted. "I've cut him; he's not getting up again."

Then he saw who was lying there. His feet stopped mid-stride.

"No..." His voice cracked. "No, no-"

"Call the medics!" Sherry screamed, her voice raw and shaking. "Now!"

Ethan snapped out of it, yanking his phone from his pocket with trembling hands. His fingers fumbled across the screen as he barked into it, "Gunshot wound, chest. He's losing blood fast. We need a unit here-now!"

Sherry was already on the ground, her hands pressing down on Enzo's side, trying to slow the bleeding. Her dress was soaked, black fabric turning darker, sticky with blood.

Sherry let out a scream her voice sounding pretty raw and shaking rather badly. "Now!"

Ethan suddenly snapped out of his trance-like state, yanking the phone from his pocket with hands shaking violently underneath worn denim.

Fingers slid erratically across the screen as he yelled into it. "Gunshot wound, chest pretty badly. Blood is gushing out of him rapidly now. We need a unit here-now!"

Sherry lay sprawled out on the ground, her hands mashed down onto Enzo's side, desperately trying to slow the bleeding somewhat awkwardly.

Sherry's dress was already soaked with blood; her black fabric was turning darker and stickier with blood.

"Come on," she whispered, leaning over him. "Don't you dare die on me. Not after everything. Not now. I just got you back."

Enzo's fingers twitched. Barely. But it was enough.

His eyes fluttered open, just a sliver. His voice was hoarse. "Hurts..."

She let out a breath that trembled. "Good," she said, brushing his sweaty hair off his forehead and kissing him there. "Means you're still with me."

The sirens started then. Distant, but growing louder. Closer. Hope, in the form of noise.

Ethan knelt beside them, face pale. "They're on their way."

Sherry didn't look up. Her focus stayed on Enzo, her hands still holding pressure. Her lips were near his ear.

"You're not going anywhere," she whispered. "You hear me? You're staying."

The ambulance ride was a blur.

Oxygen mask. Blood pressure readings. The beep of a monitor. Voices shouted codes she didn't understand.

Sherry didn't blink. Didn't speak. Just held his hand as they wheeled him into the ER.

Please, God. Take anything. Take everything. Just not him.

The doors swung shut between them.

And for the first time in days, Sherry collapsed.

She didn't know how long she sat on the cold hospital bench, head against the wall, Enzo's ring pressed into her palm like a rosary.

Ethan returned, blood-spattered down one sleeve, eyes haunted. "The surgeons are on with him. The bullet missed the heart. Nicked the lung. They are stabilizing him."

She burst into tears.

Not the soft kind.

The guttural, uncontrollable sobs of a woman who had kept too much inside for too long.

Ethan sat beside her.

"I don't know how to live without him," she whispered.

Ethan stared ahead. "Then don't. Stay with him."

She looked down at the ring again. "I never told him."

"Told him what?"

"That I love him."

Ethan smiled softly. "He knows. But say it anyway."

The hours crawled.

Reporters gathered like vultures outside the ER doors. The world buzzed with false headlines:

"BLACKWOOD SHOT-CEO DOWN AT FASHION GALA"

"MISTRESS OR MARTYR?"

"SHERRY HART SEEN CRADLING DEVIL IN BLOOD"

But inside, time was quiet. Sacred.

The surgeons finally emerged, scrubbing their hands.

"He's out of surgery," he said. "We stopped the bleeding. He'll survive, but he's not awake yet. You can see him."

She rushed past the door before he finished.

The ICU was too bright.

Enzo lay pale against the sheets, tubes weaving in and out of him. Machines are breathing for him. Wires trailing from his chest like something broken.

Sherry stepped to his side.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she took his hand.

"But, Enzo, you don't look like the Devil now," she whispered.

Her voice trembled. "You fucking look like the man I love."

She sat beside him.

She pressed her lips softly against his forehead.

She rested her head gently on his chest, being careful not to jostle bandages wrapped loosely around his torso.

"I never said it before," she whispered.

"Because I was afraid. Of what it meant. Of what it would cost. But I'm not afraid anymore."

"I love you."

She pulled the ring from the chain around her neck and slipped it into his hand.

"If you come back to me, I'm yours. No contracts. No escape plans. No fear. Just us. You and me."

She held his hand to her lips.

"Please come back."

For a long time, there was only the soft beep of the heart monitor.

Then-

A twitch.

His fingers curled weakly around hers.

She shot up.

His eyelids fluttered.

"Enzo?"

A breath. A shiver.

His lips moved.

"...Sherry..."

She laughed-a broken, breathless sob-and kissed his knuckles.

"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm right here."

His eyes opened slowly.

The first thing he saw was her.

The first word he spoke was

"Mine."

Outside, the sky cracked with thunder.

Inside, a storm had passed.

But not the war.

Meanwhile...

Across the city, in a dim office painted in shadows, Victoria Hayes stood at the window sipping red wine.

Robert Gray entered, scowling.

"You said he was dead."

Victoria's smile didn't fade. "I said he would be."

"He's alive. Shot, but alive. The assassin failed."

Victoria turned slowly. "Then we try again."

Robert leaned forward. "You're losing control."

"No." She drained her glass. "I'm sharpening it."

Robert tossed a thick manila envelope on her desk.

"What's this?"

"Proof. Surveillance. Financials. That boy's not just playing CEO. He's building an empire underground."

Victoria flipped through the photos-offshore accounts, encrypted files, lists of weapons imports.

And then one final image:

Enzo Blackwood. He is standing next to an unfamiliar man.

Cold, powerful. Dangerous.

Victoria's smile vanished.

"Who the hell is that?"

Robert stared at the photo. "That, my dear, is the man funding his next move. A ghost from the old mafia. Name's been erased from every database but one."

He paused.

"And he's coming for us."

Enzo lives. And Sherry has finally spoken her heart. The war isn't over-it's just beginning.