Too Bruised to Stand, She Collapsed in Front of the Mafia Boss and What His Hands Did Next Changed Both Their Lives

Everything happened in a fraction of a second.

Victor didn't draw a pistol; he drew a snub-nosed .38 revolver he had managed to smuggle past the outer security checkpoints.

He didn't aim at Roman. He aimed directly at Sophia’s chest.

"If I'm going to hell," Victor screamed, "you're coming with me!"

Roman didn't reach for his gun. There wasn't time.

Instead, he threw his entire body over Sophia, slamming her down against the parquet floor as his massive shoulders shielded her from crown to heel.

*BANG!*

The gunshot was deafening inside the enclosed ballroom. Women shrieked, crystal glasses shattered as guests dove under tables, and security guards drew their sidearms in a frantic chorus of racking slides.

Sophia hit the floor with Roman’s weight pressing her down. Her cracked ribs flared with blinding, white-hot agony, but she didn't pass out.

She heard a sharp, wet grunt above her.

Roman flinched. His breath came out in a ragged hiss against her ear, but his arms remained locked around her head, an impenetrable shield of flesh and bone.

*BANG! BANG!*

Two more shots rang out, but they weren't Victor’s revolver.

Mikhail had crossed the floor like a gray phantom. Two suppressed rounds from his Glock caught Caruso directly in the throat and center chest. Victor collapsed backward into the burning fireplace, his revolver clattering harmlessly across the marble.

Silence descended upon the ballroom, broken only by the crackle of burning oak logs and the gasping breaths of the survivors.

Sophia stared up into the shadows above her.

Roman was looking down at her, his jaw clenched so tight the tendons stood out in his neck. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"Are you... hit?" she gasped, her hands frantically reaching for his chest, feeling for blood.

"Did it touch you?" Roman demanded, his voice strained, ignoring her question completely. "Sophia. Look at me. Did the bullet hit you?"

"No! No, I'm fine!" she cried out. "Roman, you're bleeding!"

Her velvet-gloved hand slid around his left shoulder blade and came away soaked in thick, dark crimson.

The bullet had caught him high in the shoulder, tearing through the midnight-blue silk of his tuxedo. Blood was already pooling beneath his back, staining the front of Sophia’s emerald gown.

"Mikhail," Roman grunted, slowly pushing himself off the floor with his good arm. He refused to stay down. Even with lead in his flesh, he refused to let the Five Families see him lying on the floor.

Mikhail was at his side instantly, hooking an arm under Roman’s good shoulder.

"The car is at the back entrance, Boss," Mikhail murmured. "Caruso's remaining men are being rounded up in the lobby. It's clean."

Sophia scrambled to her feet, ignoring the fire in her own ribs. She wrapped her arm around Roman’s waist, taking as much of his staggering weight as her small frame could support.

"I've got you," she whispered, her voice fierce, tears threatening to spill over her eyes. "Lean on me, Roman. Lean on me."

Roman looked down at her. Despite the shock, despite the agony draining the color from his lips, his eyes held a strange, radiant heat.

"You didn't run," he murmured as they shuffled toward the private exit, guarded by a dozen Vale soldiers with drawn weapons.

"Mercers don't run," she retorted through her tears. "Dad taught me that too."

As they burst into the freezing night air of the alleyway where the armored Maybach waited with its engine idling, Roman’s weight grew heavier. He collapsed onto the leather backseat, his head falling back against the headrest, his breath shallow.

Sophia dove into the seat beside him. She ripped off her velvet gloves and pressed them directly into the wound on his shoulder, applying all the pressure she could muster.

Roman let out a low groan of pain, his hand coming up to cover hers. His fingers were slippery with his own blood, but his grip was fiercely tight.

"Drive!" Sophia screamed at Mikhail through the partition. "Get us back to Dr. Chen! Drive!"

The heavy sedan roared to life, tires screaming against the wet asphalt as they rocketed onto Fifth Avenue.

In the back of the car, Roman turned his head toward her. His dark eyes were glassy with blood loss, but he wouldn't let go of her hand.

"The ledger," Roman whispered, blood flecking his lower lip. "You lied. You didn't have it."

"I knew what was in it," Sophia said, tears finally spilling down her cheeks as she pressed harder against his bleeding flesh. "Eric told me on the phone. I knew it was the only way to make them kill Victor."

A faint, breathless chuckle escaped Roman’s chest.

"You're a terrible liar, Sophia Mercer," he muttered, his eyelids fluttering.

"Shut up, Roman," she sobbed, leaning over him, her forehead resting against his chin. "Don't you dare die on me. You still have to give me back my father's lighter."

Roman’s hand slid from her fingers up to the side of her neck, his thumb resting gently against the rapid, terrified beat of her pulse.

"I don't... break contracts," he whispered.