Michaela curled up and covered her head, with the last thing she saw burned into her retinas. Grayson being shot in the chest, him dropping to his knees, and dying right there in front of her. The pain in her own chest was unbearable, as she covered her ears to the deafening gunfire, waiting for the bullet that would end her own life.

Suddenly, her body was lifted from the ground and she was tossed over a man’s broad shoulder.  She grabbed his vest to hold on as he ran across the parking lot and she bounced on his shoulder, while bullets flew behind them. 

It seemed like he ran forever, and she thought about how much strength it would take to do what this man was doing—superhuman strength. Whoever had her was her angel, sent to answer her prayer in the limo.  Mickie sent up thanks as she held on and he kept running.  His labored breathing made her wonder how much longer he could go.  She raised her head, and saw the limo that had brought Grayson to the warehouse in the distance. It crashed hard into Lazarro’s car, pushing it back several feet, then reversed in a spin and squealed out of the lot.

Mickie collapsed against her savior’s shoulder again and settled into his jogging gait.  Emotion flowed from her chest to her head and made her dizzy with grief.  Grayson was dead, and she would never be able to tell him she loved him.  Her last words to him rang in her skull.  You’re dead to me.  And now he really was. A moan floated from her lips, as hot tears flowed over her forehead into her hair.

The arm around her legs tightened as the man who carried her tensed. “Just hang in there, baby, we’ll meet the limo in a second and get you to the hospital.”  Shock rocked through Mickie and she hyperventilated, felt like she might black out.

“Grayson?” she whispered, her throat closing up.  Her eyes burned, red dots and yellow bursts flashed in her vision. “But—but, I saw you die.” 

“Shhh…” he said, in a series of harsh breaths, as he finally stopped.

Maybe she had died too, and this was just a hallucination.  If she had died, and he had too, she couldn’t think of an angel she’d rather carry her to the heavens, other than her Nonna. I’ll see you soon, Nonna, she thought, as her body went limp and her breath rushed out.

 

Bright lights burned through her eyelids and Michaela opened them, but quickly squeezed them shut. Was she in heaven? 

“Nonna?” she mumbled, trying to move but she groaned as every muscle in her body ached. 

Her wrist hurt too, badly.  She lifted her arm to look at it, but a sharp pinch and pull of a cord made her drop it back down.  A hand swept over her forehead, and a gentle kiss dropped there.

“Shh, piccolina. Nonna isn’t here, but I am. I’m not going anywhere.”

Michaela forced her eyes open and squinted until they focused and Dante’s face appeared. Disappointment flooded through her and her eyes burned.  Had she been hallucinating after all last night?  Dante was here and Grayson was not, so she must have been.  She moved her right arm to raise her hand to his face and thank him, but a metallic clank stopped her.

She looked at the bed rail, saw the cuff attached her wrist and whimpered.  Her eyes streaked across the room to the door, where she saw a somber-faced man standing guard.  Her eyes filled as they flew back to Dante and he shook his head. 

“We had to, Mickie.  It’s the only way.  If you’re in a cell, at least you’re alive.”

“Well, I won’t be for long,” Mickie said, as fear of going back to Lazarro turned her blood to ice.  “That agent who is in cahoots with Lazarro will just get me out again and take me back to him, or kill me in that cell.”

“What agent? An FBI agent?” Dante asked, frowning.

“Yes, his name is Spencer something.  He walked right into the detention center and waltzed me right out the gate, then took me to Lazarro.  He told him that Zetas had nothing to do with stealing the money, that it was me, Teresa, and Jose who double-crossed him. He said he was delivering me to him as a peace offering from them, because I was the only one alive to tell him where the money was.” Mickie swallowed hard and asked the question that had been torturing her since then. “Is Teresa dead?” 

If she was, Mickie’s last chance of getting out of this was gone with her.

“No, she’s still in a coma, and the hospital will call me if something changes,” he replied.

Tears jumped over her lower lids. “Let me know when Grayson’s funeral is—and find out if they will let me go,” she whispered, her breath roasting her dry lips.  “I’d like to go if they will let me,” she said, and a ball of grief swirled in her chest then forced its way up her throat.  She turned her head and it came out in a sob.

“Jennings isn’t dead, Michaela.  But he’s dead to you, remember?” Dante said angrily.

Mickie’s insides clenched, as her gaze flew back to him.  “I said that to you too, but you know I didn’t really mean it.  I’ve said it to Dom, Marco, and Matteo—I even said it to Papa when I was fourteen. I didn’t mean it.”

“You shouldn’t say what you don’t mean, tesoro.  But in the case of Mr. Dill, you should definitely mean it.  He’s on the way back to Dallas to send all the evidence against you to the prosecutor, because he still believes you’re guilty. I tried to talk him out of it, begged him actually, but he said he had to choose morals over love, or some bullshit.  I think he’s just a coward—especially since he didn’t wait to even tell you goodbye.”

Dante’s phone rang, and he stepped back from the bed to answer it.  “She’s awake now? Is she coherent?” he asked, and Michaela’s heart stopped. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he released a long, shuddering breath and hung up the phone.  “Teresa is awake, and I’m going to Dallas with the prosecutor and a court reporter.  The doctor says you’ll be in here a few days, so don’t let them take you anywhere.”

“I have no say in that matter, so talk to the doctor before you leave,” Mickie said, barely able to breathe her relief was so great.  “Thank you for believing in me, Dante.” Her eyes filled and overflowed. “You’ll never know how much it means to me.”

He was the only one who had, and the only one who mattered. Grayson Jennings had chosen his path, and it didn’t lead to love. 

Mickie was thankful he was alive, but he was dead to her. 

This time she meant it. 

But from the way she hurt inside at the moment, more than she did on the outside, she knew she couldn’t just cut him from her heart like she had her life.  There would a grieving process, just like there had been when her Nonna left her.  Only worse.