Suddenly, the door burst open, and men in sharp black suits stormed in, their presence commanding and cold. "Merda!"
One of them cursed in thick Italian, his voice sharp and angry.
Giulietta froze as her gaze locked onto a man who looked uncannily like the one dying in her arms, same sharp jawline, same dark eyes, but colder, harder.
Before she could react, they surrounded her, their movements swift and efficient. One of them knelt down, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. "Don't worry, we'll take it from here."
Before she could protest, they gently but firmly lifted Davil from her trembling arms.
Giulietta's wide eyes followed as the look-alike tore open Davil's blood-soaked shirt. Without hesitation, the man dug his fingers into the wound, pulling out the bullet in one precise, brutal motion.
Davil groaned in pain, his body jolting, and Giulietta gasped, horror gripping her chest.
She wanted to look away but couldn't tear her eyes from the gruesome scene. Within seconds, they wrapped a bandage around his shoulder with practiced efficiency.
The men moved swiftly, carrying Davil out of the shop like he weighed nothing. Outside, a convoy of sleek, black luxury cars waited. Giulietta stumbled to her feet, watching as they loaded him into one of the vehicles.
The cars roared to life and disappeared down the street, leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of blood and burning tires.
She stood there, shaking, her hands smeared with his blood. Her mind raced with questions, her heart pounding in her chest.
What was Davil Vitale, one of the most feared men in Italy, doing in her flower shop?
Why had he suddenly appeared, only to throw himself in front of a bullet meant for her?
Her heart squeezed painfully as she recalled the moment he shielded her. She hated him or at least she thought she did.
Men like him were evil, ruthless, and left nothing but destruction in their wake.
Yet, he had taken a bullet for her.
Her knees felt weak, and for a moment, she thought she might collapse.
What would she do if he died?
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed her keys, locked the shop, and bolted out the door.
The busy afternoon streets blurred around her as she ran. Her neighbors called out, "Giulietta, darling, where are you running to?" but she didn't stop to answer.
She couldn't. Not now—not when the devil himself might be dying because of her.
She reached the grand doors of the church and shoved them open, her footsteps echoing in the stillness.
She ran down the aisle, past the rows of empty pews, and fell to her knees at the altar.
Clasping her hands tightly, she bowed her head and prayed, her voice trembling. "Dear God, please, don't let him die. He might be evil, but he saved me."
Her breaths came out in shaky gasps, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I have no right to intercede for him, not for a devil like him, not for someone I've harbored so much hatred for. But please, just this once, I'm begging you. Save him."
Her voice broke as she whispered, "Please, God. If only this once, save him."