Another gunshot rang out.
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are!’ Zola cooed. The shot had shattered the CCTV camera just around the corner from me. It fell in shards just yards from my feet. I was close. ‘You look so shiny in your tux, Gianluca. My mother would love to brand her black hand on it. Right after she’s done with your little plaything, of course. She’s probably cutting her fingers off right now.’
‘You’re a bad liar, Zola! Always were!’ Luca’s laughter echoed down the corridor, but it was strained and forced.
Zola was getting angrier, her composure slipping. ‘You won’t be laughing when I put a bullet in your head! I know you’re cornered down there.’
Zola was right. I could tell she was closer to me. Luca was at the other end of the hallway – a dead end, and there was only so many rows of lockers that could protect him. He couldn’t come out. Not before the police or Zola closed in on him. The only options were to crouch and hide, or to try and shoot his way through.
‘Nothing else to say?’ Zola goaded. ‘Are you worried about your jewel? My mother won’t be quick with her. She wants to bring her home, take her time.’ Another gunshot. Zola cursed. ‘My fucking foot.’
I edged closer, heels in hand as I peeked around the corner. Zola was limping down the corridor, half of her dipping towards the floor, her suit jacket hanging off one shoulder. She was moving away from me, leaving a track of blood behind her. She was shooting indiscriminately at where Luca was hiding.
Luca rolled out of the space between the last locker and the wall, and they shot at each other at the same time. Luca cursed, tried to shoot again, but the click echoed down the hallway. There were no more bullets in his gun. Zola fell to the side, reloading in a blur, and when she raised her gun at Luca, I knew it would be the last thing Luca ever saw. I started running, my arm pulled back, and fired my stiletto through the air, straight into the side of Zola Marino’s skull. She warped sideways, flinching, and the shot meant for Luca careened into the wall.
I slammed the other heel into the side of Zola’s head, kicking out the backs of her knees at the same time. She whirled on me, blocking my view of Luca. We tumbled to the ground together, Zola’s gun pulsing jet black in my periphery, her fingers grappling for my throat.
Just as the distant sound of sirens cut across the deserted hallway, she grabbed me by the neck and rolled on top of me. She bared her teeth, her tongue peeking out between them. I pushed my fingers into her eyes, grabbing my shoe with the other hand. The glitter on her lips helped me focus on my target.
‘Here’s your jewel,’ I yelled, slamming my shoe into her face and hearing the bones in her nose crushing underneath it.
She lurched to the side, her gun held high, and then the sharp sound of a gunshot slammed into my eardrums, and for a split second I felt searing hot all over.
I keeled over, clutching at the pain lancing through my body, trying to find the source, trying to focus my thoughts.
My shoulder was on fire.
Luca yanked Zola backwards and pistol-whipped her in the side of the head. Her next shot lodged in the ceiling. Luca wrestled the gun from her and threw it sidelong towards the other end of the hallway. It clanged off a locker and skittered from my view.
Zola groaned, and Luca hit her again, the crushing sound of metal on bone reverberating around us. She slumped over, unconscious.
The blood was pooling from my left shoulder, leaving a river of warmth all the way down my arm. ‘Luca,’ I said, hearing the fear colour my voice. ‘She shot me. I’ve been shot.’
‘Cazzo!’ He hunkered down and traced his finger around the wound, pulling my arm towards him. I cried out and he flinched. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, examining it in the darkness. He shuttered his expression. I could almost pinpoint the moment he slipped back into commander mode, and for once I was glad of it. If we were going to get out of here unscathed, one of us had to have our wits about us.
‘There’s no bullet inside the skin.’
‘It hurts.’ I gasped a shallow breath. ‘Why does it hurt so much?’
‘A graze,’ he said, his eyes tracking the streams of blood on my arm. ‘A bad one. I’m taking you to the hospital.’
‘No!’ I hissed, struggling to right myself. ‘I’m not going anywhere near a hospital.’
He pulled me up on to my feet using my good arm, holding me steady at the waist. ‘Can you walk?’ he asked, urgency flashing across his face. The sirens were piercingly loud now. ‘Do you think you can walk out?’
The pain was bad, and it was only made worse by the realization that I had been shot. ‘Yes,’ I heaved. ‘I can walk.’
Ignore the pain. Use it as fuel.
He stowed the guns on top of the lockers, grabbed my shoes, and left Zola Marino in a bloody, unconscious heap behind us.
We hurried through the corridors, weaving our way back towards the gym. I was lagging behind, but he pulled me with him.
‘The blood,’ I said, watching the red track across the side of my dress. The cuts Donata had left on my neck were adding to the crimson rivers on my skin. ‘They’ll see. They’ll know.’
Luca was already shrugging off his suit jacket. He draped it around me, and then pulled me against him.
‘I’m going to staunch the wound.’ As he said it, the hand that had been draped around me squeezed against the bullet wound in my shoulder, pressing so hard I slumped against him.
‘Urrgh,’ I warbled.
‘Sorry,’ he said, straining. ‘Just try and grit through it, Soph.’
I examined myself for any more tell-tale signs of blood, trying not to focus on the mild torture coursing through my body. Luca’s suit jacket was so big it dwarfed me. It dwarfed all evidence of our scuffle.
We made our way across the now-empty dance floor. He dropped my shoes among the other stilettos that had been discarded during the chaos. There was no way I could teeter convincingly in them now.
I groaned.
‘I’ll get you a new pair,’ he said.
‘Not that,’ I hissed. ‘The pain. Your grip. It’s so tight.’
‘It’ll stop the bleeding,’ he said. ‘We’re about to walk into a huge amount of cops. Just follow my lead, OK?’
‘Jack – Donata,’ I tried to explain. ‘They’re here.’
‘They’ll be long gone,’ he said, but there was no confidence in his voice, no confidence in the way he was scanning the gym.
I wound my good arm around his back, pressed my head against his shoulder and tried not to flinch from the pressure coming from his other hand. We stumbled through the front doors, joining the last dregs of students crying and shouting, and then I channelled every element of hysteria inside me and started screaming too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
RED AND BLUE