CHAPTER 7 — BLOOD AND POISON

(MARIANNA'S POV) 

The blood from Scott's wound seeped between my fingers as I maintained a firm steady compression that I learnt from my past life 

My hands trembled slightly, not from the effort but from the tidal wave of fear threatening to drown me.

"Keep the pressure constant," I whispered to myself "Not too light or heavy. A little in-between."

Scott's face had grown alarmingly pale, the natural olive undertone of his skin fading to an ashen gray. 

His shallow breathing came in irregular gasps that made my own lungs tighten in response.

I monitored his pulse at the carotid artery with my other hand, weak and racing, a dangerous combination that signaled his body was struggling to compensate for blood loss. 

Every beat beneath my fingertips felt like a countdown.

"Scott, stay with me," I urged, leaning closer to his face. His eyelids fluttered, revealing glimpses of clouded consciousness. "Focus on my voice. The doctor is coming."

My medical knowledge felt woefully inadequate as I recalled the hierarchy of hemorrhage management: direct pressure first, elevation of the wound if possible, pressure points as backup. The bullet had entered just below his ribs, too dangerous to probe, too critical to ignore.

Sweat beaded along my hairline despite the cool air. My grandfather had looked similarly pale in his final days, slipping away despite my desperate attempts to keep him tethered to life. That same helplessness clawed at my throat now.

"His blood pressure's dropping," I panicked to Vin, who hovered nearby like a storm cloud. "We need to elevate his legs to maintain blood flow to his vital organs."

One of Vin's men immediately responded, gathering pillows from a nearby couch to place under Scott's feet. 

I nodded gratefully, feeling the sticky warmth of Scott's blood seeping through the fabric beneath my hands.

"Talk to him," I instructed the men surrounding us. "Keep him engaged. Unconsciousness is our enemy right now."

The metallic smell of blood filled my nostrils, triggering flashes of memory—my grandfather's hospital room, the faint copper scent that had permeated everything during his final weeks. 

I pushed the images away, focusing instead on the slight rise and fall of Scott's chest.

When Dr. Raul finally arrived, his experienced hands quickly assessed what I had done. 

"Good work with the pressure," he said, nodding approvingly as he took over. “Being able to sustain him is crucial."

I stepped back, my blood-soaked hands trembling more visibly now that the immediate crisis had passed to more capable hands. The adrenaline that had kept me focused began to ebb, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion and lingering fear.

The doctor's team worked with practiced efficiency—establishing an IV line, administering fluids, checking vitals, preparing emergency surgical tools. They spoke in the clipped, precise language of medical professionals facing a crisis.

"Blood pressure 80/40," one nurse reported.

"Tachycardic," another added. "Pulse 135 and thready."

"Start a second large-bore IV," Dr. Raul ordered. "Push the Ringer's and prepare for transfusion. We need to stabilize him before moving."

I watched them work, my hands now pressed against my own chest as if I could physically hold back the tide of anxiety threatening to overwhelm me. Scott had put himself between me and danger. He had taken a bullet meant for me. If he died now, that death would be another weight added to the already crushing burden I carried.

"Please," I whispered, unsure if I was addressing Dr. Raul, some higher power, or simply the universe itself. "Please don't let him die.”

When I have washed off the blood stain from my hand, I left the room and I found Vin staring out the window 

“What's he doing there?” I wondered and approached him.

"The doctor said he'll be fine," I told him. "The first aid saved his life."

Vin exhaled. "Glad to hear that."

Silence stretched between us until he asked, "How did you learn first aid?"

"Oh, it was Doctor Ra—" I caught myself. "Doctor from one of our business partners' hospital."

He seemed to accept this.

"Do you have any idea who ambushed us?" I asked, thinking they might connect to my killer.

Vin shrugged. "There are many against my family. I assume all are."

"At least we can use this as an excuse not to attend tonight."

"And who said we aren't going?" he challenged.

I stared in disbelief. "You must be crazy! We almost lost Scott!"

"He knew what he was heading into."

"Is that more important than him?" I demanded. "What will you gain if you lose someone who makes life easier for you?"

Vin's expression hardened. "How things operate here is different from what you were brought up to believe. Greed and selfishness protect us from others."

"Then why attend this gala? The killer could be there."

"True," he nodded. "But I'm focused on what I can attain."

"And what's that something pulling you toward danger?"

He faced me directly. "That's not for you to worry about, princess." He patted my shoulder. "Get dressed and don't interfere."

He walked away, leaving me fuming. Was this to be my new life? I'd just returned from death only to face more danger.

I sighed. "Let's just get this over with.”

I checked on Scott while Dr. Raul explained his condition.

"The gunpowder entered his bloodstream," he said. "I've neutralized it as best I could. Keep monitoring him."

"We will. Thank you, Doctor."

After escorting him out, Vin rushed me. "We're late. We have to leave now."

In the car, I noticed faint bloodstains they'd tried to clean from the front seat.

My heart sank. Scott had put himself in harm's way for me and now lay fighting for his life—the position I might have been in, if not dead. Would I get another chance if I died again?

I pushed these thoughts away. I couldn't afford distractions tonight, not when my killer might be plotting their next move.

I arrived at the venue, a magnificent mansion overflowing with guests. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across marble floors, illuminating faces I didn't recognize but who clearly belonged to a world of dangerous privilege.

"Just remain beside me and don't go astray," Vin murmured, extending his hand toward me. His eyes darkened as he added, "Because we are entering the lion's den."

A shiver crawled up my spine at his warning, my throat suddenly dry.

"Don't take me to such a place next time," I scolded, accepting his hand. His fingers curled possessively around mine as we pushed through the crowd.

The entire place gleamed with opulence—gold-leafed moldings, priceless artwork, and gemstone accents that caught the light at every turn. The air felt heavy with expensive perfume and unspoken threats.

Vin told me all I needed to know about the Romanov and their operations like any other mafia, especially those associated with them. 

 Our conversation was interrupted by a woman in a revealing red gown who approached us. Her crimson hair framed piercing blue eyes and skin so flawless it seemed artificial.

"You came, Vinny!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her painted lips against his cheek. "I thought you wouldn't after what went down between you two."

Her gaze slid toward me, assessing and dismissive in an instant. "And who is she?"

"None of your business," Vin replied, his voice like ice. "I'm here for Katarina."

She pouted theatrically. "Of course, you never read our messages unless my grandmother reaches out."

Releasing him, she stepped back. "She's waiting at her usual place at the annex up ahead."

My stomach twisted at the word "usual.

How frequently did Vin visit? How deep were his connections with them? If he had such access, why agree to marry into my family? Was this what Sandra meant about his connections?

Questions multiplied in my mind as he guided me through the mansion where we made several turns until we reached a heavy wooden door. Vin knocked firmly.

"Come in," a commanding female voice responded.

Vin pushed the door open, revealing several men in expensive suits occupied the perimeter, but my attention was drawn to the elderly woman occupying an ornate chair at the center. 

Her fingers, laden with rings, gripped the armrests like talons. Despite her age, her eyes were sharp and calculating.

"Welcome, Vin," she smiled, the expression not reaching her eyes. "Glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss it for anyone," he bowed slightly, leading me to the nearest seats.

"And this must be the Kingwicke daughter," she acknowledged, her gaze dissecting me. "The girl that took my grand niece's spot."

Grand niece?

“There was never a spot, matriarch."

"We will see about that," she replied.

We took our seats, about to begin the meeting when a disheveled man stumbled in, his face pale and sweating profusely, his breathing labored.

"Matriarch," he gasped between breaths, "It's Camilla."

Katarina's expression remained unnervingly calm. "What about my granddaughter?"

The man's voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "She was poisoned.” he whimpered “She's dead.”