Chapter 125: I’m glad you’re alive.

Lysander’s POV

I sigh, watching Hakeem pull the car away with Nerissa inside.

I hate sending her away, especially after what just happened, but I need to focus on this incident. And the only way I can do that without constantly worrying about whether my wife is safe is to know she’s somewhere far from the wreckage.

Preferably somewhere I can control, so the hospital will have to do.

I drag a hand down my face, staring at the remains of Victoria’s shop.

The front of the building is a fucking mess. Paramedics move between the injured, firefighters shout instructions, and my men are scattered around the scene, questioning witnesses and keeping the police from getting too curious about things that have nothing to do with them.

We nearly died.

Not figuratively. We were seconds away from being crushed beneath a burning vehicle.

And someone made sure that vehicle came straight for us.

Someone claps my shoulder.

I wince so hard that a curse escapes my mouth.

I turn, already prepared to break someone’s fingers, only to find Jeremiah standing behind me.

His eyes drop to my injured arm.

"You haven’t gotten that bullet wound treated, have you?"

I stare at him.

"How the hell did you get here so fast?"

"Fernando reached out to me."

How did Fernando know where I was? I stop connecting the dots halfway through the thought.

"He followed me here, didn’t he?"

Jeremiah gives me a look that suggests I’m the biggest idiot he’s encountered all week.

"Well, someone needed to make sure you didn’t faint or something after getting shot in the arm and refusing treatment." He pauses, looking far too pleased with himself. "I sent him after you, by the way."

I close my eyes.

Of course he did.

Between Fernando’s loyalty and Jeremiah’s irritating habit of treating me like I’m incapable of taking care of myself, I sometimes wonder how I’ve managed to become Don without strangling either of them.

"Get a paramedic," I mutter. "I’ll treat the damn arm. Something tells me I’ll need both hands functioning properly tonight."

Jeremiah’s expression changes. The teasing fades, replaced by the sharp, calculating look that has made him an effective Consigliere.

"Fernando says the car was coming directly at you?"

"Yes."

"And you think it was intentional?"

I look at the wreckage.

The vehicle mounted the pavement without slowing down. It didn’t swerve to avoid pedestrians. It didn’t even attempt to correct its course.

It came straight for us.

"Either this was meant for me, or my wife."

The words taste unpleasant in my mouth.

If the target was me, then the person responsible has made a mistake. A very serious one.....if the target was Nerissa, however, this becomes an entirely different problem.

Deliberately driving a burning car into a crowded shop?

That isn’t just a warning, it’s an execution attempt.

"I’ll go get the medics," Jeremiah says.

Before I can respond, he pulls me into a quick hug.

I go rigid.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Making sure you’re alive."

"I’m standing right here."

"Yes, and I’d like to keep it that way."

His arms tighten briefly before he releases me.

"I’m glad you’re unharmed, brother."

I look at him, at my bloodied sleeve, then back at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Me too."

He nods, his expression softening for approximately two seconds. Then he gives my injured shoulder a hard pat.

Pain shoots down my arm.

"You fucking fuck!"

Jeremiah bursts out laughing as he steps away.

"You should have treated that."

"Get the fuck away from me before I use your head to put out the remaining fire."

He only laughs harder.

I watch him walk away, wondering how a man can be so concerned about my survival and so determined to hasten my death at the same time.

Minutes later, he returns with a paramedic.

The man looks young. Too young, in my opinion.

He comes to stand beside me and begins examining the wound.

"How did you get this?"

"That’s none of your goddamn business. Treat the wound and leave."

He hesitates.

I raise my eyebrows.

"Do you need me to repeat myself?"

"No, sir."

Good.

He gets to work.

The bullet is lodged deep enough to require careful extraction, and every movement sends a sharp pulse of pain through my shoulder. I keep my jaw clenched and my eyes fixed on the scene in front of me.

I have endured worse. The bullet that Nerissa put into this same shoulder is proof of that.

A rather inconvenient reminder, too.

The paramedic finally removes the bullet, cleans the wound, and wraps my shoulder.

"Try not to strain the arm," he advises. "You need proper medical attention as soon as possible."

"Anything else?"

He looks at me.

"No, sir."

"Wonderful. Leave."

He packs his equipment and practically flees.

Jeremiah watches him go with an expression of deep disappointment.

"Did you have to scare him away?"

I sigh and choose to ignore him. It’s a decision I make frequently around my brother. It’s also one of the few decisions that preserve my sanity.

Before Jeremiah can annoy me again, Fernando approaches.

His face is grim.

That alone is enough to put me on edge.

"There’s a body in the car," he says. "It’s very badly burned, but our team is working on figuring out who it is."

I had seen the flames. Smelled the charred flesh. Heard the screams but hearing it confirmed makes something cold settle in my stomach.

Someone was inside that vehicle when it exploded.

Whether they were the person responsible or merely another disposable piece in someone else’s game remains to be seen.

"I need those results like yesterday," I tell him. "Tell them to speed it up."

"Understood."

Fernando turns away, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Fernando."

He stops.

"Check the vehicle. I want the make, the registration, the ownership history, and every possible connection to the people who have tried to kill me in the past six months. I want surveillance footage from every street leading here. Shops, traffic cameras, private residences. I don’t care if you have to search half the city."