And Who is Gonna Save You When I’m Gone? | Vlara
“…Are you alright?”
The last thing he’d remembered before it began, was grabbing the knife the last assailant had dropped and seeing the image of his shooter, a face he recognized immediately. The face of Angelo Morello.
Now he was on the ground, staring up at the sky.
The bullets had ripped through his chest, the first catching his stomach, the second his lung, the third his leg, the forth his shoulder, the fifth his chest once more.
Stumbling forward he tried hard to breathe, before the inevitable happened. Dropping to the ground, all the assassin could do was grasp for air and stare up at the sky, desperately fumbling his words together, knowing as he fought, he didn’t have long left. He’d known from the third shot, staring into the Morello’s eyes - he was not going to survive. Not again. Not this time.
A sick feeling rose in from the pit of Clara’s stomach to her throat as she watched him stumble after being punctured and penetrated with the 5 precise bullets, her lips parting to allow a sharp scream to slip out as she watched Vladimir fall down to the concrete that rested gently beneath her stilettos. As she knelt down beside him, her eyes scanned nervously from his face to where she’d seen the three consecutive entry wounds go, her heart racing within its cavity as tears slowly welled up within her brown orbs. They were deep but not deep enough to be exit holes, that was for sure and by the looks of it, he’d already lost a bit of blood but it didn’t look like it was enough to put an end to the kicker of a heart the Russian had inside of him. Her hand pressed lightly to one of them as it became covered with the thickness of the glossy crimson coloured texture as a tear rolled down her cheek silently and slowly. She couldn’t seem to speak, even if she wanted to, she was just trying to make all of the blood disappear and go away, it was impossible to accomplish but she was still giving it a shot. Slowly, her spare hand reached to her handbag as she shakily dialled 911, her eyes moving to Vlad’s as she slowly found some words to speak out to the Russian.
“Don’t move, okay? I’m going to call for help.”
“Help me up.” Vlad managed to utter. Attempting to lift his body with his arms pressed flat against the sidewalk.
She gave him one of her stern and serious looks as she pressed the phone to her ear and spoke to the women on the other end, explaining the situation in a hurried voice as her eyes lingered on the man laid out beside her.
Vlad began to laugh through laboured breaths. He was dying, of that he knew, but he wasn’t going to go lying down. The stern and serious look on her face had made him laugh. He didn’t know why. But it was so… them. Her bossing him around. He’d do anything for her, he’d do anything except the one thing she wanted and that was not to die. So he stopped struggling to stand, and did what she had told him to do.
But Vlad being Vlad, he cheated. Grabbing her phone and letting it fall he managed to take hold of her face with his hands. Pulling her close, he whispered:
“It’s no use. There’s no use. Forget it.”
Her head lowered and pressed against his as he told her there was no use, her heart sinking in her chest as she whimpered and let helpless, hot tears fall down her cheeks as her hands pressed to him. She couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t leave her. Who was going to protect her if not Vlad? He’d promise to always protect her but now he’d lost himself protecting her. There was almost a stabbing pain in her chest as she sobbed harder, her body trembling as she held him close.
“Please don’t die on me, Vlad. I need you. Please, please don’t go.”
Her voice, hoarse and breaking, begging him not to leave.
Vlad was using every bit of his strength to stay awake, to stay conscious, to stay with her as long as he could.
Slowly moving her hair away from her face, he pulled her a few inches closer, taking her lips, he kissed her deeply.
“I love you, Clara Moretti. If you love me you’ll let me go.”
He longed to tell her a thousand things, a thousand things not being enough to make her understand the ways in which he loved her. How much she had his heart. There was never enough time, he knew.
His thoughts rushed to his loved ones: Vanya, Max, Lara, Vik. His little girl, his Lilly Mae. He’d miss it all. A tear formed, one he could not hold back.
The Dmitriev’s were a strong breed, and all of his loved ones would survive this, he knew. Even that little girl. He was okay with death, he had made his peace with it. It had not been that long ago that Alek had prepared him. If it was selfish to revel in the release of death he was going to allow himself that pleasure.
It wouldn’t hurt anymore. He couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.
Clara then lost all control of her emotions and her thoughts, letting them spiral out of control as she watched and witnessed the man she loved slowly pass away right before her eyes.
And as he let himself go, he only hoped, that she’d remember that one night. The night he’d shown her everything he could not say. The night she’d told him she’d forgotten.