The gunshot ripped through the night.
It came from behind Alfonso.
One of his own men fired blindly toward the helicopter, panic finally overwhelming discipline.
Everything shattered.
The helicopter surged upward, rotors screaming. Shouts erupted. Weapons clattered against the ground as control collapsed completely. Alfonso turned instinctively toward the noise.
Eliana moved.
She tore free with a cry she barely recognized as her own.
The ground slammed into her before she could brace, pain exploding through her shoulder, the breath crushed from her lungs in a violent rush. She gasped, choking, dirt filling her mouth as she curled inward, arms instinctively wrapping around her head, trying to disappear.
Footsteps thundered.
She flinched, heart lurching, bracing for impact.
Then hands were on her.
Strong.
Steady.
Real.
"Nicky," she sobbed, the sound tearing out of her before she could stop it, ugly and broken and full of everything she had been holding back.
