Elsa
I am screaming.
They are dragging me away from him and I can’t stop screaming. I claw and dive, struggling as hard as I can to get back to him, my entire world laying there on the ground, his blood seeping out onto the cement.
No, this isn’t happening. They can’t take him from me.
“Marcello!” I cry. And cry and cry, his name a refrain on my lips, my only thought to be with him. “No, please! I have to be there!”
They don’t listen. Three soldiers pack me into the Range Rover and shout at me to stay low. I am hysterical, crying and shaking. Gabrielle is with Marcello, pressing on his side, and my man-oh, God. His eyes are closed and he is as pale as death. No, please. Don’t take him from me.
Gabrielle begins giving orders and they lift Marcello up quickly, carrying him to my car. I move over, making as much room as possible. Mattia jumps behind the wheel, another soldier in the passenger seat, as the men put Marcello into the back seat with me. I grab under his shoulders and pull with all my might to help get him into the car, settling his head on my lap, and Gabrielle climbs into the back, too.
“Vai, vai!” Gabrielle punches the back of the driver’s seat as if to hurry Mattia.
The car speeds off, but I can’t pay attention to anything but my man’s face. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I can barely breathe through my sobs. He can not die. Not here, not now.
I stroked my man’s forehead and hold him. He is so still, his chest barely moving. His olive skin is dull, like someone has unplugged the light inside him. “Marcello,” I whisper. “You can’t leave me.”
“Elsa,” Gabrielle barks. “I need your help.”
I suck in a deep breath. “Tell me what to do.”
“I need you to keep pressure on his wound while I work.”
I gently lay Marcello’s head on the seat and join Gabrielle in the footwell. I reach for Marcello’s middle and put my hands on the bloody towels covering the wound. There is so much blood. Marcello’s blood. It seeps through the fabric and onto my hands. My arms shake as I press, hoping I can stem the flow of red.
“Just keep firm, even pressure on him, Elsa. I won’t know what we’re dealing with until I see the wound.” Gabrielle says as he pulls a case from under the front seat.
Marcello groans and I start to ease off. “Ignore him,” Gabrielle snaps. “It’s better that he lives. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
Oh, Jesus. I don’t move, just kept pressing down on the bloody towels. Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die. It is a mantra in my head, a prayer of desperation in my darkest hour.
Now wearing surgical gloves, Gabrielle flicks open a knife. “Here, let me in there.”
When I back away, Gabrielle shoves aside the bloody cloth then quickly cuts through Marcello’s vest and shirt, exposing the wound. Blood runs in rivers out of his body, and I cover my mouth, trying not to howl in terror.
Gabrielle isn’t phased, his expression calm. He douses Marcello with water from the kit and pushes a plastic tube filled with white stuff into Marcello’s wound. Then he pushes down on a plunger and forces whatever is in the tube into Marcello.
I can see the white stuff instantly expand, the blood slowing.
“What was all that?”
“Saline to clean the area and special sponges. They expand to pack the wound and stop the bleeding.”
“How do you know about this stuff?”
He goes back to the case. “I was a medic in the army.”
I feel a burst of hope. Thank God Gabrielle was here. “Now what?”
He takes out a large plastic pack, rips it open, and places a bandage over Marcello’s abdomen. It has a large pad and what looks like a strange plastic handle attached. “We need to wrap his middle with this. I’m going to lift him a bit. Hold this pad and push the other end of the bandage under him.”
Gabrielle slides his arms under Marcello and lifts, and I quickly does what he has described.
“Now bring the bandage up, twist it once and slide it through the plastic cleat.”
Looking closely, I realize that what I have been thinking is a handle has a small gap and I am able to pass the bandage through it.
“Now, go the other way now. Pull firmly, not too hard, in the opposite direction. Kind of like you’re cinching up a belt.”
I understand and pull toward me and push the bandage under from the front.
“Good, keep going. This is a compression bandage. It will maintain pressure. Wrap it around as many times as you can.”
When I finish, Gabrielle rests Marcello back on the seat and takes the end of the bandage from my bloody hands. He tucks two small hooks under the wrapped edges of the bandage. “That will hold it in place. You did well, Elsa. Now the hospital must do the rest. How long?” he shouts up front.
“Five minutes,” Mattia says.
Oh, God. Is that close enough? Does Marcello have that long? Tears streaming once again, I grab Marcello’s hand, squeezing hard, trying to give him strength through my fingers.
Mattia drives wildly, cutting through traffic, while the other soldier talks on the phone, barking at someone. When he hangs up, he says, “The hospital is ready for him.”
That makes me cry harder. People die in hospitals.
“Get Antonio there, too,” Gabrielle snaps. “He’ll assess the surgical staff and whether we need to fly anyone in from Rome.”
To work on Marcello. Oh, God.
“Elsa, be strong.” Gabrielle’s voice is quiet and reassuring. “He needs your fire right now. Your spirit, not your tears.”
I nod. Gabrielle is right. I can’t fall apart.
“I cannot lose him,” I whisper. My God, we have just reunited after my kidnap and I still haven’t told him how much I love him. I have been so shallow staying mad at him for what he said when I had been kidnapped. He worked so hard to save me and probably lost some of his soldiers to get me back. I am so stupid.
“You won’t. He’s tough. This is the fifth time someone has attempted to kill him. He’ll survive.”
I stare at the red coating my hands, the blood all around us. It has stained the front of my dress, the leather seats. There is so much of it. Why had I insisted on coming today? This is why he is so secretive, why he wants to stay close to the estate. But he relented because I had insisted that he meets up with Zio. Had stopped to buy me gelato because I hadn’t eaten lunch. How could I have been so selfish as to demand this trip? Marcello must have been holding off this meeting for an understandable reason. We didn’t have to rush it. We could have waited for a better time than three days after my kidnap.
My chest splinters, so full of anguish and guilt that I can barely breathe. I will never recover if something happens to him. I want to fuck in the all imaginable places with him, take showers together, live with him forever in his hoise just like he had commanded. I need a lifetime of memories with him.
I need more time.
Please don’t take him from me.