Chapter 19: Left to Bleed

Vincent raised the pistol with an old man's steadiness, and he aimed it at my face.

The whole ballroom screamed.

"Say hello to your mother," he said.

I did not move.

I could not have moved, with the plate on my chest and my hand locked in my husband's.

Then Gabriel's hand tore out of mine.

He stepped in front of me, in his tuxedo, with both arms spread.

"Dad, no," he said.

"Get out of the way, son."

"No."

"I'm telling you to get out of the way."

"I know," said Gabriel. "I've been listening to you tell me things my whole life. I'm done."

The shot was very loud.

Gabriel jerked back against me.

He looked down at his white shirt, where a dark stain was opening below the collarbone.

"Oh," he said, in a small, surprised voice.

His knees went, and I caught him.

We went down together onto the stage, the green silk spreading under us.

Nobody ran this time.

Franco came over the front of the stage in a white waiter's jacket.

He hit Vincent's gun arm with his whole body.

The pistol skidded across the boards.

Six more waiters came after him.

Vincent went down under four of them, shouting, his silver hair full of dust.

I did not watch.

I was on my knees with both hands pressed against my husband's chest, and the blood came through my fingers, warm.

I had felt this before.

"Nina," Gabriel said. He was gray. "I can't feel my arm."

"Don't talk."

"You're not hurt?"

"I'm wearing a plate. I'm fine."

"Good." He shut his eyes. "That's good. I did one thing."

"Open your eyes."

He opened them.

"You stepped over me," I said, shaking. "In front of four million people."

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