Twisted Ties of Love (Izabella Salotti and Brett) novel Chapter 581

At that moment, Casey Dempsey was beyond reach, his hand clamped around the kid's neck like a vice, ready to snap with the slightest pressure.

No one dared to intervene, as Casey's intimidating presence cemented their feet to the floor. A hush fell over the restroom.

The medical team rushed in, and Bunny Dempsey, Casey's sister, yelled, "Casey, don’t do anything stupid! The doctors are on their way. Bella’s gonna be okay. You need to be there for her, not with blood on your hands. How can you stand by her side then?"

Casey's rage began to subside, but his mind was a chaotic mess. He couldn't shake the image of Izabella Salotti lying on the ground, pale and bleeding out.

Izabella, aware of the turmoil, tried to dissuade Casey from his reckless path, but she was too weak, her abdomen wracked with pain as if her spine was shattering, vertebra by vertebra. She tried to speak, “Casey…”

Her voice was barely audible, lost in the commotion.

But Casey, still gripping the kid's neck, stiffened. His shoulders sagged, his grip loosened. Izabella's faint call had calmed the storm in him, and he turned back, his eyes still bloodshot with fury.

He dropped the kid and rushed to Izabella, lifting her into his arms. His hands, his arms, all were smeared with her sticky blood, making him wince. His eyes threatened to overflow with blood of their own.

The woman clutched her child, knowing better than to speak out of turn now. Confronted with someone more ferocious than herself, any attempt to shift blame could spell her doom.

Casey carried Izabella out to meet the stretcher that awaited just beyond the restroom doors. His hands trembled as he gently laid her down.

Izabella was drenched in blood, looking as if she'd been fished from a pool of it. Casey tried to speak words of comfort, but couldn't even reassure himself, let alone her. Her white dress was stained red, her pallor ghostly under the harsh hallway lights.

With shaking hands, he reached out to wipe her face, but his blood-soaked fingers only smeared more crimson across her skin. He held his hands in midair, frozen.

Fear like none he'd ever known gripped him. He cursed himself. If he'd known the pain it would cause Izabella, he would have never let this happen.

He thought of the eight months she'd carried their child, of her collapsed on the ground, bloodied.

Stumbling after her stretcher, Casey nearly fell. Izabella's eyes were half-closed, her face deathly white, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Bella, please... you have to make it," he pleaded.

Weakly breathing, her eyes held a desolate plea. "If I don't make it... take care of our babies. Don't be like... don't let them be unloved... promise me," she gasped, tears choking her words.

As Izabella was rushed into the emergency room, Casey was left outside, slumped against the wall, his body covered in blood. The blood on his hands had dried, clumping in the creases of his skin.

When Izabella was finally wheeled out of surgery, Casey, numb and unsteady, followed her into the room. His palms were slick with cold sweat, his fists unable to clench, his hands still unwashed from the blood.

He knelt by her bed, his hands now cleansed, and wept openly.

For their children, Izabella had nearly lost her life—and nearly cost Casey his own.

Grasping her hand to his forehead, he whispered, "I can't lose you. If you go, I'll follow. For the sake of our kids, for my sake, don't let go."

Izabella awoke the next day to find Casey by her side, his stubble bristly and hands itchy from holding hers all night.

Izabella's consciousness flickered like a faulty streetlamp, her abdomen gripped by a pain so sharp and raw it clawed its way through her senses. She gasped and moaned, trying to ride the waves of agony as Casey, with urgent concern etched on his face, called for help and fetched some painkillers.

After Izabella swallowed the pills, it took a while before the murky darkness receded from her vision, allowing her to lock eyes with Casey's haggard face.

The man before her watched over her with a gaze heavy with worry, his eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles, the lids red and swollen from shedding tears.

Casey had always been a bit obsessive about cleanliness, a trait etched into him since his days at the orphanage. Even then, he was the fool who kept his surroundings impeccably tidy. His white shirts, though washed to the point of fading, never bore a single stain.