Chapter Ten
The late afternoon sun painted the narrow streets of Little Italy in hues of amber and shadow as Evelyn hurried towards her apartment. Her mind was a whirlwind of coded notes and whispered rumors about Sandro's increasingly volatile behavior since Isabella's departure. The air in the neighborhood felt brittle, ready to snap.
Lost in thought, Evelyn didn't register the roar of the approaching truck until it was too late. It barreled around the corner, a metal beast hurtling towards her. There was a deafening horn blast, a split second of terror, and then impact.
The force of the collision sent Evelyn sprawling. Her head struck the unforgiving pavement with a sickening thud. A sharp, searing pain ripped through her skull, and a warm, sticky liquid began to seep into her hair, staining the gray stone crimson. The world tilted, the edges of her vision blurring into darkness as unconsciousness claimed her.
The screech of brakes and shouts of alarm pierced the sudden silence that followed the impact. A small crowd began to coalesce, their faces etched with shock and concern. The young driver of the truck stood frozen, his face ashen with horror.
Just as the chaotic scene began to solidify, a voice, low and commanding, cut through the rising murmur. "What in the hell is going on here?"
Through the receding fog of unconsciousness, Evelyn registered the deep, resonant tone. Alessandro Moretti. His presence was a palpable shift in the atmosphere, a wave of authority washing over the stunned onlookers. What was he doing on this quiet street, far from the usual centers of his influence?
Sandro pushed through the gathering crowd, his dark eyes blazing with an unreadable emotion. He surveyed the scene – the dented truck, the panicked driver, and then his gaze fell upon Evelyn, a still, bleeding figure on the ground.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He knelt beside her abruptly, his usual composed demeanor cracking with a raw intensity. He gently touched the back of her head, his fingers coming away stained with blood. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
"Someone call an ambulance, now!" His voice was a command, laced with an urgency that brooked no argument. He looked around at the stunned faces. "Move! Get an ambulance here immediately!"
As the sounds of sirens grew closer in the distance, Sandro remained kneeling beside Evelyn, his gaze fixed on her still form. He carefully cradled her head, his large hand surprisingly gentle against her bloodied hair. The usual hard lines of his face were softened by a look that might have been… fear? Concern? It was difficult to decipher.
The paramedics arrived in a flurry of activity, their voices sharp and professional as they assessed Evelyn's condition. Sandro watched them, his expression still unreadable, a powerful and enigmatic figure amidst the chaos.
As they carefully transferred Evelyn onto a stretcher, securing her neck and head, Sandro spoke, his voice low and rough, directed only at her unconscious form. "I'll see to it." It was a promise, a vow whispered into the chaotic air.
As Evelyn was loaded into the ambulance, the flashing lights reflecting in Sandro's dark eyes, the irony of the situation was stark. She had been trying to penetrate his world, to expose his darkness. Now, in her most vulnerable moment, he had unexpectedly arrived, a dark angel amidst the wreckage of her carefully laid plans. The accident, and Sandro's dramatic appearance, had plunged her deeper into the unknown, the line between investigator and victim blurring with every drop of blood on the cold asphalt.