"I found epinephrine and atropine," she said, her hands shaking as she snapped the neck of the glass vial. "If I inject this straight into your thigh, it’s going to shock your heart into gear. It’s going to hurt, Mr. Falcone. And you can't scream."
She hoisted the heavy white satin shroud away from his leg. Without hesitation, she drove the needle deep into the thick muscle of his right thigh and depressed the plunger.
For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened.
Then, a bolt of pure, white-hot fire exploded through Liam’s nervous system.
His lungs expanded like dry leather bursting open. Air rushed into his windpipe with a violent, gasping heave. His eyes flew open, bloodshot and terrifying, staring directly into the ceiling of the casket.
"Shh!" Luna gasped, slamming her hand gently over his mouth, her tears splashing onto his cheeks. "Quiet! Please, Mr. Falcone, keep quiet!"
Liam gripped the sides of the casket, his knuckles turning raw as his fingers sank into the wood and satin. The paralysis didn't vanish instantly; it tore away like burning skin, leaving his muscles shaking, his heart hammering like a trapped war drum in his chest.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
He pulled her hand down from his face, his breathing coming in ragged, silent gasps. His voice was a gravelly, broken whisper, dry as desert sand.
"Luna..." he choked out.
"Yes, Mr. Falcone," she sobbed softly.
Liam forced his arms to lift, pushing himself up into a sitting position inside his own coffin. The room spun wildly; his vision blurred, but his gaze settled on the terrified girl kneeling beside him.
"You... saved my life," he rasped, reaching out with a trembling, icy hand to touch her shoulder.
"They killed Tommy," she whispered, her eyes burning with a fierce, desperate light. "I don't care about your money or your empire, Mr. Falcone. I want the men who murdered my baby’s father to burn."