Dominick drank several gulps under Lizet's watchful gaze.
"Why are you drinking so much?" she asked, sipping a little from her martini.
"Because I want to forget," he replied, without looking at her, his eyes fixed on the bottle.
"Looks like you did something really bad if you're like this…"
"Something terrible." He dropped his head into his hands. "The worst thing a man can do to a woman. And I don't know what to do so she'll forgive me."
"Well, quitting drinking and looking for her would be a start, don't you think?" she said. He lifted his head.
"The second one I already did, but it was useless. She left because she hates me—and for good reason," he spat, grabbing the bottle again.
"And you're just going to sit here drinking, doing nothing? You give up that easily? Sorry to interfere, but it seems pretty cowardly of you," she said, speaking her mind. Dom narrowed his eyes at her. She was a complete stranger, and yet she was already questioning him. "And men dare to say women are the weaker sex," she muttered.
"Everyone tells me the same thing, like it's that easy." He scoffed. "I'm doing everything I can—everything. I already hired private investigators, went to her house, asked her best friend, and nothing. Nobody tells me anything. And still you think I'm not doing enough? To hell with all of you, I'm getting sick of this."
The woman shook her head and stood up. She asked for the check, and before leaving, she said:
"If you're truly sorry for whatever it is you did, you'll never stop until you find her and ask for forgiveness. If not, then you'll just look for excuses to give up. Have a good night, Dominick."
Dom watched her leave and mulled over her words. She was right. He shouldn't be complaining or thinking nonsense—he needed to act. He put down the bottle and rose from his seat.
He left the bar in search of a taxi. He was about to take out his phone, but suddenly some men appeared and snatched it away. One of them didn't even give him time to react before punching him in the stomach.
Dominick tried to recover as fast as the alcohol allowed, and he managed to land a punch on one man's jaw. Unfortunately for him, they outnumbered him.
Blows rained down on him from every direction, leaving him no chance to defend himself. Dom collapsed to the ground, where they kicked him mercilessly. The pain was unbearable, and the injuries he already carried from nearly two days earlier only made things worse. His weakened condition gave him no chance.
Almost unconscious, the beating stopped. The men were wearing ski masks.
"You shouldn't meddle where you're not wanted, rich boy," one of them sneered, pulling out a gun. "It was nice knowing you. Let this be a lesson—you can't play games with everyone."
Dom knew what was coming. Every nerve in his body anticipated it, and for a moment, he even welcomed it. The man pulled the trigger and fired twice. Dominick groaned in agony as he felt his blood spill out.
The attackers fled immediately.
He couldn't move. Coldness spread through his body, every inch battered, and those two bullets were just the final touch.
Dominick's eyes began to close. He let himself drift away, finally feeling a shred of peace… the very thing he had been seeking.
[...]
"Everything you're telling me is… My God!" Maximiliano fell back against the chair. "Simply unbelievable. Have you heard anything since?"
"No." Marcus sighed in defeat.
He had told him everything that had happened in Las Vegas, from the moment of his arrival until he returned a few days ago—leaving out the details he didn't consider important.
"I hope you find that girl, truly."
"Thanks." The blond-haired man smiled faintly. "I want to talk about Dominick."
Maxi tensed.
The break in their friendship still hurt, but he didn't feel it was the time to turn back. Dominick had taken things too far, and despite Marcus's repeated advice, he simply never listened.
"Marcus, I don't think this is the moment."
"I know what he did, and it was awful. I don't excuse him. I already confronted him. But I won't turn my back on him—he's not doing well. Do you know how he left the room? He was close to falling into a coma or choking on his own vomit and dying," he explained.
"No, I didn't know," Maximiliano muttered, tightening his grip on the pen in his hand as he looked away.
"Dominick isn't well. He has a serious drinking problem and refuses to admit it. He's not eating properly, and while he was already in bad shape because of his ex-fiancée, now with this new mess he's going to end up completely wrecked. We're his friends, and even if we don't agree with what he does, we have to support him and pull him out of the hole he's digging for himself."
Maximiliano glanced at Marcus. Even though he didn't want to admit it, he knew Marcus was right. After all, they had always been friends—there for each other in the hardest of times. It was complicated; he felt torn, caught between his principles and the bond he shared with Dom.
Marcus's phone suddenly rang, and his brow furrowed.
"Hello?" He jumped to his feet, making Maxi frown. After listening to the voice on the other end, his expression grew tense. "I'm on my way."
"Something happened?" Maxi asked quickly.
"It's Dominick." He slipped his phone back into his pocket. "They just called me from the hospital. He's been shot outside a bar."
Maximiliano shot up too, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets from the shock.
"Let's go. I'm coming with you."
Both rushed out of the office toward the elevator. Reaching the lobby, they wasted no time getting into Marcus's car, where the brunet immediately sped off.
When they arrived at the hospital, Marcus stormed inside.
"Miss, Dominick Jackson—where is he?" Marcus demanded anxiously.
Maximiliano hovered just behind him, pale and silent. He didn't even want to think about the possibility that Dominick might die. Things hadn't been good between them, but he couldn't stand the idea of losing him without a chance to talk things through.
"Mr. Jackson, fourth floor," the receptionist informed them. "Ask the doctor—he'll give you all the information you need."
Marcus nodded and, with a distraught Maximiliano by his side, hurried into the elevator. As soon as the doors slid open, they rushed out and spotted a doctor speaking to a nurse.
"Dominick Jackson—how is he, Doctor?" Marcus cut in.
The man turned, dismissed the nurse, and answered:
"We're preparing him for surgery to remove the bullets. One hit his abdomen and grazed his liver; another lodged in the right side of his chest. He's also badly beaten, with injuries of varying severity—two broken ribs among them. He's in critical condition, but we'll do everything we can to save him."
"You have to save him! He can't die without talking to me first!" Maximiliano burst out, nearly lunging at the doctor before Marcus held him back.
"Sir, please calm down. This is a hospital. We're already doing everything possible—there's nothing more to add." With that, the doctor turned and stepped into the elevator.
"Maximiliano, get a grip," Marcus urged. He was rattled too, but he knew he had to keep it together.
"It's all that idiot's fault!" Maxi paced in circles, fuming. "What the hell was he even doing there? He must've picked a fight."
"This isn't the time to blame anyone. We need to be ready for when he wakes up. Come on, let's sit down."
Maximiliano exhaled, trying to steady himself. He had never handled hospitals well, not since the day his brother nearly died after falling from a tree. That trauma still haunted him.
Moments later, nurses wheeled Dominick out of the room. He was sedated, hooked up to oxygen.
The two friends jumped to their feet to get a closer look. Dominick's face, arms, and even chest were bruised and bloodied.
"You'll be fine. You'll see," Marcus reassured.
"Yeah, bad weeds never die," Maxi muttered as the nurses pushed him into the elevator.
They sat back down.
"Everything will turn out okay," Marcus tried to reassure him.
Maxi leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. He turned slightly, his voice muffled.
"I hope so…"
Minutes dragged into hours. Every second without news was agony. Marcus eventually returned from the cafeteria with two coffees, handing one to Maxi.
"Thanks."
Marcus nodded.
Almost four hours and a half later, the doctor emerged with a few colleagues. Both men shot to their feet immediately.
"Doctor, how did the surgery go?" Marcus asked.
"Mr. Jackson pulled through. We managed to stop the internal bleeding and successfully removed the bullets. He's now in intensive care. If his condition improves by tomorrow, we'll move him to a regular room. For now, he can't have visitors. Once he wakes up, the police will be speaking with him."
Marcus nodded, though the mention of the police stirred unpleasant memories—Las Vegas was still an unresolved issue, and this could complicate things further.
"The police?" Maximiliano spoke for the first time in a while, his voice sharp. "Do they know anything?"
The doctor shook his head.
"A woman was the one who called the ambulance. She said she'd return tomorrow to check on him. We were able to contact you because Mr. Jackson already had a file here, and your number was listed."
The doctor excused himself and walked away.
"A woman?" Marcus frowned, glancing at Maxi, who mirrored his expression. "Does Dominick even have female friends?"
"If you count the women he sleeps with as friends, then yes. He's got plenty," Maximiliano scoffed, letting out a short laugh—the first since they had left the hotel.
"God knows who that woman is. The only thing we can do is thank her—if it hadn't been for her, instead of waiting here, we might be planning Dominick's funeral," he stated, tilting his head. "This is no time for pessimism. How about we leave and come back tomorrow? You heard the doctor, there won't be any visits."
"You're right."
Both men left the hospital and got into the car…
[...]
Early in the morning, they were back at the hospital, searching for the doctor who had treated their friend.
"Doctor," Maximiliano called.
The man turned around.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he greeted, handing some papers to a nurse. "I see you came early. Your friend woke up much better; he's a strong man. His blood tests showed traces of alcohol. They weren't very high, but his records say he was admitted a few days ago for intoxication."
"Yes, our friend has a little problem with alcohol," Marcus muttered.
"Little?" the man raised his eyebrows. "I'd say it's quite severe. When he's discharged, tell him to at least stay away from drinking for a while. His liver is still weak from the surgery, and drowning it in alcohol won't help. Ah, the young lady who came yesterday is here, outside your friend's room."
Maximiliano and Marcus exchanged glances. The doctor led them to Dominick's room, confirming what he had said.
A stunning woman stood talking to a nurse. She wore office attire and had her dark hair tied up in a bun.
"Miss Collins, these men are friends of Mr. Jackson," the doctor informed, interrupting the woman. She dismissed the nurse and turned fully toward her new company. "I'll leave you alone."
He left.
"Are you a friend of Dominick's?" Marcus asked.
"No, I met him last night at the bar. Nice to meet you, Lizet Collins," she introduced herself.
"Marcus Rusakov, and Maximiliano Anderson," the blondish man shook her hand.
She extended hers to Maxi, who accepted immediately.
"Do you have a brother?" she asked. "Because a few months ago I met a man who looks quite a lot like you."
"Jacob Anderson, that's my brother's name. He lives in San Diego," he replied.
"Oh! What a small world. I recently did business with him—very charming man, your brother," she smiled.
Maximiliano narrowed his eyes, knowing his brother was a first-class flirt. Still, she was right—he was a man far too friendly and cheerful.
"I see…" he murmured.
"How did you find Dominick?" Marc wanted to know.
"I left him at the bar and went upstairs to the owner's office to handle some paperwork. When I decided to leave, I found him on the floor, unconscious. His pulse was weak, so I called an ambulance," she explained briefly.
"Thank you very much for what you did," Marcus muttered.
The young woman shook her head.
"It was nothing. But now I have to go," she announced. She said goodbye to them and walked down the hallway.
"Do you think she slept with my brother?" Maxi asked suddenly, still watching the direction she had left.
"Obviously yes," Marc replied, looking at him. "Now, we have to figure out how to convince Dominick not to drink for a while while he recovers."
"Well, it's more likely I'd turn gay before getting Dominick to give up something he enjoys as much as drinking."
"It's not that he enjoys it anymore. What he has now is a vice—an addiction to alcohol…"