Luciano leaned over her, his expression tight, his jaw rigid. Isla's body was still. Too still. Her chest wasn't rising. Her lips were pale. No breath. No sound. Nothing.
"Don't die on me now," he muttered under his breath, a sharp edge in his voice. He moved quickly, tilting her head back and pressing his mouth against hers to give her a breath. He drew back, eyes searching her face—still no response. He pressed the heel of his hand to her chest and began compressions. One. Two. Three. Four.
He repeated the cycle again. A breath. More compressions. Again.
Then—her body jerked.
A rough, choking gasp tore from her throat as water burst from her mouth. Her head turned to the side as she coughed violently, her lungs finally forcing air out. Luciano stayed close, watching her eyes flutter open for a brief second before her body slumped back against the bed.
He took a deep breath, steadying his hands.
She was alive.
