Let's jump right in...

BPOV

Hold your arm steady.

Finger on the trigger only when you're ready to shoot.

Line up your sights to hit center mass.

My father's words echo in my head as the world fades into the background.

It's just me and my adversary, both of us staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

Edward will bleed out if I don't act fast, his pale face an indicator that I don't have much time.

My finger moves to the trigger of Edward's Smith and Wesson, mirroring the action of my opponent.

Three

Two

Pull.

A slight moment of hesitation acts as his demise. Maybe he was reluctant to kill a woman. Maybe he thought I wouldn't pull the trigger. Either way, our standoff ends as my bullet hits him between the eyes, and his head snaps back, blood misting onto the stage behind him. His body slumps to the floor, his weapon falling and clattering on the wooden stage.

"Bella?" Edward rasps. "Holy fuck! Bella, how…"

I kneel at his side, placing his gun gently on the floor. "Edward. Oh, God." His white shirt is stained crimson. I need to get pressure on the wound, but in my skimpy costume, I have nothing I can use to press against him. "Lie down," I instruct as he fights to keep his eyes open.

I press my palm to his shoulder as he lowers himself to the stage. He's breathing heavily, and I wonder if the bullet that hit him nicked an artery; there's so much blood.

Someone arrives from the stairs across the stage and rushes over, ignoring the dead body and joining me at Edward's side. "Fuck, man. You've got to hold on." It's Emmett. He rips off his shirt and nudges my hand away so he can use the fabric to stop the bleeding. "What happened?"

"I missed," Edward wheezes. No longer fighting to keep his eyes open, he lies still, face twisted in agony. "Bella shot Vladimir."

Emmett's head snaps up, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Holy shit, Bella. You've got crazy good aim," he says, retrieving Edward's discarded weapon and placing it in his waistband.

"Years of practice," I mutter, earning a raised brow. I don't elaborate; it's not the time. "We've got to get him help."

"Police and paramedics arrived about sixty seconds ago. I told Jasper there were gunshots fired, so they should be here soon."

"No cops," Edward wheezes, weakly gripping Emmett's arm.

"Bro, we don't have a choice," Emmett says. "We'll clean up the mess tomorrow, tonight you need help."

The audience doors of the theater slam open, and shouts of "Police" and "Drop your weapons" echo through the empty space.

Emmett's eyes flick toward his brother. "Edward, do you have anything unregistered on you?"

Edward's head moves slightly from side to side, indicating that whatever weapons he has on his person are legally owned. I shiver, wondering what the Cullen brothers have stashed away that the black market provided them.

"Over here," Emmett calls to the cops, dropping his weapons to the floor. "In the wings, my brother's been shot."

Moments later, two men in uniform appear and take control of the scene. One pulls me to my feet before retrieving the discarded guns as the other radios for medical help.

I step away, my vision blurring as I disconnect from reality. A man is dead on my left, a man that I killed, and in front of me, Edward fights for his life.

Once paramedics arrive, the questions begin. Who am I? What's my relation to the two men that were shot? Did I see what happened? I choke out answers, unsure how much to tell them, so I mumble that I think I'm in shock instead of recapping the events. The man questioning me hands me off to a female officer who leads me by the shoulders toward the stairs. My eyes don't leave Edward as he's placed on a stretcher and given oxygen.

"Is he your man?" The officer asks when she catches me as I stumble. All I can do is nod in response. "He's going to be okay. But you've got to be strong for him." Her assurance gives me a sliver of hope, which I hang onto as she leads me through the back halls to ambulances waiting at the employee entrance. I notice blood stains at the bottom of the stairwell, but whoever was injured is long gone.

In the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket but unable to stop shivering, I finally break down. Tears fall from my eyes as sobs wrack my frame.

I took a life, but despite the panic coursing through me as I work to accept that reality, I know I would do it again if it meant saving Edward.

oOo

I look stupid still in my silver sequin costume, face full of makeup, and strappy dance heels, but I couldn't care less. The paramedics let me keep the blanket they gave me, so at least I'm not sitting in the stark hospital waiting room completely exposed. Emmett sits to my right, and Angela to my left. Apparently, the battle between the Romano organization and the Russian mob didn't start at La Bellissima, and Ben got hit in the first half of the fight.

A beautiful woman across the room with caramel-colored hair and the same emerald eyes as Edward clings to the arm of a handsome older man with salt and peppered hair and Edward's rugged charm. I haven't spoken to either, but with the sympathetic smiles they've sent my way, I have a feeling they know who I am.

My gaze tracks a restless man with dirty blond hair and glasses who paces by the doorway. His phone constantly rings as he has hushed conversations about social media posts and reporters. Tension rolls off him, making my stomach swoop with nerves.

"How long does it take to get a bullet out of a shoulder?" Emmett huffs, his oversized frame sinking into the hard plastic chair.

The man on the phone, who I've learned is named Jasper, ends his call and shakes his head. "They also have to repair any damage and close the wound, Emmett."

Emmett grumbles, crossing his arms and staring intently at the polished floor.

After a few minutes of stifling silence, there's finally motion at the double doors leading to the operating room. A man in blue scrubs, with a surgical mask hanging from his neck and a cloth covering his hair, says something to a nearby nurse before walking our way. The whole room shifts, all of us straightening and sitting at the edge of our seats.

The surgeon scans the room, his dark eyes searching each anxious face before he says, "Do I have anyone here with Mr. Cheney?"

"That's me." Angela stands, the bottom of her midnight blue costume peeking from under a zipped hoodie. She was fortunate enough to find a cover-up and sneakers in her car. I grip one of her hands in solidarity, squeezing tight.

Smiling, the surgeon steps over and introduces himself as Dr. Varner. "The surgery was successful," he says as Angela exhales in relief. "No complications. The bullet passed through the muscle. He will need some physical therapy but should eventually regain full use of his leg."

"Oh, thank God." Angela flops down to her chair, smiling wide and fighting away tears.

"Dr. Varner?" the man I identified as Edward's father stops the surgeon before he turns to leave. "Is there any word about my son? Edward Cullen."

"All I know is that they're still in the operating room." Dr. Varner scans the rest of us with an apologetic look. "He has an excellent team working on him."

Carlisle Cullen nods and shakes the doctor's hand before returning to his wife.

"Good thoughts only," Angela whispers. "He's going to pull through."

I squeeze her hand and lean back, resigned to waiting for more news.

An hour later, as my head begins to dip to my chest and my eyes close, begging me to sleep, there's more movement near the O.R. entrance.

"Someone's coming," Emmett mutters, sitting straighter and elbowing my side. I rub my eyes and blink, trying to focus on a female in matching attire to Dr. Varner as she heads toward us.

My heart pounds, and a lump forms in my throat as I analyze her expression, hoping to find any hint of Edward's status.

"Cullen family?"

The entire room jumps up in response to her question. Even Angela rises, holding my hands in hers.

"I'm Dr. Cope. I apologize for the delay in getting back to you. There were a few complications during surgery."

In a shaky voice, Mrs. Cullen asks what we're all thinking. "What does that mean."

"Edward lost a lot of blood. The bullet nicked his axillary artery and then became lodged behind it. We had to control the bleeding before we could remove the bullet and begin repairing the affected ligaments."

"Is he okay?" Carlisle asks, holding his wife against his side.

The surgeon's expression softens as she addresses the weary parents. "He's going to survive. However, his body has been through a lot. We had to give him two pints of blood during the procedure. He will probably wake from anesthesia in the next hour, and we will move him to a room. I recommend limiting visitors until tomorrow afternoon so he has time to rest."

Her message is clear, but I don't care if I have to sleep in this wretched plastic chair for the rest of the night; I won't leave the hospital until I can see him.

The Cullens thank Edward's surgeon profusely before she retreats. Unclear what to do next, I fidget, shifting from one foot to another. I can't wait to take off these stupid heels.

"We'll stay with Edward," Mrs. Cullen says. "The rest of you go home and get some sleep. We'll call to let you know once he's in a room."

Jasper and Emmett quickly acquiesce, gathering their jackets and phones before saying their goodbyes to the older Cullens. Unable to move, I stand awkwardly, still gripping onto Angela.

"Um, Mrs. Cullen," I say, finally releasing my friend and taking a tentative step forward. "If it's okay, I'd like to stay."

Lips pursed in amusement, Mrs. Cullen glances at her husband. "You must be Bella."

"Yes, ma'am." I chew at the side of my lip, unsure how much she knows about my relationship with her son. It would have been nice to have met Edward's parents under better circumstances.

She laughs. It's a sweet, cheerful sound that makes my body relax and my nerves diminish. "Please call me Esme, and yes, I'd like you to stay. I think I may be able to get some information out of you about my secretive son."

Surprised at the conspiratorial way she leans in and winks, my mouth hangs open before I stutter, "Thank you."

I bid farewell to Angela, who promises she'll be back first thing in the morning when visiting hours start. Judging by the way the Cullens hover, I assume visiting hours don't apply to them. After all, the family donated a considerable amount of money to build the hospital's pediatric wing.

"Now, Bella," Esme says. "How did you and Edward meet."

I grimace and tell a version of the story in which I'm not half-naked.

oOo

Edward's groan startles me from my semi-awake daze, and I come close to falling from my chair. I'm the only one in the room, as it's lunchtime, and the Cullens went to find the cafeteria, promising to bring back something for me— as if I could eat.

"You're up." Scrambling to my feet, I reach for Edward and take his hand in mine. A clear IV tube drips saline into a vein in his left arm, and when he bends it to try and brush the hair from his forehead, the damn machine starts up with an irritating beep. "You've got to keep your arm straight."

"Christ, will someone shut that up?" He complains before shifting to glare at the apparatus. Grunting in pain, he stops his turn halfway and settles back in the bed. "Fuck, my shoulder is on fire."

I press the call button for the nurse. "You're probably ready for more pain medication."

"I'm in the hospital," he says, eyes darting across the private room already filled with cards and flowers. "Was I hit that bad?"

I'm not surprised he doesn't remember the first time he woke, which was around six a.m. I try to soothe him by combing my fingers through his disorderly hair. "You had surgery last night. The bullet nicked an artery and damaged ligaments."

"Great," he mutters, staring at the ceiling. "How long do I have to stay here?"

"They haven't said yet. A couple of days, I think. I guess however long it takes you to heal."

He huffs but doesn't argue. "Wait. What's going on at La Bellissima? Holy shit. Bella, you killed Vladimir."

I shush him, glancing at the open door. "No one knows what happened yet. I was in too much shock to speak with the police."

His nurse arrives and spends a moment checking his vitals while asking questions before promising to return with pain medication.

"It was self-defense." Edward tries to shrug, then grimaces as the pain intensifies. "Vladimir had a gun pointed at you. He'd already shot me."

"You won't get in trouble? Wasn't there an entire battle before the standoff at La Bellissima? How are you going to explain this, Edward?" I'm getting frantic, terrified of what happens next.

As Edward opens his mouth to respond his nurse returns with a vile of medication she administers through his IV. "You'll be feeling better in a few minutes. Call if you need me."

"Bella," Edward says as soon as she leaves the room. "I am sure Jasper has started damage control. Actually, I need to know how much information got out. Where's my phone?"

I retrieve the device from a bag in the closet. It's at fifteen percent, but Edward tells me the passcode to open it and directs me to call Jasper from his contacts.

"Whitlock."

"What does the press know?" Edward starts in without a greeting.

Jasper snorts. "Hello to you too. Feeling better?"

"Shut up and tell me what's going on."

"Sure." Jasper's chuckles die as he takes on a more serious tone. "Since we directed the first responders to enter through the back of the building, we avoided a lot of sensationalism from the press. I paid off a couple of reporters to disappear. I might have missed one or two journalists, but I'm doing my best to get their articles off the front page of their publications. Our tech team spent most of the morning scrubbing videos from the event off social media. The casino is running smoothly, although we've postponed the show for a few nights. I think we will have to offer employees bonuses to keep them silent."

"Do it with the stipulation they sign a nondisclosure agreement regarding last night." Edward points to a water cup on a side table.

"On it," Jasper responds as I hand the cup over.

Edward takes a tentative sip. "What about the casino and hotel guests?"

"We're comping rooms and meals. We refunded tickets for last night's show. Anyone who was in the casino at the time also got a five-hundred-dollar credit on their gaming card. It's amazing how a little bribery can quel gossip."

"Call me with any updates."

As the call ends, Carlisle and Esme return. Edward's mother nearly drops her food container as she rushes to his side. "Don't you ever do that to me again!" She admonishes him before placing a kiss on his cheek. I have to stifle laughter at the scary mafia man being embarrassed by his mother.

A steady line of visitors takes over the early afternoon. Angela peeks in to update us about Ben. He's in the surgery recovery unit and expects to be there for a few days. According to her, he's optimistic. She's not thrilled about his eagerness to get back to work.

Jasper comes later, and Edward uses his visit to run his business by proxy. With instructions received, Jasper heads back to La Bellissima, leaving us with a warning. The cops want to meet tomorrow.

I find myself freshly showered and finally re-dressed Sunday morning after a quick trip to the penthouse. Perched on a chair next to Edward's bed, we review with Carlisle what information we will share with law enforcement. Edward and his father assure me that the questioning is a formality and that action has already been taken to bury the case.

"Self-defense," Carlisle says, his gaze piercing. "Stick to the script, Bella, and you'll be fine."

Nodding, I replay my answers in my head. Mostly, I'll be telling the truth, only omitting specific details.

The cops arrive around one p.m., separating everyone and taking me to a small waiting room. With the door closed, I face the two detectives. My hands shake as my nerves spike.

"What can you tell us about Friday night?" The detective who goes by Jefferson asks while the other, a woman called Hammond, scowls.

I take a deep breath, my hands clasped in my lap as I recite the answer I rehearsed. Both detectives look up from their notes in surprise when I confess I shot Vladimir.

"He pointed his gun at me after he shot Edward. If I didn't shoot him, I would have died."

Detective Hammond narrows her eyes as if my story is too unbelievable to accept. "You hit your target perfectly," she says, suspicion lacing her tone. "You must have some experience with firearms." Sarcasm drips from her words. I get it. A showgirl who can shoot seems unlikely.

"My father is a federal agent," I explain. "He taught me."

Detective Hammond noncommittally hums while scribbling a note. "We'll check into that."

My throat tightens as my eyes widen. "Please don't tell him what happened," I gasp. "He'll probably kidnap me and drag me out of Vegas if he finds out."

Detective Jefferson laughs while Hammond raises a brow. "I'd probably do the same if it were my daughter," he says. "But we shouldn't need to talk to him. We'll just verify his position in the government and his relation to you."

I sigh and thank him for his discretion.

"We have all we need, Miss Swan. If any more questions arise, we'll contact you." Both detectives hand me their cards before escorting me from the room.

I hope I never see them again.

oOo

"This is ridiculous," Edward grumbles as Emmett pushes him to the hospital exit in a wheelchair. "I was shot in the shoulder, not the leg."

Ben grimaces from the chair beside him, crutches across his lap. "No disrespect, Mr. Cullen, but I'm not sure which is worse."

Emmett laughs, stopping and locking the chair.

"You know, Ben," Edward says, a smirk pulling at his lips. "I think we can drop the Mr. Cullen shit. You took a bullet for us. I think you earned a new position. What do you say about overseeing some security personnel at my new property?"

"Really?" Ben's eyes widen while Angela grins behind him, still holding the handles of his wheelchair. "I mean, thank you, sir! Absolutely."

"Emmett, set him up with security clearances." Edward stands, using his left arm to push himself up while Angela helps Ben get steady on his crutches. We split up, going to our respective cars.

"Take it easy when you interrogate him," Edward tells Emmett once we're inside the vehicle. "As far as I'm concerned, the kid already proved himself."

My eyes dart between them before I mutter, "I don't want to know."

Edward reaches out, lifting my hand and placing a kiss on the back of it. "No, you don't."

I should worry; I should care that my boyfriend has to interrogate his associates, but instead, I find myself accepting that this is how his world works.

It's all or nothing, and I'm all in.

A/N: Whoo! She got him!

One more chapter and then an epilogue!