Twenty Days To Forever

Camilla’s POV

"Thanks for bringing me here. You won't believe I didn't get the scholarship," I sighed, scrolling through my phone. "My life is such a—"

A gunshot shattered the air.

Panic erupted.

People pushed and shoved, scrambling for the exits. I looked around for Emma. I thought I was speaking to her but I was literally speaking to myself.

I scanned the crowd, desperate to find her, but with everyone wearing masks, she was impossible to spot.

“Emma!” I shouted, pushing through the swarm of screaming people, heading toward the doorway with the others.

The club had turned into pure mayhem. Screams echoed. Gunshots cracked through the air like lightning.

I came to a dead stop.

A man stood in front of me, his gun aimed directly at my chest.

I froze.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My life was already in shambles—but this? This wasn’t how I ever imagined it ending.

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I surrendered to the moment. I shut my eyes, bracing for death.

The shot rang out.

But... I didn’t feel pain.

I blinked slowly, my eyes fluttering open, and standing in front of me was a tall man. He had taken the bullet for me.

“Don!” The shooter screamed in panic before bolting into the crowd.

“What are you waiting for?” the man growled, not even glancing at me.

My chest hammered wildly. Swallowing hard, I tore away, sprinting as fast as I could.

“Camilla!” Emma’s voice rang out the second she spotted me. She ran straight into my arms, pulling me into a tight embrace. “I was worried sick! I went to grab a drink, then I heard the gunfire and couldn’t find you. I thought I lost you. If something had happened to you, I would never forgive myself!”

“I almost got shot,” I choked, tears streaking down my cheeks. “A man—he just stepped in and took the bullet. For me.”

“What?” Emma pulled back, eyes wide. “Oh my God. Thank goodness you’re okay. We need to leave. Now. I know a way out. Come on.”

She grabbed my hand, and we darted away from the chaos.

But I stopped in my tracks.

The man who saved me was slumped against a wall, clutching his side where the bullet had hit. Blood soaked through his shirt as he fumbled with his phone.

“Camilla, come on!” Emma pleaded, pulling at me. “We have to get out of here. It’s not safe!”

“He’s dying!” I protested, yanking my hand away. “What kind of doctor would I be if I walked away from someone bleeding out right in front of me?”

I rushed to him without hesitation.

“Deep breaths,” I instructed, tearing a strip from my expensive but borrowed dress and pressing it against his wound. Blood was pouring out fast.

“Leave,” he rasped, his voice low and strained.

Rude. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me. He needed help, not attitude.

“I’m trying to keep you alive,” I snapped. “You can either let me do my job or waste time pushing me away.”

I dug into my purse for gloves, heart racing. “The bullet’s deep. I can’t take it out here. You need a hospital as fast as possible.”

He grabbed my wrist, pulling me close. “If you stay... they’ll kill you too,” he murmured through clenched teeth. “They’re after me. You’re in danger just by being near me.”

Then he shoved me back—hard.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I said, my voice firm. “I just want to help.”

But he ignored me and staggered forward.

“Don,” three men rushed toward him. “The car’s ready.”

“Get me out of here,” he ordered, voice hoarse with pain.

I stood frozen, watching helplessly as they helped him away.

“Are you okay?” Emma came running up to me, worry etched on her face.

I gave a slow nod.

“Let’s go,” she said, wrapping her arm around me and helping me to her feet.

We found her car and jumped in.

“I’m never setting foot in a club again,” Emma muttered as she sped off. She glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You’ve got blood on your hands. There’s a towel in the backseat.”

I reached back, grabbed the towel, and wiped the blood off silently.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I still don’t get why you were so desperate to help that punk.”

“He’s the reason I’m still alive,” I said softly, clearing my throat and removing my mask. “And now my dress is ruined. How the hell am I supposed to come up with seven grand to replace it?”

“And Nana Beatrice’s chemo treatment costs a hundred and fifty-nine grand,” Emma added somberly. “This is on me. I shouldn’t have dragged you out to the club. I just... I was worried. You’ve been working yourself to the bone. I thought you needed a break.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, my voice cracking. Tears welled up again. “I think I’m just cursed.”

“Camilla,” Emma started gently. “You are not cursed.”

“I didn’t get the scholarship,” I admitted, staring blankly out the window.

Emma suddenly pulled over and stopped the car.

The tears I’d been holding back came rushing out, unstoppable. “I’m such a loser. Maybe I should just drop out of med school and stick to my job.”

“No, absolutely not,” Emma snapped. Her face was tight with frustration. “You make less than four grand a month as a clinical assistant. That won’t even buy you another dress.”

“I can’t afford school anymore, Emma,” I sobbed. “Everything I’ve saved is for Nana Beatrice’s treatment. That’s all I have and it’s not even half the cost of the treatment.”

“There has to be a way out of this,” Emma said, locking eyes with me.

“There is,” I whispered. “Dropping out. I can’t afford to lose my grandmother.”

-—

We arrived home. I showered and sat in front of my study desk.

I switched on my laptop and began to search for a word.

DON.

I saw different meanings, but I continued to scroll down until I found something that caught my attention.

The word Don is a title for men in Spanish and Don is a term for the head of a Mafia family.

I swallowed hard and googled the word Mafia. A criminal organization.

“Ever heard of the word Mafia?” I yelled from my room.

“I’ve watched a lot of Mafia movies and read a lot of Mafia romance novels… why did you ask?” Emma asked, stopping at me doorway. Her gaze shifted to my laptop.

“They referred to him as Don twice and he said all that ruckus was because of him. They want to kill him—“

“So, you think he’s a Mafia?” Emma asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Good,” Emma said, turning away. “That Mafia shit is faux. Believe me.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s just his nickname,” I said, standing up. “I have exams tomorrow.”

“I hope this night’s trauma doesn’t affect you tomorrow,” Emma said, her voice laced with genuine concern.

Emma was my best friend since high school. She loved modeling and chose that career path.

I loved caring for people because that was how Nana Beatrice raised me. Nana Beatrice had serious health issues and hid it from me. I found out about it in my twelfth grade in high school. I was hurt and ever since then I’d been trying to save up money for her treatment. I was able to get a two year scholarship into San Marello University. I had applied for another scholarship for the remaining years but my grades were not good enough.

I quickly shut down my laptop and went to my dressing table. I began transferring my things from my purse to my backpack.

“Shit, I can’t find my ID card. It was in my purse,” I panicked.

“Is there a problem, Camilla?” Emma inquired.

“I can’t find my ID card and without it I can’t write my exams tomorrow,” I said, searching my purse again.

“Did you bring it to the club?”

“Yes,” I replied. “It was in my purse.”