Dante rubbed his jaw. Too late.
Parsons stood, blood streaming down his chin and dripping onto his apron. He held his hands up in surrender. "Please, don't hurt me. I don't want any trouble."
Again, too late.
"You owe Primo Galante money," Umberto said. "That's pretty much the definition of trouble."
"I'm under protection," Parsons blurted out. "They told me… I mean, they said…"
"They told you not to worry about us?" Dante guessed, stepping closer to him. "Told you if you give them money, they'll make sure no one comes after you?"
"Well…" He lowered his hands. "Yeah."
Dante snatched a hold of the guy's thick black hair, yanking his head down, making him hunch over as he dragged him back inside, to the front of the deli. He slammed Parsons against the counter, shoving his head toward the meat slicer. Pressing his face against the blade, tight grip still on his hair, Dante pinned him there.
"Three thousand dollars," he said, "or I turn the slicer on and make you pay another way."
"Please!" he begged. "Please, I didn't know!"
"You didn't know?" Dante asked. "Then let me tell you, so we're clear. I don't give a rat's ass who promised you protection, whether it be Roberto Barsanti or the fucking President of the United States. You owe."
"Okay! I'm sorry, okay! I'll pay!"
Dante snatched his head back up, shoving him away from the counter as he let go. Parsons turned to the cash register, his hands shaking as he pressed the button to open it. Yanking out fistfuls of cash, he attempted to count it, screwing up a few times. Umberto kept the gun trained on him from the other side, as Dante stood there, waiting. His side burned, his body aching. He wanted to sit the hell down but he knew that was out of the question.
"Three thousand," Parsons said, holding a wad of cash out. "It's all there."
Dante took it, passing it Umberto's way.
Umberto shoved it in his pocket and lowered his gun.
Parsons looked between them, starting to apologize again, when Dante drew his fist back and swung, clocking him right in the face. A loud crack echoed around them, stinging running up Dante's arm from the force. Parsons stumbled back into the cash register before his feet came out from under him and he slid to the floor.
"Don't ever swing on me again, asshole."
Dante walked away, unlocking the door to the deli and waltzing outside, stretching his fingers and shaking his hand. He glanced down at his side, pulling his shirt up, seeing the blood starting to soak the bandage. Shit.
Umberto lingered inside for a moment before joining him. Dante dropped his shirt, not mentioning it.
"His friend's at the bar," Umberto said. "Good timing, because I would kill for a drink after that."
The two of them started down the block, toward the bar. Dante's attention drifted, his gaze across the street as they walked, on the top right window of the brick walk-up. Light glowed from inside, the blinds raised, somebody moving around the apartment. He could see the shadows dancing.
"You think you got this?" Dante asked, stopping in front of the bar. "Can you handle this guy on your own?"
"Sure." Umberto's brow furrowed. "You not coming in?"
"I've got something else to take care of," Dante said. "Just do what you gotta do. I'll catch you later."
He didn't give Umberto a chance to respond before jogging across the street, dodging traffic. He reached the building just as someone else was entering and snatched a hold of the door before it closed, slipping in the building without needing buzzed in.
The building was a relic and hadn't been renovated in decades, everything in the place pre-dating him. A slight odor lingered in the hallways, like the wooden floor was starting to rot, the boards squeaking when he walked. The apartment was in better shape, albeit damn small, but instead of being suffocating, it felt cozy.
Maybe it's not the apartment, dumbass. Maybe it's the girl.
Dante stopped in front of her door, listening, before carefully knocking. At once, footsteps approached, locks jingling before the door opened a crack. The chain was still attached, catching the door after a few inches, giving Gabriella just enough room to look out.
Her eyes widened. "Dante?"
"Did you use the peephole?" he asked.
"I, uh… no."
"You should've," he said. "You should always check the peephole before you unlock the door."
Her brow furrowed as she glanced at the chain. "It's still locked."
"That one doesn't count," he said. "Chains are easy to break."
"Well, then, I guess it's kind of pointless, huh?"
"Pretty much."
"In that case, hold on a second."
She shut the door, and the chain jingled before the door opened the whole way. Gabriella stood in front of him, wearing a pair of black shorts and a matching tank top, showing a sliver of her tanned, toned stomach. He'd never seen her wearing so little before. He couldn't seem to stop his eyes as they roamed her body, meeting her gaze again when she cleared her throat.
"Are you going to come in?" she asked. "Or are you planning on just staying out in the hallway? Because I'd like to shut the door again, so I need to know which side of it you're hoping to be on when I do."
"Well, since you asked so nicely," he mumbled, stepping into the apartment.
She shut the door, securing the locks. "How'd you get in the building?"
"I slipped in behind someone. They didn't say anything about it, which you know, is another reason you should use the peephole. There's no telling who's roaming around this building."
"I'm starting to see that," she said. "Seems like the neighborhood has gone to Hell lately."
"It's always been Hell. It's overrun with Satan's minions."
"And who would Satan be?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
She paused, like she was considering his question, before shrugging. Wordlessly, she stalked off in the direction of the kitchen, and Dante followed, watching her. Something boiled in a pot on the stove, a torn-open blue box on the counter beside it.
Kraft Mac 'N Cheese.
"You like your macaroni doused in powdered cheese?"
"Don't judge me," she said, stirring the boiling water with a wooden spoon. "I don't judge you."
"Not judging," he said. "Just curious."
"Well, then, yes. I do." She grabbed the pot to drain the water out of it before tossing some milk and butter in. Ripping the packet of orange powder open, she sprinkled it in and stirred. "I eat hospital food most days, so I'm not exactly picky. Anyway, are you hungry? Do you want some of it?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him. He wanted to say no. He was picky. He hadn't eaten that shit since he was a kid. His mother hadn't been a good cook, and one could only eat food that came from a box so many times before they dreaded eating at all. Besides, Dante had experienced hospital food, too. It was half the reason he never wanted to go back. So he wanted to give her an emphatic hell no, but his stomach opted to growl, overruling him.
"I'm taking that as a yes," she said. "It's not five-star dining, but it's something to put in your stomach, and quite frankly, you look like you need it. If you're not going to sleep, you at least need to eat."
"Are you insinuating I look like shit?"
"I'm insinuating nothing. I'm telling you—you look like crap."
"Crap," he repeated. "Dang. Heck. Friggin. You got something against cursing?"
"I said 'Hell' a second ago."
"Hell's a location. Big difference."
"I have no reason to be vulgar. I think I get my point across just fine without it."
Gabriella dished out the macaroni equally into two bowls before holding one out to Dante.
He took it. "You didn't have to share with me. I didn't come here to steal your food."
"I know." She leaned back against the counter, pulling up a forkful of macaroni and blowing on it. "I'm curious why you did come, though."
"I was in the nei
ghborhood and saw your light on."
"So you thought you'd come and talk to me about keeping my apartment secure?"
"It's a dangerous world."
"It seems you'd know." She took a bite of her food. "Speaking of, how's your side?"
He shrugged as he took a small bite. "Hasn't killed me yet."
"Well, that's something."
Silence surrounded them as they stood in the kitchen, eating. The air was awkward, a strange tension mounting that made Dante's skin prickle. He wasn't sure what to say or what to do. He set his empty bowl in the sink after he'd forced down the last bite and paused beside her. She smelled warm and sweet, like vanilla, with a hint of something uniquely her. He couldn't put his finger on it, as he breathed her in, but tingles crept down his spine at the sensation, like déjà vu was kicking in.
Her eyes narrowed as she set her bowl aside. "Why'd you really come here, Dante?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "Do you want me to leave?"
She hesitated. "I don't think so."
"Well, that clears it all up."
"Tell me about it."
He stared at her, contemplating, before slowly raising his hand, grazing the back of his fingers along her cheek. Her breath hitched—he could see it. Her body tensed, her skin flushing, an instinctual reaction to his touch.
"You know, since I woke up in that hospital, my life has been nothing but sorrow," he said quietly. "I'm fucking miserable. Everything I've done has been for nothing. Everything I touch, I hurt. Do you know what that feels like? I'm poison, Gabriella. And I want to touch you so bad I can taste it, but I don't want to hurt you, too. I don't want to poison you. It's tempting, though, so fucking tempting, because you'd be so goddamn sweet you might drown out just enough sorrow to keep me breathing. Because a bit ago, down on that street, I felt nothing, but then I saw your light on, and for a moment, I felt something."
"What did you feel?"
"Hope."
A smile touched her lips as she repeated the word. "Hope."
He dropped his hand from her cheek, putting a bit of space between them. "It's a pipe dream, thinking there's any hope left. Just look at me."
"I am looking at you. And I see a guy who is being way hard on himself." Her brow furrowed as she stepped closer, erasing the space he'd created, to run her hand along his jawline. "He's also a guy with a nasty bruise. What happened?"
"Some schmuck punched me."
"Same one who keeps stabbing you?"
"Different one this time." He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. "I probably shouldn't have come here."
"You're probably right."
"And I probably shouldn't be doing this."
"You're probably right again."
"But I just…" He ran his hands down his face, cursing under his breath. "Fuck."
"You like how it feels to have hope. It feels like maybe you won't die in the dark all alone."
Those words were like a lightning bolt striking his soul. "How do you know that?"
"You said that in the hospital," she said. "One of those moments you were in and out of it, you said you didn't want to die in the dark alone."
"That's… fucking embarrassing."
She laughed, the sound light and airy, and grabbed his arm when he tried to turn away. "Ah, don't be embarrassed."
"I ought to be," he said. "You sponge-bathed me, for fuck's sake. You touched my scars. You saw my dick. And there was a tube shoved up in it. You shoved a tube up my dick."
She was trying not to laugh at him. "Well, I didn't do it. You were already catheterized when you got to me."
"It doesn't matter. It still happened. You still saw it."
Shaking his head, he walked out of the kitchen, making his way to her couch. The room was spinning. He needed to sit down before he passed out.
Gabriella followed, lingering in front of the couch when he took a seat. Dropping his head down, he ran his hands through his hair, fisting handfuls.
"It grows, you know," he muttered under his breath. "It was cold in the hospital, so it was trying to shrink away. And I lost a lot of blood… probably didn't have enough blood left to make the damn thing hard if I'd even wanted to, but I wouldn't have, considering the fucking tube. It was traumatizing."
Loud laughter cut through the room, the kind that stole breaths and caused tears to stream down faces. Dante cut his eyes in Gabriella's direction. Unbelievable. She was seriously laughing.
"That's not helping, you know," he said.
"Sorry. Sorry!" She held her hands up, fighting to keep a straight face. "It's just… that's what you're worried about? I mean, okay, yeah, I did my job, but I don't even remember what it looks like. I wasn't looking at it like that. It wasn't a memorable moment or anything."
He groaned. "Still not helping."
She cracked again, laughing. "I didn't mean it that way. I'm not saying it isn't memorable."
"That's exactly what you said."
"I'm just saying I don't remember it. I wasn't checking it out, Dante. It was a penis. I see penis all the time. Every single day."
"Awesome."
"It's just a part of the body," she continued. "It's another limb, a smaller limb, no different than touching an arm or something. It's nothing special. It's just a penis."
"You know, sex with you must be wild."
"Oh, hush." She kicked his shin. "It's not like that. When I'm Nurse Russo, a penis is nothing. It's just skin and soft tissue and blood vessels and—"
"Careful," Dante said. "All this dirty talking might turn me on."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying…"
"You're saying Nurse Russo didn't give a shit about my penis."
"Basically."
"That's good to know, because you should never judge a man by his dick when he's in the hospital."
"I don't think you should judge him by it period."
"By what?"
"His penis."
"Penis," he echoed, staring at her. "That's what Gabriella calls it, too? A penis?"
She blushed.
"Not cock? Not dick?" Reaching out, Dante grasped her by her hips, pulling her between his legs. "Tallywhacker?"
"You're terrible," she said, her hands resting on his shoulders. "Horrible."
"And you're too innocent for your own good."
"I'm not as innocent as you think."
Dante wondered what she meant by that, but he didn't have to question it. Gabriella's hands drifted, her fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck, as she leaned down. A breath away, she hesitated, before kissing him.
Her lips were soft, the kiss gentle. It was sweet. So fucking sweet. He savored every second, making no move to deepen it. He'd let her have her way with him, let her do whatever she wanted, however she wanted it. All he knew was that being around her breathed life into him, and if he had his way, he'd kiss her forever.
But forever came way too soon for him, as ringing shattered the silence of the room. Dante's phone vibrated his pocket, shaking them out of the moment. Gabriella pulled away, and Dante groaned, his hands dropping from her hips.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the phone, glancing at the screen. Bert.
"What?" he answered.
"Yo, this son of a bitch hit me!"
Dante pinched the bridge of his nose. "So hit him back."
"I did!"
Noise erupted in the background.
Cursing. Glass breaking. People shouting.
Umberto's phone dropped, hitting something, the bang echoing through the line. He yelled, his words jumbled, but Dante got the message.
The fucker started a bar fight.
Not the first time.
Hanging up, Dante slipped his phone back into his pocket. He got to his feet, his hands framing Gabriella's face. He kissed her then, hard and passionate, but he didn't linger. Pulling away, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before heading for the door.
"Where are you goin
g?" she asked.
"Probably to get punched again."
"Are you coming back?"
"I probably shouldn't."
"So I can expect you, then?"
He paused at the door, looking back at her. Her expression was earnest, none of the amusement he thought he'd see. It was an honest question. She wanted to know if he'd come back.
God, how he wished he could answer that the way he wanted. How he wished he could say fuck it, that he wasn't going anywhere. Part of him wanted to, but there was still that side of him trained to follow orders and obey commands.
"Make sure you lock your door after I'm gone," he said. "Keep yourself safe, Gabriella."
He looked away when disappointment clouded her face. Unlocking the door, he walked out, closing it behind him. He stood there in the dingy hallway until the locks jingled, the deadbolt turning. Glancing back, his gaze caught the peephole.
He could practically feel her eyes on him through it.
Chapter Eleven
"You can do this. You can do this. You can friggin do this."
Gabriella chanted the words under her breath as she hurried across the street in the crosswalk, the bright orange hand flashing at her, telling her to halt. She had no time for that, though. Not if she was going to do what she had planned.
Five-thirty in the evening. Rush hour traffic clogged the streets. She had an hour and a half before her shift was scheduled to start at the hospital. Three days in a row working twelve-hour stretches overnight with Cindy and the Grinch around. Oh, joy! Patients in the ICU required undivided attention, and Gabriella couldn't do that until she got something off of her chest. It was heavy, a weighted secret pressing down on her. She needed to let it out. She needed to tell somebody.
She wasn't religious, but desperation had her thinking about seeking out a priest.
One of those couldn't help her, though. A couple Hail Mary's wouldn't solve this problem.
Maybe what she needed was sanctuary, protection from whatever trouble this secret would invite into her world.
Gabriella approached the small cafe near the end of the block, her gaze scanning along the lettering on the fresh glass: Casato. The explosion had blown the windows out of the place, but it managed to escape most other damage, back up and running within a week.