22. Chapter Twenty-Two Dante
Chapter Twenty-Two: Dante
M arco was alive.
I stood by the door, my back pressed against the cool metal frame, watching. The room was a harsh landscape of sterile whites and grays, interrupted only by the soft beep of machinery and the occasional shuffle of nurses’ feet. Marco lay on the bed, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that fought against the odds. His eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, pain etched deep into his features. A bullet had made its home in his side—a cruel tenant that reminded us all of how close death lurked.
But he was alive.
“Easy, brother,” I muttered under my breath, even though he couldn’t hear me over the hum of the hospital. My eyes flicked to the doctors and nurses moving around him. They wore their professionalism like armor, but beneath it, I knew they were just as aware of the fragility of life as we were.
Our father stood stoic beside me. We hadn’t exchanged words since our tense conversation at the cafe earlier. It wasn’t like we needed to; everything that had to be said hung in the air between us, heavy and unspoken.
“Will he be okay?” I asked the surgeon, a thin man with deep-set brown eyes and a pallor that looked like it came from too many nights under the harsh hospital lights. The surgeon didn’t answer right away, just continued to scribble something on his clipboard, his forehead creased in a frown.
“We’ve managed to stabilize him for now,” he replied in a measured tone, “He’s young and strong, so he’s got that on his side.”
“But?” The word slipped past my lips before I could stop it. I had been around long enough to know when someone was holding back bad news.
The surgeon hesitated, then sighed heavily. “The bullet grazed his liver. Time will tell whether or not there’s permanent damage.”
“The liver…how bad could that be?” Part of me didn’t want to know. The other part of me needed to know everything.
“The liver is a pivotal but resilient organ,” the surgeon said. “Worst case scenario, he’d need a transplant. However, what’s most likely to happen is that, with proper care and management, it will gradually heal itself. But,” he paused, meeting my gaze evenly, “it’s going to be a long road to recovery.”
My jaw clenched at his words. A long road.
Fuck.
Enzo, who had been silent until now, intervened. His tone was calm but laced with unspoken threats. “Do whatever needs to be done,” he said. “Money is not a concern.”
The doctor glared at him. “Money is never a concern,” he said. “I’m a doctor.”
Enzo responded with a nonchalant shrug, his gaze not wavering from the surgeon’s. “Just making sure we’re on the same page here. My son gets the best care possible.”
The surgeon held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding slightly. “Go home. Get some rest. He’ll be here for a few days, and he needs to recover.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Enzo said, dismissing him with a slight tilt of his head. The surgeon inclined his head in response before stepping out of the room, leaving us alone with our thoughts and the steady rhythm of Marco’s heart monitor.
Enzo met his words with a curt nod, but I could tell from the slight tightening around his eyes that he had no intention of leaving Marco’s side. Our father might have been a man feared and respected in the underworld, but beneath that cold exterior was a dad who loved his sons, even if he had an odd way of showing it.
At least…I thought so.
I watched as Enzo moved closer to Marco’s bed, his large hand engulfing Marco’s smaller one. His thumb gently traced over the back of Marco’s hand in a rare display of tenderness that momentarily threw me off-guard. It was easy to forget that underneath his fierce exterior was a sentimentality few ever saw.
“You should go home too, Dante,” he said. “Isn’t your girlfriend waiting for you?”
“But-” I began to protest. I wanted to stay; I needed to be there for Marco. But he cut me off with a sharp glance.
“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he said in that calm unyielding tone that meant there was no arguing with him.
“Okay.”
Now that Marco was out of immediate danger, something inside me unclenched. “I’ll be back,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. The weight of the Moretti name felt like a brick on my shoulders as I turned and left the room, each step away from Marco’s bed pounding like a judge’s gavel in my ears.
“Take care, kid,” I said softly, casting one last glance over my shoulder at Marco, whose eyes had slipped closed again. He was a fighter; we both were—it was in our blood. But sometimes, I wondered if there was anything worth fighting for beyond these walls, beyond the life we’d been handed.
The truth was a bitter pill—no matter how far I walked, I could never truly leave.
Stepping outside, the chill of the early morning air hit me like a slap in the face. The city was still asleep, the streets near-empty as I made my way to the parked car. I slid behind the wheel, and the engine roared to life, breaking the silence of the dawn. The drive home was mechanical, muscle memory guiding me through the deserted streets while my mind replayed the night’s events.
I pushed through the front door of the building and then went up the elevator, the familiar scent of old wood and lingering cologne greeting me. That’s when I saw her, Jade, sprawled on the couch, her figure swallowed by an oversized coat that didn’t belong to her.
“Jade?” I called out softly, but there was no response, just the steady rhythm of her breathing. I knew that coat—it was meant for escape, not comfort. She had plenty of blankets and sweaters and access to the heater so…she had been planning to escape.
A pang of something sharp twisted inside me, a mix of anger and relief. She had tried to leave but exhaustion or maybe fear had stopped her.
“Luca!” I barked out, expecting my loyal guard to appear, but the penthouse remained silent. My footsteps echoed off the walls as I approached her, crouching down to get a better look. She was out cold, her chest rising and falling with the deep breaths of the truly spent.
“Dammit, Luca,” I muttered under my breath. It was unlike him to abandon his post, especially with Jade here. He knew how important it was to keep an eye on her—too much was at stake. I reached out and gently shook her shoulder. “Jade,” I said again, this time a little louder, my voice betraying none of the softness I felt.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked up at me, dazed. For a moment, she didn’t seem to remember where she was or why. Then her gaze sharpened, and she tried to sit up, her movements sluggish.
“What...Dante?” Her voice was thick with sleep and confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“Because I live here. Where else would I be?” I retorted, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. I needed answers, but I wasn’t about to interrogate her when she was barely awake. Her eyes flicked down to my shirt then widened in alarm.
“Your shirt...there’s blood,” she stammered, pushing herself up. The concern in her voice was genuine, but I brushed it off.
“It’s not mine,” I said curtly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Dante...” She reached out, her hand hovering over the dark stain on my shirt, but she pulled back before touching me. “Talk to me. Please.”
I sighed, feeling the weight of her gaze. This wasn’t the time for weakness, not when there was so much at risk. But looking into her earnest eyes, filled with worry and something that looked dangerously like care, I felt the walls I’d built crack ever so slightly.
“Marco got shot tonight,” I admitted, the words tasting sour on my tongue. “He’s alive. He’ll make it.”
She processed this for a second. “Marco…”
Shit. Of course she didn’t know.
“My little brother.”
Her hand covered her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Is he...”
“Alive? Yes. But it’s a damn reminder of what we’re up against every day.” I stood up, suddenly needing to put some distance between us. “You should go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
But she rose too, shaking her head. “I should probably check you over...come here.”
I hesitated, the part of me that craved normalcy, that wanted to lean on someone, almost gave in. But the mob boss in me resisted. Marco had almost died…what would happen to her? What would happen to our kid?
“Fine,” I relented, allowing her to take the lead. “But let’s get one thing straight, Jade. I know what you were trying to do and I’m pissed.”
“Okay. We can talk about it later,” she said. “You’re bleeding and I can’t have you passing out on me.”
I grumbled under my breath, but complied.
“Sit. Where’s your first aid kit?”
“Bathroom,” I said. “Under the sink.”
“Okay. Don’t go anywhere.”
I wasn’t planning on it. I sat there, on the sofa, watching as she took off my winter coat and walked to the bathroom as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
I leaned my head back, closed my eyes and tried to stave off the pounding headache that suddenly threatened to split my head.
She sat down next to me, balancing the first aid kit precariously on her knees. “Shirt off, please,” Jade instructed, her tone professional, yet I caught the slight tremor in her voice. Was it fear? Or something else?
I undid the buttons of my bloodied shirt, then discarded it with a flick of the wrist. Her eyes roved over my torso, not in lust—as many women’s had—but searching for damage. When her fingers pressed against my skin, checking for wounds I knew weren’t there, the contact sent a jolt through me.
“Looks like it’s just your brother’s blood then,” she concluded, her relief evident as she met my gaze. “You’re lucky.”
I sighed. “Doesn’t feel like I was lucky. Marco almost died because of me.”
“Dante…whatever happened, you can’t blame yourself. Is your brother a child?”
“Only in spirit,” I replied.
“There you go,” she said. “So how could you have known?”
There were so many ways I could have known. But right now wasn’t the time for that conversation.
I stood up, hoping to reclaim some semblance of control. “It’s late, or early, depending on how you look at it. You should get some rest.”
“And you?” she prodded, her brows knitting together in concern.
“I’ve got things to handle.” The lie rolled off my tongue with practiced ease. In truth, sleep would elude me now, my mind replaying the night’s events and the fact that she had almost escaped.
“At four in the morning? Dante, come to bed,” she said. “You need sleep, and the world can wait.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”
“That’s okay,” she said with a shy smile. “Shouldn’t we at least try?”