30. Chapter Forty Jade
Chapter Forty: Jade
T he hospital smelled like antiseptic…but I was more at home here than I had ever been at Dante’s penthouse.
I edged closer to Marco’s bed, my heart pounding like it wanted out. The sterile scent of the hospital room clawed at my nostrils as I watched over him, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath the thin gown. Dante leaned against the doorframe, a silent sentinel clad in a suit that must have cost more than most folks earn in a month.
“Hey, you’re Jade, right?” Marco’s voice was weak but held a hint of warmth, dispelling the chill of the cold, clinical walls around us.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I forced a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “And you must be Marco. Dante’s told me quite a bit about you.”
“Only the good stuff, I hope,” he chuckled, then winced as if laughter was a luxury his body couldn’t afford right now.
“Of course,” I said, sitting down beside on a chair beside his bed. I glanced at Dante; those dark eyes bore into his brother with a fierceness that made me wonder what kind of bond could make a man look like that at someone else.
“Nice dress,” Marco mumbled, referring to the blue fabric hugging my curves, a poor attempt at small talk but, whatever, I’d take it.
“Thanks,” I replied, playing along while my brain ticked away. This was more than idle chit-chat; this was my shot at freedom. With every passing second, I had to be one step ahead, fishing for details without raising suspicion.
“Must be nice, getting out,” Marco continued, oblivious to the internal clock ticking away in my head. “Hospitals are so fucking boring.”
“Yeah, it’s nice sometimes,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, I was cataloging everything—the way Dante stood, how many steps from the bed to the door, the slight droop in Marco’s eyelids that told me he was drugged up and vulnerable.
“Jade’s been a real trooper, sticking by my side,” Dante interjected, pushing off from the door and stepping closer. His presence loomed large in the cramped space, a stark reminder of the world I found myself tangled in—a world where men like him called the shots and women like me ended up as collateral.
“I just know he’s a nightmare,” Marco said to me. “You really are a trooper.”
“Hey,” Dante said.
“Sorry, I’ve been shot, I’m allowed to tell her the truth.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Dante said. His words were hollow, his attention momentarily snagged by his ringing phone.
“Excuse me,” he muttered before slipping out of the room, his parting glance sharp enough to slice through the tension he left behind.
“Seems like there’s never a dull moment with you Morettis,” I quipped, hoping my light tone would encourage Marco to keep talking.
“Tell me about it,” Marco sighed, shifting uncomfortably. “You get used to it, though. Or at least, you pretend to.”
I nodded, pretending to sympathize while mentally marking every word, every slip he made. Information was currency, and right now, I was bankrupt. But not for long. Not if I played my cards right.
“Must be hard, always looking over your shoulder,” I prodded gently, my eyes scanning the room for anything that might serve as an advantage. Marco’s guard was down, and it was time to dig deeper.
“You have no idea,” he muttered, his eyes half-closed. “There are things you see... stuff you can’t unsee.”
“Like?” My question hung in the air, bait for him to spill secrets that could be my lifeline out of this gilded cage.
“Ah, Jade,” he chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “You’re too good for this world. Too pure.” He coughed then, a rattling sound that spoke of lingering pain.
I reached out, my touch light on his arm. “You can tell me, Marco. Sometimes sharing eases the burden.”
He smiled at that, a pained grimace really. “Maybe another time,” he said, but the seed was planted. Next time, he might just open up. I just needed to make sure Dante took me to the hospital again to visit him.
A beep from the hallway heralded Dante’s return. I straightened up, schooling my features into an expression of concerned innocence.
“Everything okay?” I asked as Dante reentered, his usual composure replaced by something more raw, more urgent.
“Fine, just fine,” he replied, though his voice betrayed the lie. Dante was a skilled liar, but I was beginning to learn his tells.
“Dad?”
“Yeah,” Dante said.
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Marco said.
Dante chewed on his lower lip. “Yeah, it’s just…” he fell quiet when he looked at me. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Marco glanced at the digital clock above his bed.
“Time for you two to make a move, isn’t it?” Marco’s words cut into the silence, his laid-back demeanor doing nothing to soften their sharp edge. He lounged against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, a smirk dancing on his lips as though he delighted in breaking the tranquility.
A brief tightening of Dante’s jaw was all that betrayed his irritation. “Indeed, we’re expected at Giordano’s,” he responded tersely.
“Good,” Marco approved with a nod. “Disappear before mom and dad arrive. I don’t want them stumbling upon you here—not with everything else going on.”
“Got it.” Dante’s response was brisk but laced with an undercurrent of appreciation for the heads-up. No further explanation was needed; I knew that any involvement with his parents right now would be far from ideal.
“I’ll return shortly,” he reassured me, but it was unclear whether this was meant to soothe or serve as a warning. His gaze shifted back to Marco, probing, assessing. “The police—have they shown up?”
As someone who spent her time in labs rather than dealing with bullet wounds and law enforcement visits, I blinked in bewilderment. Noticing my confusion, Dante clarified: “It’s standard procedure after a gunshot wound.”
“Oh yeah, they dropped by,” Marco chimed in smoothly. “Gave their statement and everything else. No need for concern.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes—a clear hint that the police had been dealt with using methods as murky as the family business itself.
Relief passed over Dante’s face like a fleeting shadow; subtle yet unmistakable. He nodded at Marco’s assurance—their shared understanding built from years of relying on each other’s unspoken language.
“Let’s go, Jade.” His voice softened considerably from its earlier hardness—an unexpected gentleness that caught me off guard. His hand reached for mine, our fingers weaving together in a way that was both possessive and electrifying. It was a promise, a declaration—one I wasn’t sure I fully grasped yet. “We’ll be back later. Look after yourself, okay?”
“Yeah,” Marco said. “I promise I’ll try not to get shot at again.”
Marco laughed, but Dante’s grip on my hand only got tighter.