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Another long minute and from my periphery, I could see the nurse getting irritated by our long goodbye, annoyed that my wife was stopping her from doing her job. She was just about to interrupt, to tell us to say goodbye, but I lifted my hand in her direction, urging her to shut up until my wife was ready.
That, of course, was a shit idea when I realized it was the arm Paulie shot, a searing pain running through me with the small gesture.
It turned out that worked in my favor, though, when Lilah’s eyes went wide, the fear and nerves leaving and the need to take care of me pushing in instead.
“Go. Take him,” she said to the doctor in the room. He nodded and the nurse began moving things to prepare to roll me down the hall. Lilah came over to me, placing a gentle hand on my face, a hand that I tried to ignore was shaking. “Please, for the love of god, Dante, come back to me.” Her eyes watered and every muscle in my body ached to take care of her.
To get rid of her nerves, of her sadness, and replace it with confidence and happiness.
“Love you, fiorella. See you soon,” I said, and she let go of me, walking off to where I knew Marco would take care of her.
And now she’s here in the room with me, fluffing fuckin’ pillows and giving me shit every time I ask the nurses when I’ll be out of this hellhole.
“Good to see everyone is back to normal,” I hear from the doorway and look over to where Marco is filling the frame, leaning on it with a small smile on his lips.
“Can you take off those stupid fuckin’ sunglasses?” I say, tipping my chin toward my second.
Lilah’s second.
Our second?
I guess there’s still a lot to figure out in this new life.
“Stop it, Dante. They’re his signature look.” I glance at my wife with exasperation, attempting to hide the humor I find in her words. Marco doesn’t bother, the smile growing wider on his face.
“His signature look?” I ask, giving my wife a raised eyebrow. Her smile widens.
“Yes, Dante. His signature look. Like my nails,” she says, wiggling her fingers with pointy red tips. “And your . . . scowl.” Marco lets out a guffaw of a laugh, walking in and sitting in a guest chair in the corner, sprawling like he was invited to be there.
“My scowl?”
“It’s the only consistency I can think of.”
“You’re a little brat, you know that?”
“I’m your brat,” she says with a smile, and despite the numbed pain in my arm and the fact that I’m laid up in a hospital bed after being shot, my cock twitches at her words.
“Once we get home, you can be my little brat all you want—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m right here,” Marco groans. Lilah’s laugh tinkles through the room, and I glare at my oldest friend.
“No one asked you to be here, Marco.”
“Dante! Rude!”
This is my life now.
My wife and my former second teaming up on me.
Marco just smiles, white teeth blinding against dark skin.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, knowing that the chances of Marco just popping in to check on my well-being a second time are slim to none.
He sighs, confirming my thoughts.
“Got some updates.”
“Updates?”
