That’s when Dante storms in. He’s still covered in blood. His shirt is soaked with it, his hands stained red. There’s a spray pattern across his face that makes him look like something out of a horror movie.
“Out,” he says to Dr. Giovanni.
“I’m not finished?—”
“Out. Now.”
The doctor looks at me like I might intervene, but I just nod. He gathers his supplies and leaves quickly, smart enough not to argue with Dante when he’s in this mood.
The door closes and we’re alone.
Dante crosses the room in three long strides and drops to his knees in front of me. His hands are shaking as he reaches for my bandaged arm.
I’ve never seen him shake before. Never seen genuine fear in those cold grey eyes. But it’s there now.
“Let me see it,” he says, and his voice is rough.
“The doctor already?—”
“Let me see it.”
I unwrap the bandage slowly, revealing the angry red line where the glass cut me. It’s not deep and has already stopped bleeding. If I’m lucky, it will probably heal without a scar.
But Dante stares at it like it’s a mortal wound. His fingers trace around the edges of the cut, light and careful. “You were almost killed.”
“But I wasn’t. I’m fine.”
“You were in the hallway. Right by the window. I saw it on the cameras.” His hands are still shaking. “One inch. That’s all it would have taken. One inch to the left and that bullet would have gone through your skull.”
“But it didn’t.”
“It could have.” He looks up at me and his eyes are haunted. “You could have died while I was downstairs. You and Luca could have been killed and I would have been too late to stop it.”
I cup his face, forcing him to look at me. “We’re alive. We’re safe. You protected us.”
“I almost didn’t. I almost lost you.”
The raw vulnerability in his voice breaks something in my chest. This is a man who faces death every day without flinching. Who kills without hesitation.
But here he is, terrified of losing me.
“I’m here,” I say softly. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulls me against him suddenly, burying his face in my neck. His arms wrap around me tight enough to hurt, like he’s trying to absorb me into his body.
We stay like that for a long time. Him holding me like I might disappear, and me running my fingers through his blood stained hair and feeling his heart racing against my chest.
“You need to shower,” I finally say. “You’re covered in blood.”
“I don’t care.”
“Dante—”
“Just let me hold you. Please.”
The “please” breaks me. I’ve never heard him say that word before.
So I let him hold me while his breathing gradually slows and the shaking in his hands stops. Let him take whatever comfort he needs from my presence.
