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“I don’t know. They were just talking about their boss. I didn’t get a name,” I lie. “I was so scared...”
I trail off, a sob catching in my throat.
Dante puts his good arm around me, pulling me close and putting his forehead against mine.
“I’m going to get whoever did this to you, Mia. I swear to you.”
“That doesn’t matter right now,” I say. “All that matters is getting you better.”
I slowly disentangle myself from him and walk to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and putting a little soap on it. I keep the water cool, but not freezing.
When I place the cloth on his skin, he winces as I get closer to the wound, but I just wash around it in a wide berth, telling myself he can clean himself in the shower when he’s better. If I hurt him, I’d never forgive myself.
It takes three rags and several trips to the bathroom, but I get him mostly clean. The blood has traveled down to his waist on both sides.
Dante sways on the bed slightly and I frown at him.
“You should lie down. Get some rest,” I tell him.
“Don’t want to,” he slurs. “Want to see you.”
I smile, my heart clenching in my chest. He’s so sweet when he’s drugged and shot. I push at his good shoulder lightly and he falls back onto the bed. Then I take his legs and swing them over the bed and he wiggles under the covers.
“Come to bed with me,” he says, and I gingerly climb into bed. He watches me. “You’re hurt somewhere else. Where?”
He tugs at my shirt and I show him the bandages on my ribs.
“I’ll be okay in a few days,” I promise.
“I’m going to torture Vincenzo for days before I kill him,” Dante seethes.
“I told you, don’t worry about that. Not right now. Like I said, I don’t know who it was.”
“It seems awfully fucking convenient that Vincenzo kept me out all night by telling me about the storefront shooting, and then you get kidnapped the next day.”
“It was all my fault,” I mumble, looking down, tears welling in my eyes. “I shouldn’t have left the mansion alone.”
“You shouldn’t have,” Dante agrees, but then he frowns at my tearful expression. “But it’s not your fault. Nothing that happened was your fault.”
He pauses, looking intently at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Did he—” he hesitates, gulps loudly, and I shake my head vigorously.
“They kept saying the boss was coming but you and Nico showed up before he did,” I explain.
“Thank God,” Dante breathes.
I can see from his face that he’s not going to let this go, that I have to tell him about Vincenzo, but I’m leaving the part out about his parents. He may listen to me when I ask him not to go after Vincenzo over me, but the death of his parents? That’s a different story.
“I think it was Vincenzo,” I admit. “I heard one of them say his name, but I can’t be sure.”
“Nico said he used to have a thing for you. Why didn’t you tell me that?” His voice doesn’t sound demanding, just curious.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t like to think about it. I was just a kid, like sixteen, and he asked my father if he could take me out. Papa beat him nearly to death, but he never stopped sniffing around and asking about me.”
“Fucking creep,” Dante curses, and I nod.
