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“No.” I try to wet my lips, but my tongue feels like sandpaper. As if reading my mind, Dante reaches off to the side and comes up with a cup of water. I try to smile as he cautiously lifts it to my lips and watches me take a tentative sip. The cool water feels like heaven on my parched throat. It is also giving me the head space to figure out what exactly is going on.
“Mr Santoro. I need you to leave.” My eyes bounce from Dante to the young woman in scrubs standing on the other side of the bed I’m in. Hospital bed. Dante growls something incoherent at her as I take stock of myself. The side of my face hurts, my ribs ache with a dull throb each time I take a breath, and there is something uncomfortable on the side ofmy stomach. Other than that, I don’t feel too bad, but there are wires sticking out of my arm, and when I follow them, my gaze lands on the bags hanging from a hook. Shit. I don’t think I’d be out of line in assuming that one of those has strong painkillers in it. Meaning, my situation is probably worse than I first assumed. My mind is hazy enough that I can’t piece the last few hours of being awake together.
While Dante and the nurse argue in hushed tones, I try to remember what happened. I was going to go to the high school to find out more about Rosa. Fred was with me… I found the picture… I look down at my chest, scrunching my brows—I’m no longer wearing a bra, so someone must have taken it away. I’m about to open my mouth and ask where it is when memories flood me. Fred’s body on the floor. Nicolosi. Tony. The house I grew up in.
The wardrobe.
I squeak as a tear spills down my cheek, unable to hold the pain in check. The memories I buried so deep inside resurfacing with renewed strength.
“Fata, are you in pain?”
I shake my head, despite being in agony over my lost childhood. The family I never had, and the father who was determined to make me pay for my mother’s sins. It’s not the sort of ache that painkillers can fix anyway.
“Is Fred okay?” I manage to ask, pushing everything else to the back of my mind. Dante’s jaw tightens as a muscle in his vein starts to tick. I slide my hand across the bed to his, trying not to wince at the pain just the slight movement causes. “Dante,” I soothe, squeezing his hand.
He squeezes mine back, his posture relaxing. “He’s…fine. For now.”
“Dante.”
“He was shot.”
I gasp, the movement making me wince.
“He’s fine. My men got to him in time.” The muscle in his vein ticks again.
“Please don’t hurt him.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Alessa,” he says sharply.
“Please, Dante.”
“He disobeyed my orders. You were kidnapped becausehetook you somewhere it wasn’t safe,” his voice raises. “You were almost killed,Fata.”
“I asked him to take me there. Would you rather I’ve gone alone?”
“Baby—”
“No,” I say sharply. “He got shot, trying to protect me. I was the one who snuck out. I was the one determined to find out the secretsyouwere hiding from me. It wasn’t his fault.”
“It was mine,” he whispers and as much as I want to deny it, I can’t, because if he told me the truth from the start I’d have never left to find it for myself.
“No secrets, remember?” I shake my head as the nurse huffs in frustration then leaves the room. “Why did you keep secrets from me?”
He’s quiet again, his face downcast as his eyes focus on our joined hands.
“My empire is built on secrets, Alessa…I didn’t want to keep them.”
“But you did, anyway,” I sigh. “From the very beginning.”
Dante licks his lips. “I was afraid that if you found out the truth, you’d hate me. “
I chuckle. “Keeping the truth from me was the last thing you should have been worrying about. You were a total dick to me from the start.”Until he wasn’t.Until he was everything I didn’t know I wanted and needed. “Truth about what, Dante?” I ask, squeezing his hand with mine. Something digs into the side of my finger, and if it didn’t kill sodamn much, I’d have tried to investigate, but even the slightest movement hurts like a bitch.
“About everything.” He lets go of my hands and buries his face in his hands.
“Like the fact I was born in Blackwood?” I ask. Dante freezes. “Or that my mother had an affair with Nico’s son?” I continue, watching him for any sign of emotions. “Or that my father killed my mother and the-en,” my voice breaks.
Dante’s hands fall off his face revealing eyes full of anguish. “I killed your father.”
