She hated winter.
Everything died in the winter, the beauty of the world somehow getting lost, withering away and leaving only remnants behind. But life didn't stop, no… it trudged along, clinging to frigid breaths, holding on for another tomorrow where maybe the sun would shine again.
No friggin luck today.
"Excuse me," she mumbled, moving around someone lingering outside the building, attempting to walk away when they stepped in her path.
"Amaro's cousin, right?" the man asked, smiling at her. It took a moment for recognition to strike, for familiarity to sink in. She'd run into the guy before—literally—at Casato.
"Uh, yeah, and you are…?"
"A friend," he said. "Your name's Gabriella, right? Russo? You happen to have a boyfriend, Gabriella Russo?"
Her back stiffened at the way he used her full name. He was choosing his words carefully, every syllable deliberate, like he was trying to intimidate her. "I might, but even if I don't, I'm not interested. Sorry."
She attempted to go around him but yet again he stepped in her path, blocking her from leaving. "Ah, don't be like that. I'm just asking a question."
"One I'm choosing not to answer," she said. "If you don't like it, take it up with the Constitution. It guaranteed me life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness without having to worry about persecution."
"I'm not the government, sweetheart."
"Could've fooled me," she said. "You seem to have the whole smug incompetence thing down."
She tried for the third time to move past him, managing to make it a few steps before his hand gripped her bicep hard enough to stop her. "Feisty one, aren't you?"
She yanked from his grasp, a surge of anger rushing through her. "Look, I don't know whose goon you are, nor do I care, frankly. Barsanti, Galante, doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of you."
"Maybe you ought to be."
"Well, tough cookie, because if you're hoping to scare me, you're failing miserably. You should work on that, you know, for the next time you try to intimidate one of Victor Brazzi's grandchildren."
She took a few steps, flexing her hands at her sides as her heart raced, prepared to swing if he touched her again, but only his voice followed her this time.
"Brazzi. You think I'm scared of that name?"
"Maybe you ought to be."
He laughed when she threw his words back at him. "That's funny. Damn near as funny as the look on your boyfriend's face when he's got a knife in his gut. Now that is a fucking riot."
Gabriella's footsteps stalled. She wanted to keep going. She should've kept going. Instead, she faced him again. "That was you?"
He held up his hands, as if in surrender. "Guilty."
She pointed at him, waving her finger all around at his cocky grin. "Smug incompetence. Knew it. You stabbed him and never hit anything important. Do you know how crappy you have to be to miss even a kidney?"
"That's not incompetence," he countered. "If I wanted to hit something, I would've, but I wasn't trying to kill the guy. Just wanted to poke the bear a bit. All in good fun."
She shook her head. "You keep telling yourself that."
"I will," he said, "and why don't you tell your boyfriend something for me, while we're at it? Tell him to watch his back."
He strolled away, not at all frazzled by their conversation.
"Why can't you just leave him alone? Huh? What did he do that was so wrong?"
"Oh, nothing much," the guy said. "He only killed my best friend."
Gabriella stared at him as he walked away. A sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach at his words, bile rising in her throat that she desperately swallowed back. He wasn't the first one to tell her something like that, but Gabriella struggled to fathom it. Dante was passionate, and maybe he could be dangerous, but she'd never seen a malicious side to him.
Her gaze flickered to the apartment above, part of her wanting to go back inside, to go up there and see him, but she was due at work in minutes.
She'd never been late for work before.
Despite rushing, Gabriella walked into the hospital a quarter after seven, a solid fifteen minutes after she was scheduled. As soon as she stepped out onto the ICU, apologies spilled out of her, but they fell upon deaf ears. Dr. Crabtree met her at the elevator, along with the charge nurse, Monica Burns.
"We'd like to have a word with you, Nurse Russo," Monica said, "if you don't mind."
Her brow furrowed. "If this is about me being late, I really am sorry. Really. I had this situation and I missed my connection and had to wait."
"This isn't about that," she said, "although, as you know, there are no excuses for tardiness."
"I know," she muttered. "Can I ask what this is about? Is there a problem or something?"
"Follow me, please."
Her refusal to answer that question sent red flags flying, but Gabriella had no choice but to follow the woman. They went to a small conference room on the floor, usually utilized for brief meetings about a patient's care. Monica and Crabtree sat down on one side of the long wooden table. Gabriella's anxiety flared as she slipped into the chair across from them. "Am I in trouble?"
Instead of answering, Monica pulled out a crisp white envelope, sliding it across the table. Gabriella picked it up. The return address in the corner said it came from the hospital, straight from the Chief Nursing Officer, the sight making her stomach churn. She wanted to ask what it was, why they were giving it to her, but questions were pointless. If they wanted to answer any of that, they already would've.
So carefully, she slid her finger beneath the loose flap and reached inside, pulling out the piece of paper. Unfolding it, her eyes glossed across the text of the letter, slamming right into a stream of words that made her stop short.
Improper relationship with a patient.
"I can't believe this," she whispered, her voice struck with a small tremor. Anonymous complaints that she'd used her position to prey upon an emotionally vulnerable patient.
"I'm sure I don't have to tell you how serious these allegations are," Monica said. "You'll, of course, be able to defend yourself when you meet with the CNO and clear up what I'm certain is just a misunderstanding, but you've been taken off the schedule until then as a precaution."
"But my patients…"
"We were able to pull others in to cover your shifts," she explained. "Your patients have been reassigned."
Dumbfounded couldn't begin to describe Gabriella. She scanned the letter again, like maybe the words would change, but no, there it was in ink, her fate sealed, officially calling that gray area a big black strike. "So that's it?"
"For now," Monica said, standing up. “You’ll be back to work just as soon as it gets cleared up."
The woman walked out, and Crabtree lingered for a moment before standing up. "You should've known better, Nurse Russo. Maybe you do need that Ph.D. to spot an ethical issue."
He walked out, leaving her with those words.
She was screwed.
After shoving the letter back into the envelope, she made the trek back to her apartment. Snow came down harder, the hidden sun moving on as night set in. By the time she stepped into the building, her toes were frozen and her nose ran, chills covering every inch of her as she shivered.
She unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment, silence greeting her. "Dante?"
No answer.
He wouldn't expect her back for twelve hours, so there was no telling where he might've gone or what he might've been off doing. After locking the door again, attaching the chain lock, she dropped the letter on the living room coffee table before stripping out of her cold, damp scrubs, discarding them wherever as she headed into the bathroom. While drawing herself a warm bubble bath, she fired off a quick text message to Dante's new number. Back home. Not working, after all. Be careful, wherever you are.
She slid down into the suds, earbuds in her ears, her phone perched on the ledge of the tub, blasting music. It too
k a minute or so for him to respond, her phone lighting up. Not working, either, so don't worry.
Where are you?
At Michaels.
Who's Michael?
Fuck if I know.
Her brow furrowed. Why would he be at someone's house he doesn't know? Why are you there?
Because they got what I need.
What do you need?
A fucking psych consult for doing this shit, probably.
What are you doing?
Being a damn Girl Scout for you.
She stared at that, even more confused, when another text popped up from Dante. Be home in a bit. You're distracting me.
She scowled at that, typing K, figuring that to be the end of that, but her phone lit right back up seconds later.
Don't K me. I deserve that shit spelled out for all the trouble I'm going through.
She rolled her eyes, typing OK.
Setting the phone down, she closed her eyes, sinking further into the tub, hoping to clear her mind and forget about everything that had happened that evening. She mumbled along to the words, letting the warm water soothe her muscles, relaxing so much she dozed off.
Something startled her, drawing her out of her light slumber. Blinking, Gabriella sat straight up, a chill ripping through her as she turned her music off. Goose bumps coated her, the now cool water nipping at her skin. Her teeth chattered, the bubbles dissolved. Crossing her arms over her chest, she climbed out of the tub, snatching up a towel when she heard the faint sound of footsteps.
"Dante? Is that you?"
No answer.
Silence permeated the apartment. A door shut in the distance. Her heart stalled a beat before kicking in. It was hard living in the city, differentiating noises, the walls thin and floorboards creaky. Innocence felt alarming, while the dangers of the world registered as whispers on a breeze instead of fiery explosions. Up was down, and it all went round and round. Sometimes gunshots were just fireworks but occasionally the sparkling bangs masked the suppressed sound of a bullet from a silencer.
Gabriella shook it off, wrapping the towel around her before letting the water out of the tub.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she walked down the short hall toward the bedroom, stalling in the living room when someone moved. "Dante?"
Dante turned to her, holding up a piece of paper. "This is about me, I'm guessing?"
The letter from the hospital board.
"So it seems."
He glanced back at the paper before shoving it in the envelope. "Emotionally vulnerable, my ass."
"It's true," she said, taking the letter from him. "Technically. You were hurt and you were grieving. You had nobody. But I was there, advocating for you."
"Don't do that," he said. "Don't act like I was just some fucking wounded animal."
"I'm not. I'm just saying—"
"I know what you're saying. I was beat down, at my lowest, and you swooped on in and made me feel something, like I caught Stockholm Syndrome, but that's bullshit. Because I've never been that weak, Gabriella. I'm not going to roll over and beg for the first pretty face that comes along."
"I didn't mean—"
Dante cupped her cheek, his thumb roughly grazing over her bottom lip. "Look, I love you, and I could stand here and list dozens of reasons why I do—you're funny; you've got guts; you understand my life—but not a single one of those goddamn reasons will be because you saw that tube in my dick."
She cracked a smile as he wrapped his arms around her. "Too bad the hospital board won't see it that way."
"I'm sure you can convince them." He nudged her chin, making her look at him. "When in doubt, just tell them you'd rather have your pussy shrivel up and die than let Dante Galante inside of it."
"That's a horrible lie," she whispered. "The biggest lie ever told."
Leaning down, he kissed her. "That's good to hear, because I'm pretty sure I'd die if I never got to fuck you again."
He gazed at her in silence, and she stared right back, those goose bumps still coating her.
She shivered in his arms. "I should put some clothes on."
"Or," he said, "I might have a better way to keep you warm."
Dante backed her up to the bedroom as he yanked away the towel, dropping it. Her eyes flickered around the apartment in the darkness, ghosting across the unlocked front door, eyeing the dangling chain. "You broke in again?"
"No," he said, "I've got a key, remember?"
"Yeah, but the chain..."
He nuzzled into her neck, his tongue gliding across her cool skin as he palmed a breast. "What about it?"
"It's not latched."
"I know."
"But it was. I locked the door when I got in the bathtub."
"You sure about that?" His thumb grazed across her perky nipple, sending tingles through her. "Because it wasn't locked when I got home."
"I, uh…" She moaned when he kissed the spot right below her ear. "Maybe I forgot the chain."
He pulled away. "But you're sure you locked the door?"
"Pretty sure."
"Pretty sure isn't sure," he said. "Because I'm not fucking with you when I say the door was already unlocked when I got home. And by that I mean anyone could've turned the knob and walked right in. So if someone unlocked it, it wasn't me."
Her expression fell. "What?"
He glanced at the door before scanning the dark apartment.
"But I was here," she said, sickness churning her stomach. "I mean, I heard a noise, but then you were here, so I figured…"
"You figured it was me," he said, finishing her thought. "What kind of noise?"
"I don't know." She reached down to snatch the towel back up, wrapping it around herself again. "Like a door, maybe? The floor creaking or something closing? I fell asleep but then—" She stalled abruptly. "Oh God, do you think someone was in here? Seriously? Someone broke in while I was taking a friggin bath?"
"It's possible."
"Who would do that?"
Dante moved away from her to search the apartment, checking rooms and opening up drawers. "I have some ideas."
"Like?" She followed him around. "What are you looking for?"
"I'm trying to see if anything is missing," he said, pausing, "and making sure nothing was left behind."
"What would they leave behind?"
"Bombs? Bugs? I don't know. Jesus, baby, you're a fucking Brazzi. I need you to act like one. Can you think of anything else? Anything that'll tell me who might've broken in?"
"I, uh, ugh." She followed him into the bedroom, watching as he checked under the bed and rifled through the dresser. "Oh crap, there was a guy earlier today."
"What guy?"
"He wouldn't tell me his name, but I've seen him before. He asked me about you… he asked me about my boyfriend."
"What did he say about me?"
"He said you killed his best friend."
Dante opened the bedside stand and stood there, completely still, staring down into it. "He wasn't lying."
Gabriella closed her eyes to keep the room from spinning.
"Gabriella?"
She opened her eyes again. "Yeah?"
"Where's your gun, baby?"
"It's in the drawer, where it always is."
Dante stared into the drawer for a moment before closing it.
"Do you think it was him?" Gabriella asked, watching as Dante walked over to the door, checking out the locks. "The guy I saw?"
"I don't think so."
"Why?"
"Because your gun is missing."
Genna's car was gone from out front of the Galante house.
It was the first thing Dante noticed when he approached the property at one o'clock in the morning, lingering in the frigid darkness, careful not to slip on any ice or leave any distinguishable footprints in the snow. His car was parked down the block, out of sight, too noticeable to bring it any closer.
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Dante. Months ago, Matte
o Barsanti had done damn near the same thing, lurking outside the Galante house with a gun and a grudge, both aimed at Dante. And Dante had realized in that moment, when Matteo's finger hovered over the trigger, itching to squeeze it, that someday he would pay for what he'd done, but it wouldn't be with his life. No, his life wasn't worth enough. The world would want to destroy everything he loved instead.
He couldn't let that happen.
Umberto's car was right out front. After pulling his hood up over his head, Dante carefully approached it, ghosting his hand along the hood.
Still warm.
He banged his fist against it, setting off the shock sensors, the car alarm blaring through the quiet neighborhood. Dante plopped down on the hood as it screamed, just sitting there and waiting, knowing it wouldn't be long before he surfaced.
Thirty seconds passed, maybe a minute at most, before the front door of the Galante house opened, the car alarm deactivated. Silence reigned for a few seconds before the alarm again went off when Dante shifted position.
Umberto strolled toward him, once more disabling the alarm. Again, it only lasted a few seconds before the screeching alarm echoed through the neighborhood.
"You mind getting off my car?" Umberto asked, stalling near him. "You know, before it disturbs everyone around here?"
"When did you get so neighborly?"
"About the same time you did."
Dante stood up, moving away from the car so Umberto could cut the alarm off for the third time. The neighbors would've heard it by then. Eyes would be looking, concerned about the Galante hoodlums, stalking their every move to ensure no trouble brewed. Dante purposely took a few steps to the left, away from the curb, standing beneath a glowing streetlight, visible to anyone who might've been watching. Umberto surveyed him as he came closer, knowing exactly what Dante was doing.
They'd been friends for years, after all. They knew each other's strengths and weaknesses. They knew the tactics they employed to stay safe, just as they knew what made the other one tick. The two of them had done countless jobs together, and while Umberto's crimes had seemed to escalate, a few stark details hadn't changed.
"Johnny Amaro, you know, they say he's going to be just fine," Dante said. "Probably get to come home soon. Figured you'd like to know."
Sweetest Sorrow Page 37