Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (16 page)

Gabriella sighed. "Please tell me I'm not expected to go to this thing."

"I told her I'd let you know."

"Mom…"

"Don't '
Mom
' me, Gabriella Michele. You can show your face for a few minutes."

"But it's my day off."

"Which means you've got plenty of time. Family is family, like it or not."

"Not," Gabriella muttered.

"You come, you eat some food, and you go back home. How hard is that?"

A heck of a lot harder than her mother would understand. "I'll consider it."

"There's nothing to
consider
. Bring some kind of appetizer. Stuffed mushrooms. Got it?"

"Got it." Gabriella barely got those words out before a loud buzz echoed through her apartment. Her eyes darted to the intercom on the wall by the front door. "Mom, hold on a second."

"Why? What's going on?"

Gabriella ignored those questions as she walked over to the door. The buzzer went off again, so startlingly loud that she flinched. She'd lived there for a year and could count the number of times someone had buzzed her apartment on one hand… and most of those had been accidents.

Needless to say, she didn't get many visitors.

Pressing the 'talk' button, Gabriella mumbled, "Who is it?"

Nothing met her ears for a moment... nothing except the sound of the noisy street below. She was about to chalk it up to a glitch when the voice spoke. "It's Dante."

Dante
.

Something stirred inside of Gabriella at the sound of his name. She'd wondered if she'd ever hear from him again. "Dante."

"I know I shouldn't be here," he said, something off about his voice, something that Gabriella couldn't pinpoint. "I just, I need…
fuck
."

A groan filtered through the intercom, loud enough to be distinguishable. While he didn't elaborate about what he needed, Gabriella could guess what he thought he needed was
her
. And that went against her better judgment. Heck, part of her screamed in alarm. This wasn't normal. He
shouldn't
be there. But without giving herself a chance to second-guess it, she pressed the 'door' button, buzzing him in.

"Gabriella, I swear on your father's life, if you don't answer me right now—"

Rolling her eyes, Gabriella headed back into the kitchen. "Sorry, Mom. I'm still here."

"Where'd you go? Is somebody there?"

"Yeah, it's, uh…" Crap, how to explain that?
Not even trying
. "It was nobody, just someone pressing buttons."

Liar, liar, pants on fire
.

God, had she
ever
lied to her mother before? Maybe as a kid, but she'd never felt the need to keep secrets from her parents. But this was secret-worthy. A lie would go down a lot easier than this truth.

"I need to go, Mom," she said, her heart pounding like crazy when a knock echoed through the apartment, loud enough that she knew her mother heard it.
Crap
. "I'll see you Sunday."

"Gabriella, don't hang up this—"

Gabriella tapped the button to end the call. Her nerves frayed as anxiety swelled in her gut when he knocked again.
Ugh, pull yourself together, nitwit.

Walking over, she fiddled with the locks before pulling the door open a crack, coming face to face with Dante, the chain still latched. His warm brown eyes were dark, so damn dark they appeared black in the dim lighting, but the whites of them were strikingly bloodshot. He blinked, the movement exaggerated, as he stared at her from the hallway. She clearly wasn't the only one tired. Dark circles, puffy eyes, pale skin… had the guy slept at all since leaving the hospital over two weeks ago?

She opened the door further as a slight smile turned his lips, barely detectable, before his expression fell again. He cleared his throat, his voice gritty as he whispered, "Nurse Russo."

"I thought you were going to call me—"

Gabriella didn't finish her sentence, getting a good look at him, her gaze settling on his filthy white shirt. His
bloody
white shirt. A patch of red covered the side, where one of his blood-covered hands gripped, while streaks were smeared along his stomach like he'd finger-painted with it.

Gabriella undid the chain before yanking the door open the whole way.

"What happened?" she asked, reaching for him as her gaze darted along the hallway, hoping nobody was around to see him. She grabbed his arm, anxiously pulling him into her apartment before slamming the door. "You're bleeding!"

"I got stabbed." Dante glanced down at his side. "Again."

"You got stabbed?" she asked. "
Again
?"

Was that
seriously
what he said?

"I didn't know where else to go," he explained, looking back up at her.

"The hospital. You get stabbed, you go to the hospital. You go to the
emergency room
. That's why it exists! For emergencies!"

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because they ask questions."

She groaned. Mandatory reporting. Any gunshots or stab wounds have to be reported to the police by the hospital. "Yeah, well, you've proven before that just because they ask doesn't mean you have to
answer
."

"I just… I can't do it." He shook his head. "If you want me to leave, I'll go, but I've had my fill of hospitals, and at this point, I'd rather bleed to death than walk into that fucking place, so I came here hoping…"

"Hoping I'd help you?"

"Yeah."

"This goes against everything I stand for," she said. "This is wrong on
so
many levels. It's unethical. It's dangerous. I can't just
help you
when you've been stabbed. That's crazy!
You're
crazy!"

As she ranted, Gabriella dragged him through the apartment and into the small bathroom, flicking on the bright light, both of them squinting from the harsh glow. Dante leaned back against the white counter as Gabriella dug her first aid kit out of a drawer and grabbed a clean towel.

"I need to..." She stood in front of him, flailing her hands toward his side. "You know."

Did he know? Did it make sense to him? Gabriella had to wonder, because nothing about any of it made any sense to
her
. What she needed to do was call the guy an ambulance. What she needed to do was the opposite of what she was about to.

I can't believe I'm doing this
.

Dante nodded, like he understood, and yet he hesitated, like he wasn't sure what was going on. After a moment, though, he pulled his bloody shirt up, gritting his teeth as he tucked it beneath his chin. He stood still as Gabriella put on a pair of rubber gloves.

"You should really lay down." Gabriella glanced around her minuscule bathroom. There was barely enough room for the two of them to squeeze in there, much less space for him to lie down. "The bedroom is, uh, right through there…"

"I'm fine," he said. "I don't need to lay down."

"But—"

"Just do what you have to."

"You seriously need a doctor," she told him, kneeling in front of him. "There's no way for me to be sure that they didn't hit anything."

"I'll take my chances."

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe what you
really
need is another psych consult, because this isn't normal. This isn't what normal people do when somebody
stabs
them."

"I never claimed to be normal. Besides, I'm pretty sure normal people don't get stabbed at all."

"Oh, they do. Just not as often as it seems
you
do. Something about you I guess just makes people want to stab. Kind of like
stick a fork in it
, you know, but with a friggin knife."

Dante laughed at that, his hands gripping the counter on each side of him as Gabriella washed the wound. "If it makes it any better, it was the same person every time."

"That doesn't make it any better."

"You sure?"

"Positive." She glared up at him. "If anything, it makes you an
idiot
for going near them."

He stared down at her, his expression unruffled, like her calling him an idiot didn't bother him. His gaze was so intense that Gabriella still felt it when she looked away. She tried to ignore him and focus on his injury, flushing the wound and sterilizing it. His body tensed, hands gripping the counter so tightly she was surprised he didn't break off a piece of the cheap plaster.

He'd applied enough pressure to stop most of the bleeding, so at least he wouldn't bleed to death in her bathroom.
Thank goodness
. After Gabriella was sure she had it clean, she used tape to close the wound, gluing the edges, before covering it with a large bandage.

Standing up again, she met his gaze. He was still staring at her. After an awkward moment, where Gabriella swore the temperature rose a hundred degrees, he lowered his head and looked down at her handiwork.

"Give it to me straight," he said. "Am I going to live?"

"Most likely," she said. "You're not very good at this dying thing, you know."

"I'll have to try harder next time."

Gabriella tore her gloves off and tossed them in the trashcan as Dante let his bloody shirt drop, covering his chest.

"You should wash up," she suggested. "I'm sure I've got a shirt you can change into around here somewhere."

She didn't give him a chance to argue, jetting out of the bathroom and closing the door, shutting him in there alone. Nervously, she made her way into her bedroom, cringing at the mess. Clothes were flung all over the place, clutter piled up on the dresser and bedside stands. Gabriella waded through it, heading to her closet. She found a Mets shirt hanging in the back and yanked it off the hanger, a startled scream escaping when she swung around.

Dante stood in the doorway, watching.

He'd made a half-assed attempted at cleaning himself up, at least washing the blood from his hands.

"Uh, here, this should fit you," she mumbled, holding the shirt out to him, but he made no attempt to come any closer, not crossing the threshold into her bedroom.

Brow furrowing, she approached him. Once it was within his reach, he took the shirt she offered. He was even paler now than when he'd shown up. Sweat formed along his brow. Instinctively, Gabriella grabbed his wrist, checking for his pulse, counting the faint beats. He tolerated it, again staring at her, not attempting to pull away.

"You sure you don't want to lay down?" she asked, nodding her head over to the bed.

Dante waited until she let go of him to answer. "If I ever find myself in your bed, Gabriella, it'll be under entirely different circumstances."

There went the temperature rising again.

Her cheeks flushed as Dante observed the shirt, cringing like it hurt him to look at it. "Didn't take you for a Mets fan."

"What did you take me for?"

"Someone with class."

He draped the shirt over his shoulder before walking into the living room. Gabriella followed, watching as he staggered a few steps, swaying. Her heart nearly stalled when his knees buckled. Ten seconds and he was going to slam right into the floor.

Darting forward, she grabbed him before he fell.
Oh crap, he's heavy
. She managed to get him to her couch, dropping him on it. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes, as he ran his hands down his face, the softest whispered apology escaping his lips. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said, sitting down on the coffee table in front of the couch, her knees pressing against his. "You lost blood, so it's not surprising if you're feeling weak. Besides, no offense, but you look like you could use some beauty sleep."

He peeked an eye open. "You calling me ugly?"

"Maybe."

Absolutely not
. She could think of a few words to describe him—reckless, fearless, most definitely cocky—but ugly didn't come close to registering on that chart. Even looking like
Casper the Less-than-Friendly Ghost
, there was something captivating about him, something charming in his smile and kind in his eyes. She couldn't quite explain it, because he was
far
from being her type. She'd always dated architects and athletes, not the kind of guys who got stabbed on Friday nights.

She'd purposely avoided dating those guys.

She dwelled on that as he leaned forward, moving around enough to finally tear his bloody shirt off. He dropped it in his lap and exchanged it for the one she'd given him. Her gaze flickered to his bare chest when he pulled the clean one on. It was instinctual, a reaction to having a half-naked man in her living room.

She averted her gaze, not wanting to be caught ogling him.
Control the friggin hormones, girl.

"I was five," he said, his voice quiet. "My shirt caught on fire."

Gabriella met his gaze. "What?"

"Car blew up. I was close to the blast. That's how my chest got all fucked up."

She frowned. He thought she was reacting to his
scars
. "I wasn't… you know… and I actually knew that. I know what happened."

"Of course," he said. "You live like a block from there."

"I didn't live here then," she said. "I grew up in Jersey, but something like that… word travels. They said you were lucky to survive."

"I'm not lucky." He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his face mere inches from hers. "I almost died. I
should've
died. But I didn't. I survived because I'd been busy that night looking out for my little sister. That's all I ever did... look after her. But here I am, years later, with nobody to look after. Doesn't get much more
unlucky
, does it?"

Gabriella didn't know what to say. She had so much she
wanted
to say, so much she wished she could tell him, but her voice didn't seem to work. Maybe it was fear that silenced her, or maybe it was self-preservation, but when her lips parted, all she could do was exhale.

Dante's eyes scanned her face, like he was seeking the answer to his question, before his gaze settled on her mouth, like maybe he thought he'd find what he really wanted
there
. Gabriella's breath hitched as he licked his dry lips, inching closer so slowly she wasn't sure he was actually moving.