apartment. Gabriella pulled her pillow overtop of her head, covering her ears with it, diluting the intrusive sound.
It buzzed half a dozen times before stopping. When silence took over, sleep stole Gabriella away.
It lasted only a few minutes, though, before another noise jarred her awake. She tore the pillow away with a groan and sat up, her gaze darting to the bedroom door. Through the hazy glass, she saw movement, her heart stalling for a beat before wildly kicking in.
Someone was there. In the apartment. Oh crap.
Jumping out of bed, Gabriella opened the drawer in the bedside stand, pulling out a small .22 caliber pistol stashed there. Creeping to the door, she took a deep breath, counting to three in her head before shoving it open. "Don't move!"
The person froze.
Gabriella's hands were steady, her finger on the trigger, her racing heart battering her insides. It took a few seconds for her adrenaline to wane enough for her to make sense of things.
Dante stood in front of her, dressed in a suit, gaping at her from the living room. "Jesus fuck, Gabriella, what are you doing?"
"Me? What are you doing?" Her eyes darted to the door, seeing the locks dangling. "Did you… did you just break into my apartment? Seriously?"
"You didn't answer when I buzzed you," he said. "Didn't answer when I knocked, either."
"So you just force your way in? You default to breaking and entering? I could shoot you for that!"
"You could," he agreed, taking a careful step toward her. Gabriella smelled it then. Liquor. The odor clung to him.
"I'd do it, too," she warned. "I swear I would shoot you right in the face."
"I believe it." Dante raised his hands. "Look, can you just… put down the gun?"
"Why should I?"
"Because it's really fucking with my head," he said. "Not to mention your tits are distracting. I don't know where to look. I don't know what to think. I don't know whether I'm supposed to be turned on or terrified, and Jesus, the fact that I'm terrified right now is kind of turning me on. So can you just… take your finger off the trigger? Please? Before I come in my pants here?"
Gabriella lowered the gun and crossed her arms over her chest. Ugh. Turning, she stalked back into her bedroom, grabbing a shirt from her closet to cover herself. She put the gun back into the drawer and went to close it when Dante called out from the doorway. "Can I see it?"
She hesitated before stepping to him, holding out the gun. "Just don't shoot me."
"You know I wouldn't," he said, taking the gun and checking it out. "Son of a bitch, it's actually loaded."
"Of course it is," she said. "What's the point of having a gun if it doesn't have any bullets in it?"
"Damn good question," he said, handing it back. "Here, put it away, wherever you keep it."
She took it as she stared into his bloodshot eyes. "You're drunk."
"A little bit," he admitted.
She shook her head, looking away. "Well, then, it's a good thing you weren't planning to drive anywhere. If you drink and drive, you might kill somebody, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"
He sighed as she returned the gun to the drawer. "Gabriella…"
"What do you want from me, Dante?" she asked. "I'm not in the mood, so just tell me why you're here so we can get this over with and you can go on your way and do whatever it is you do."
"I thought I had an open invitation."
She walked back into the living room. "You do. You did."
"Did," he repeated, his expression hardening. "Meaning not anymore?"
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't know what you expect from me."
"I don't expect anything."
"Maybe that's the problem," she said, sitting down on the couch. "Because today, I actually expected something from you."
He frowned. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." She dropped her head down and covered her face, her eyes burning. "You owe me nothing."
"I owe you my life."
"No, you don't," she said. "I did my job, Dante. That's it. I went to work every day, and I took care of you. I was happy to do it. You lived, not because of me, but because you refused to die. And I'm glad for it. I'm glad you're alive. But you owe me nothing for that. So it was my fault, because I should've known better than to have expectations."
"Please don't do this, Gabriella."
"Don't do what?"
"Don't regret me," he said. "Don't say I'm just some mistake you