The elevators dinged on the floor, a group of people stepping off. The first face Dante saw belonged to Victor Brazzi, flanked by two men dressed in black—his bodyguards. Gabriella's parents were with him, along with a few others, Dante's eyes drifting to the woman in the center.
Lena Amaro.
Johnny's wife. Gavin's mother.
"Yeah, well, if it was my father, I wouldn't save him, either." Dante stood as they approached, reaching over to squeeze Gavin's shoulder. "I'll leave you to your family, G."
Dante tried to walk away, not wanting to impose, but Lena stepped into his path, stalling in front of him. Her voice trembled as she growled his name. "Galante."
Dante's eyes connected with hers. Rage. Devastation. Fear. Hatred. A flurry of emotion lit her face, her cheek twitching and bottom lip quivering, as tears coated those expressive, bloodshot eyes. He tensed as she flexed her hand at her side. She wanted to hit him. Shit. She was going to.
Lena came at him and he braced himself, standing completely still as she swung, her open palm slapping his face so hard his head jolted to the side. A sharp sting tore through his cheek, and he winced but said nothing, taking the blow in silence. Mere seconds passed, tears spilling down her cheeks, before she came at him again, this time flinging her arms around him.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The hug didn't last long, barely a few seconds, before she pulled away and went for her son instead. Loud sobs echoed through the room, spilling out of her, and Dante used the distraction as a chance to slip away. He stalked right for the elevator, grateful when it opened.
Stepping inside, he pressed the button for the lobby, the doors almost closing before a hand shot between them, forcing them back open. Alfie stepped inside, pressing the 'door close' button. Dante leaned against the back wall of the elevator, rubbing his cheek.
When they reached the lobby, Dante made his way to the exit while Alfie veered into the waiting room. Four in the morning, almost twenty-four hours passing since the café fire, and the city was quiet. Eerily quiet. Dante headed for the hospital's parking garage around the corner, going for his car on the second tier. Pulling his key out, he approached it, his footsteps faltering when it came into view.
Someone was sitting on the hood.
They wore all back, oversized hoodie. Umberto.
Carefully, Dante scanned the garage, looking for others, but black sedans packed the place and he couldn't differentiate between them.
His steps were measured as he approached the McLaren.
"Nice car." Umberto glided a gloved hand along the glossy blue paint. "Not really you, though."
"You don't even know me."
"I do. Or I did. Dante I knew was smarter than this."
"Smarter than what?"
"Smarter than driving a car that stands out so much."
"What are you going to do? Blow it up?"
Umberto slid off the hood to take a few steps his direction. "Do you really think I'd do that to you?"
"Yes."
His answer was instant.
Umberto would do anything that Primo ordered.
A car pulled into the garage, speeding around the corner, coming their direction. Dante's heart raced at the flash of headlights. The car skidded to a stop behind him, blocking him in.
"Your father wants another word with you," Umberto said. "Shouldn't take long."
"Just long enough to shoot me, huh?"
"Don't be stupid." Umberto opened the back door. "Get in."
"Can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Figured you would've learned by now that these things aren't negotiable."
"I'm not looking to negotiate," Dante said. "I'm just flat out fucking denying."
"It's an order."
"I don't give a shit."
Umberto reached beneath his hoodie for a pistol. He aimed it, hand steady, not wavering. "Don't make me do this, Dante."
"That's the thing," Dante said, glaring at him. "I'm not making you do this. This? It's not me. So shoot me if you want, Bert, but you'll have to shoot me in the back, like a coward."
Dante turned, taking a single step before the gun cocked.
"Last chance," Umberto said. "Get in the car."
Dante closed his eyes, swaying, as grabbed the door handle of his car, preparing to get in. Seconds passed. He waited for the gunshot. He waited, expecting it, until another voice cut through the garage. "I believe he was quite clear when he said he wasn't going anywhere with you."
Alfie stood nearby, flanked by a few others, guns drawn and aimed at the sedan with the back door standing wide open.