her as he stretched out, motioning for her to join him.
She set the candle down on a small end table beside him before tucking in at his side. The couch wasn't the most comfortable, springs poking her as she sunk into it, but she felt content as she settle into his embrace, her head against his chest. Even though it was sweltering, the air stuffy, her skin covered in sweat, she found comfort in Matty's warm.
"We'll make the best of it," Matty said, kissing the top of her head. "You'll see… it'll all be okay."
She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that as long as she had Matty, as long as they were together, they'd be happy. The world wouldn't be perfect, but they'd make the best of it, and it would be okay.
Okay, because they had each other.
Okay, because of the baby.
Genna's hand drifted, resting against her stomach.
No matter how terrified she was, she had to hold it together. She'd lost her family. Her brother was gone, but even without him, she had to go on. As painful as each breath was, as agonizing as each what-if seemed in her mind, she had to keep taking steps forward, one foot after the other. She couldn't stumble and fall. Because soon, there would be another little Galante in the world, one that would need her the way she always needed her brother. One that would depend on her for protection; one that would need her to keep them from harm. And protection was vital, just as harm was possible, because this new little Galante wouldn't be like the others. No, this new little Galante would be mixed with Barsanti, and nothing was more dangerous than that.
"It'll be okay," she agreed, closing her eyes. "We'll be just fine."
The moment Dante's ventilator was removed days later, the questions started, pelting him like machine gun fire. Rat-ta-tat-tat.
Do you know where you are? Do you know your name? Do you know what day it is?
Do you know where the hell you've been?
Dante remained silent in the uncomfortable hospital bed, not answering a single thing thrown at him. He was groggy, in pain, and just plain annoyed by all of the damn questions. Tests were run. Drugs were pumped into his body before being taken back away. Just in case it was causing some reaction, some kind of dissociated response, in case it was making him mute, when they couldn't have that. No, not when they wanted their questions answered. Not when they needed something from him.
First, it was the slew of medical doctors before finally, they sent a psychiatrist. A fucking shrink. He'd been off the ventilator for forty-eight hours, breathing steadily on his own, his vitals strong, when the guy in the white lab coat took up residence across the room, tossing out a brand new question: how are you feeling?
How was he feeling? Dead.
Inside of him was rotting, decomposing, every second that passed making rigor mortis set into his chest, seizing whatever had been left. Despite his head riddling out the truth, his heart had held on, waiting for a miracle. Every time the sliding door to his hospital room opened, hope flooded him. Maybe it was Genna. Maybe she'd shown up. Maybe she'd survived whatever had happened.
What the hell had happened?
He hadn't been brave enough to ask that question, not when everyone around him was pressuring him for their own answers. So many faces popping up in front of him, not a single one pleasant.
No friends. No family.
Even Nurse Russo had been off-duty.
Or maybe she begged to be reassigned to get away from me.
So he endured the interrogations in silence, not uttering a word, staring down at his hands folded in his lap.
His eyes rose toward the psychiatrist, who sat there with a pen and a pad, ready to jot down whatever Dante said and assess whether or not he was out of his fucking mind.
"How are you feeling?" the man repeated, eye contact making him think some sort of progress was being had, but it would be a cold day in Hell when Dante played this game with those people.
Besides, it wouldn't have been smart to answer that.
He felt like ripping someone apart, piece-by-piece.
His gaze drifted back down to his hands.
"If you don't want to start there, we can start elsewhere," the psychiatrist said. "How about you acknowledge you at least understand what I'm saying? All I need is a nod of the head."