They'd had their fair share of run-ins over the years, a few useless conversations, where the detective hammered him with questions that he knew damn well Dante had no intention of answering.
Nurse Russo mumbled, "I can give you some privacy."
"Don't bother," Dante said. "I have nothing to say to him."
"It's fine," the detective said. "Continue what you were doing."
The nurse hesitated before going back to her work.
Detective Tracey lingered near the doorway, not coming any closer. "I've got to say, Galante, I honestly thought I'd never see you again."
"Hate to disappoint."
"Ah, I'd hardly say I'm disappointed," the detective said. "Multiple broken ribs, lacerated spleen, punctured lung, bruised kidney... not to mention the stab wounds. They say you were beaten from head-to-toe, severely dehydrated, practically starved. So instead of disappointed, let's go with surprised… surprised you're alive when someone wanted you dead."
"They wanted me to suffer," Dante corrected him. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
Dante didn't humor him with a response to that question. Of course there was a difference. Sometimes surviving was the worst thing that could happen to someone.
The detective strolled closer. "Who did this to you?"
"I don't know."
"Where'd they keep you?"
"I don't know."
"Why'd they do it?"
"I don't know."
"Cut the bullshit, Galante… just tell me the truth."
Dante remained silent.
That was his right, after all.
"Look, I know what you're thinking, but this isn't the time for it," the detective continued. "You can't go back out onto those streets looking for revenge. I'm not a fool. I can make an educated guess about who's to blame, and I know you'll want them to pay for it. But at some point you have to break the cycle, and I suggest you do it now, before it's too late."
"It's already too late."
"So that's how this is going to be?"
"That's how it's always been."
The man glared, although he didn't appear surprised. He'd been playing the game longer than Dante. He knew the rules. He knew how things went.
"If this is how you want to play it, so be it, but mark my words: this war is over. Enough people have been hurt. Too many lives have been lost. So I suggest you take a step back and let me do my job, or you just might go down also. You got me, Galante?"
"I got you, Detective, but get me," Dante said. "I've spent my entire life protecting certain people, and no threat from you is going to stop me from doing that."
His expression shifted, the smugness he'd walked in wearing fading. The man had a family, a wife and a daughter, so maybe he knew all about protecting the ones he loved. But he didn't know what it was like to lose them. He didn't know what it was like to give your all but still fail.
"It wasn't a threat. It was a warning. Don't get in my way." The detective turned to walk out but paused in the doorway. "I'm sure your father's elated about your survival. Must have been torture, not knowing. I'm hoping we get to bring the Barsanti family the same kind of news, but so far it hasn't happened."
The detective walked out, leaving behind an unsettling tension that coated Dante's skin. He felt eyes on him, a curious gaze. He glanced at the nurse, seeing a flicker of something in her eyes.
Concern.
"What happened to you?" she whispered.
He stared at her as a strange sensation stirred inside of him, compelling him to tell her, to confide in her, but he shook it off before any of the truth spilled from his lips.
"It doesn't matter what happened," he said. "What matters is that I survived it."
She didn't press the issue, pushing some buttons on some machines, before stepping away. Pausing beside the bed, she looked down at him. "Some advice, Mr. Galante?"
He raised his eyebrows.
"This is their game here, not yours… meaning while you're playing, they make the rules," she said. "So you've got two options: either you play along or you forfeit. Because standing on the field, trying to make up your own rules, won't work for anybody."
She smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, before walking out of the room, leaving him to his isolating peace.
When Genna awoke on the grubby couch, bright sunlight streamed through the nearby windows, the glare blinding. Holy shit. Squinting, she pulled herself up to a sit, shielding her eyes. No curtains. No blinds. Who the hell lived in the desert and didn't block out the sunlight?