the nurses? Well, leaving the ICU also meant leaving Nurse Russo.
His nurse on the general medical ward resisted looking at him, much less engaging in conversation. He preferred it that way. He was grateful. It gave him time to stew without interruption.
But still, he had to admit he missed Nurse Russo.
He kept replaying the moment she'd kicked his father out of the room, the look of determination on her face when she demanded he leave. Worked, too, because he hadn't returned as far as Dante knew. He'd had no more visitors. He was sure his father would be keeping tabs, like always, but he hadn't shown his face.
Dante wasn't sure how to feel about that.
A few times he considered calling him, ready to ask his questions, ready to hear the answers he feared, but every time he stopped himself for some reason.
Maybe he liked living with his head in the clouds. Maybe he liked the false sense of hope.
He couldn't shake it.
The hope had settled in his bones. Every second of every minute of every hour, a part of him refused to accept that something had happened to Genna.
Sitting up in the bed, Dante leaned over the side of it, his head down and hands covering his face, when a light rapt of knuckles echoed through the room from the door. Dante's heart did its bullshit hesitation as the hope flared. He raised his head, seeing the last person he expected to see.
Gavin Amaro.
Even Genna showing up wouldn't have surprised Dante as much.
"Man," Gavin said. "You look like shit."
Dante laughed dryly, the motion hurting his ribs. He clutched his side, grimacing. "Yeah, well, you should see the other guys."
"I have," Gavin said, taking a step into the room. "They look like they normally do."
"Exactly." Dante motioned toward himself. "All of this will heal, but there's no helping those assholes."
Gavin smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall not far from the bed. He eyed Dante in silence, studying him for so long that it got under Dante's skin. While Dante wouldn't have called the two of them close, they got along well enough, more than he got along with most people.
A miracle, considering Gavin was as related to them as it got without being pure blood.
"Why are you here?" Dante asked quietly.
"Heard a rumor you were alive," Gavin said. "Couldn't believe it. Had to see it with my own eyes."
"Well, here I am. Nobody's killed me yet."
"Yet," Gavin repeated.
Dante nodded. "Yet."
"I'm glad," Gavin said.
"You? Glad I'm not dead?"
"If you can believe it."
"I don't know if I can," Dante said. "Never really took you for a sentimental bitch."
Gavin laughed at that, his laughter loud and infectious. "That's me. Sentimental bitch."
"Don't know why I'm surprised, considering I heard you had a kitten. That true?"
Gavin shrugged. "It's more of a cat now."
"That's just one step away from a fucking Chihuahua in a purse."
Again, Gavin laughed. "You don't know what you're talking about. Vito Corleone had a cat."
"No, he didn't. Marlon Brando picked up a stray cat on the set of The Godfather and it turned up in the movie. There's a difference."
"Brando was a cool guy."
"Brando was the kind of guy who would carry a Chihuahua in a purse."
"He was not."
"Dude had a pet raccoon. Who does that?"
"An artistic genius?"
"A sentimental bitch."
Another laugh, but no argument about that. Silence again overtook the room. Dante picked at his fingernails, finally clean from incessant showering, as Gavin's gaze bounced around at the horrendous flower garden that had popped up in the hospital room. He had something more to say. Dante sensed it. The unspoken words were so suffocating Dante damn near choked on the insinuations.
"You don't need to pity me," Dante said. "I don't want your pity."
"It's not pity."
"Then what is it?"
"Sympathy."
"You know, if you pick up a thesaurus, those words are synonyms."
Gavin sighed. "Yeah, well, it is what it is."
"And what exactly is it?"
Dante looked at Gavin, raising his eyebrows. Gavin stared back at him in silence before his expression softened, his lips tilting down into a slight frown. It was obvious he understood it then, that Dante didn't know specifics.
"It went down in Little Italy" Gavin said quietly. "Another car bomb."
Dante's stomach dropped. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, pain tightening his chest. Fucking car bombs. Even to that day, he sensed the violent tremble of the ground, felt the flames lapping at his skin as he inhaled the suffocating smoke. It was a moment he'd