grabbing Dante. Before he could pop off a shot, pain tore through him. A scream echoed from his chest as a knife ripped into him, piercing his side.
Again.
And again.
Those ten seconds passed.
It wasn't enough time.
A car showed up, pulling in behind them. It wasn't help, though. Reinforcements. Burning pain radiated. He was losing too much blood.
The driver's side door opened. Someone grabbed Dante, pulling him out of the car and throwing him on the ground. He was disarmed, his pockets rifled through. A kick to the side sent blood gushing out.
"That's enough," a voice said.
Roberto Barsanti.
Dante forced himself up, clutching his side. Roberto approached, stopping to intercept Dante's wallet from whoever had gone through his pockets. He stood in front of Dante, the two of them eye to eye.
"You killed my son," Roberto said. "You murdered Enzo."
"I didn't mean to," Dante said, spitting blood onto the ground. "I wanted to kill Matteo."
Rage took over Barsanti's face. "You think this is a joke?"
Dante shrugged.
Barsanti's cheek twitched as he took a step back, motioning to his men. "Take him to The Place, get him fixed up, then put him in the basement. Don't let him die. He hasn't suffered enough yet."
"Dante?" Fingers snapped in his face. "Are you okay?"
Blinking, Dante glanced at the passenger seat, meeting a pair of concerned eyes. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." Gabriella grasped his face, feeling his forehead. "You're pale and sweating."
He grabbed her wrist, stopping her as she tried to examine him. "I'm fine."
"But—"
"You're not Nurse Russo right now, remember? I don't need a diagnosis."
"You need something."
"I need a friend."
When Dante let go of her wrist, Gabriella shifted in her seat, resting her hands in her lap. "A friend."
"Yeah. And I know we don't know each other. I'm just that guy who was brought in, the one everyone talked about, the gangster." He grimaced when he said the word and noticed she did, too. "You're the nurse who drew the short straw. Tough break. So I get it, if being friends isn't in the cards. Hell, I wouldn't want to be my friend. Look at me. I'm all fucked up. But I don't know if I can count on myself right now, not like I should. So I need someone. Someone who can listen to me, someone who hears me, someone who can help me make sense of it all."
She was quiet before saying, "It sounds like you need that psychiatrist."
"I can't trust them, either," he said. "I can't trust a man who judges me by my name, who can diagnose me based on some bullshit reputation. I need a friend. And I'm not asking for some lifelong commitment, none of that BFF bullshit. Don't expect me to make you friendship bracelets, and I know sleepovers are out of the question. You can keep this as your dirty little secret. When you pass me on the street, act like I don't exist. It won't hurt my feelings, I promise. But I need someone…"
He trailed off. Maybe what he asked for was selfish. Maybe it made him an asshole.
She wasn't responding, which made him think that was exactly how it sounded.
"Nothing to say?" he asked, turning to her.
She stared at him.
"Seriously? Nothing?"
Gabriella pursed her lips. "But what if I want friendship bracelets?"
Dante put the key in the ignition and started the car. "Then you ought to make them, because that's a bit out of my range of skills."
"Really? You just braid some string together. You can braid, can't you?"
"Maybe," he said, pulling out into traffic. "Never really tried before."
"Unbelievable," she muttered. "Take a class or something."
Dante navigated the streets, making his way down to Little Italy, to the old sports bar he used to hustle at on the weekends. He neared Mulberry Street, swinging into a parking spot along the curb.
Gabriella climbed out of the car and paused on the sidewalk, waiting for him. They walked in silence down the block, Dante's mind wandering.
"Maybe we should cross the street," Gabriella suggested, her voice hesitant.
"Why?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to. Dante's gaze shifted, his footsteps coming to an abrupt stop. Yellow caution tape quartered off most of the sidewalk, leaving just a small path to squeeze through. The surrounding buildings were blackened, scorched by fire, chunks of bricks missing and glass shattered. Plywood covered doors and windows, signs posted along some of them.
Danger. Do not enter. Condemned.
He saw, quite clearly, the center of the destruction. A small crater had been blown into the asphalt.