bothered the fuck out of him. He wanted to forget it happened. He wanted to forget it all happened. In his short life, he'd been stabbed, punched, and kicked… his bones had been broken, his organs injured, his skin set on fire… he hadn't been shot, yet, but he figured it was only a matter of time before someone decided to put a bullet or two in him.
It was exhausting, being a goddamn magnet for trouble.
A knock sounded out from the bedroom door as he stood there, water still dripping from his damp hair. He ignored it, walking back into his connected bathroom. He grabbed a tube of antibiotic ointment, rubbing some of it along the wound, when the knock rang out again, this time louder.
"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," Dante called out, tossing the ointment back down before reaching for a bandage. Before he could put it on, his bedroom door opened, someone knocking again the same time they walked in.
Umberto peeked around the door. "Dante?"
"Do you make it a habit to go where you're not invited these days, Bert? Because I don't think I asked you to come in."
Dante's brash tone made the guy frown, but it didn't stop him from stepping even closer, further into the room, where he really wasn't welcome. "Says the guy I trailed to Soho."
Ignoring that, Dante stuck the bandage on and made sure it was secure before stepping back out of the bathroom to get dressed. He waltzed past Umberto to his closet.
"Look, Dante, I know you're upset, but don't be like this, man. Don't overreact."
Dante snatched a black shirt off a hanger and slipped it on. "You think I'm overreacting."
"Well… yeah. It's not that bad. Not as bad as you seem to think it is. I mean, you're alive. You're fucking alive! You bested those assholes. And they lost. We took his kids, his wife is gone, and maybe he's still got his territory, but for how long? We walked up in there, and what happened? Huh? Nothing."
"I got stabbed, Bert, in case you forgot."
"Of course I didn't forget, but Barsanti's weak, and you proved it. He's beaten. Everything is ripe for the picking now. I know you went through hell, but we won. You won."
"Nobody won," Dante said. "Not yet."
He grabbed a pair of jeans from his dresser and slipped them on before searching for his shoes.
Umberto sighed. "So, what are you going to do? Give up?"
Dante slid his feet into a pair of sneakers and sat down on his bed, cringing as pain tugged at his side. "Does it look like I'm giving up?"
"I don't know, man. I don't know."
Dante glared down at his untied shoelaces. There was no way he could reach them without opening up his wound, tearing the tape apart that flimsily held him together. He was about to kick them back off when Umberto crouched down in front of Dante to tie his shoes for him.
"I swear to God, if you tell anyone I'm doing this..." Umberto muttered, double-knotting the laces so they stayed in place.
A joke was on the tip of Dante's tongue, slipping out before he could swallow it back. "You say that to every guy you get on your knees for?"
Umberto shot him an irritated look as he stood back up, but his expression cracked damn near instantly, a laugh replacing it. "Fuck you."
"Sorry, but you're not my type," Dante said. "I like them a little taller than four-foot-eight."
"Fuck. You."
"Again, I'm gonna have to pass, but I appreciate the offer." Dante stood up from the bed, running a hand through his hair. Just like that, in the second it took him to move, all humor was sucked from the room, the air around them growing stale once more.
"What are you going to do?" Umberto asked again.
Dante stared at him, dead serious as he said, "I'm going to make sure the man who tore apart my life pays for it. Then maybe I'll be able to piece something back together, some shred of an existence out of whatever's left."
A grin spread across Umberto's face. "See, I knew you had a plan. Tell me what I can do to help."
"What you can do is stay the hell out of my way."
Dante snatched his keys and cell phone off the top of his dresser before walking out, leaving Umberto standing there alone. He trudged downstairs, listening to the sea of voices coming from the first floor. Primo's office door stood wide open, half a