or false," she said, staring right back. "The fact that I'm a Brazzi is a problem for you."
She expected him to say the word. True. His lips twitched, like it wanted to come out, but he kept his mouth shut, breaking eye contact to look past her. She stood there for a minute or so as people streamed past them, going about their business, before she realized he was refusing to answer that question. The silent treatment. She'd seen him do that before.
"You don't play fair," she said, "so I'm done playing."
She walked back over to the building, leaving him along the curb. He must not have liked that, because before she could stick the key in the lock, she heard his voice, louder, coming closer. "I don't play fair? You're a part of that and you didn't even tell me!"
"First of all, I'm not a part of anything. You don't seem to be grasping that. And seriously, Dante, why would I have told you? What would the point be?"
"Maybe because it's relevant."
"Not to me."
"Oh, bullshit." He stopped beside her. "Don't act like my last name wasn't just as much of a problem for you."
"True, then. Me being a Brazzi is a problem."
"Well, it sure as shit doesn't make things easy."
"Good to know." She shoved her key back in the lock. "Are you coming up or not? Because I just worked a twelve-hour shift and I'd like to get off my feet. Maybe this conversation will be more tolerable when I'm not wearing scrubs."
She was sweaty, and exhausted, and more than a little annoyed. She worked hard to make her own way, to make her own name, and the second Brazzi came into the picture she was boxed back into the label, like nothing else mattered.
Dante said nothing, sharply nodding toward the door. As soon as Gabriella had it unlocked, Dante yanked it open, nodding again for her to go ahead of him. He muttered something as he held the door, irritation grating every incoherent syllable, like a caveman torn between chivalry and savagery.
That about sums him up.
Gabriella made the trek up to her apartment, her footsteps heavy against the old stairs. Every groan and creek of wood was exaggerated to her ears as strained silence followed them, an unwelcome companion.
Once she got the apartment unlocked, Dante grabbed the door, again holding it for her. She should've thanked him, but the dead air wafting off the man was so maddening she forgot her manners. Inside, she dropped her things before going straight for her bedroom, kicking her shoes off along the way, leaving them lying on the living room floor.
Grasping the sliding bedroom door, she shoved it halfway closed and pulled her top over her head, tossing it on a pile of filthy clothes. A mountain of laundry begged for her attention but she ignored it, as she had for days, her mind preoccupied. She yanked the pants down, wiggling her hips and kicking them off, leaving them wherever they landed. She was about to pull off the white tank top she wore beneath her scrubs when something struck her.
Her feet changed direction, and she kicked her pants out of her path before pushing the sliding door open again and stomping out into the living room. Dante sat on the couch, still utterly silent, his gaze lifting to meet hers. His eyebrows rose as he regarded her, as if he might have something to finally say, but it was too late, because it was her turn to talk.
"You know, how dare you…"
He blinked at her. "How dare me?"
"Yes! How dare you come at me like this, confronting me, acting like I've wronged you, like I'm the a-hole here, when never once—never once—did you ask me about my family! If you're so concerned about avoiding those families, about making sure you don't get involved with those people in any way, if you want to be sure the woman who cleans your wounds and keeps you from dying isn't in any way connected to them—if that's such a big problem in your life, Dante—then maybe, just maybe, you should've friggin asked!"
His jaw hung slack, his eyes everywhere but on her face. If it weren't for his obvious shock, she would've wondered if he'd even listened to a word of her rant.
"So, yeah, true," she continued. "My mother's Victoria Russo, maiden name Brazzi, daughter of Victor Brazzi. I'm sure I don't have to tell you who that is. And true, my father Alfie