Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (39 page)

"How am I supposed to
choose
?"

"I don't know," he said, "and I'd never ask you to, but others might, and that terrifies me. You're right, though. I should've trusted you. And I made a promise. I said wherever you wanted to go, we'd go, so…"

"So…"

"So let's go."

* * *

S
now covered
the icy Manhattan sidewalks, flakes drifting from the overcast late February sky as coldness clung to the city. A cloud of breath surrounded Gabriella when she stepped out of her building, a shiver tearing through her. She pulled her coat tighter around her body, scowling up at the sky, at a traitorous sun that hadn't shown its face in days.

She hated winter.

Everything died in the winter, the beauty of the world somehow getting lost, withering away and leaving only remnants behind. But life didn't stop, no… it trudged along, clinging to frigid breaths, holding on for another tomorrow where maybe the sun would shine again.

No friggin luck today
.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, moving around someone lingering outside the building, attempting to walk away when they stepped in her path.

"Amaro's cousin, right?" the man asked, smiling at her. It took a moment for recognition to strike, for familiarity to sink in. She'd run into the guy before—
literally
—at Casato.

"Uh, yeah, and you are…?"

"A friend," he said. "Your name's Gabriella, right? Russo? You happen to have a boyfriend, Gabriella Russo?"

Her back stiffened at the way he used her full name. He was choosing his words carefully, every syllable deliberate, like he was trying to intimidate her. "I might, but even if I don't, I'm not interested. Sorry."

She attempted to go around him but yet again he stepped in her path, blocking her from leaving. "Ah, don't be like that. I'm just asking a question."

"One I'm choosing not to answer," she said. "If you don't like it, take it up with the Constitution. It guaranteed me life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness without having to worry about persecution."

"I'm not the government, sweetheart."

"Could've fooled me," she said. "You seem to have the whole smug incompetence thing down."

She tried for the third time to move past him, managing to make it a few steps before his hand gripped her bicep hard enough to stop her. "Feisty one, aren't you?"

She yanked from his grasp, a surge of anger rushing through her. "Look, I don't know whose goon you are, nor do I
care
, frankly. Barsanti, Galante, doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of you."

"Maybe you ought to be."

"Well, tough cookie, because if you're hoping to scare me, you're failing miserably. You should work on that, you know, for the next time you try to intimidate one of Victor Brazzi's grandchildren."

She took a few steps, flexing her hands at her sides as her heart raced, prepared to swing if he touched her again, but only his voice followed her this time.

"Brazzi. You think I'm scared of that name?"

"Maybe you ought to be."

He laughed when she threw his words back at him. "That's funny. Damn near as funny as the look on your boyfriend's face when he's got a knife in his gut. Now
that
is a fucking riot."

Gabriella's footsteps stalled. She wanted to keep going. She
should've
kept going. Instead, she faced him again. "That was you?"

He held up his hands, as if in surrender. "Guilty."

She pointed at him, waving her finger all around at his cocky grin. "Smug incompetence.
Knew it
. You stabbed him and never hit anything important. Do you know how crappy you have to be to miss even a kidney?"

"That's not incompetence," he countered. "If I wanted to hit something, I would've, but I wasn't trying to kill the guy. Just wanted to poke the bear a bit. All in good fun."

She shook her head. "You keep telling yourself that."

"I will," he said, "and why don't you tell your boyfriend something for me, while we're at it? Tell him to watch his back."

He strolled away, not at all frazzled by their conversation.

"Why can't you just leave him alone? Huh? What did he do that was
so
wrong?"

"Oh, nothing much," the guy said. "He only killed my best friend."

Gabriella stared at him as he walked away. A sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach at his words, bile rising in her throat that she desperately swallowed back. He wasn't the first one to tell her something like that, but Gabriella struggled to fathom it. Dante was passionate, and maybe he could be dangerous, but she'd never seen a malicious side to him.

Her gaze flickered to the apartment above, part of her wanting to go back inside, to go up there and see him, but she was due at work in minutes.

She'd never been late for work before.

Despite rushing, Gabriella walked into the hospital a quarter after seven, a solid fifteen minutes after she was scheduled. As soon as she stepped out onto the ICU, apologies spilled out of her, but they fell upon deaf ears. Dr. Crabtree met her at the elevator, along with the charge nurse, Monica Burns.

"We'd like to have a word with you, Nurse Russo," Monica said, "if you don't mind."

Her brow furrowed. "If this is about me being late, I really am sorry.
Really
. I had this situation and I missed my connection and had to wait."

"This isn't about that," she said, "although, as you know, there are no excuses for tardiness."

"I know," she muttered. "Can I ask what this
is
about? Is there a problem or something?"

"Follow me, please."

Her refusal to answer that question sent red flags flying, but Gabriella had no choice but to follow the woman. They went to a small conference room on the floor, usually utilized for brief meetings about a patient's care. Monica and Crabtree sat down on one side of the long wooden table. Gabriella's anxiety flared as she slipped into the chair across from them. "Am I in trouble?"

Instead of answering, Monica pulled out a crisp white envelope, sliding it across the table. Gabriella picked it up. The return address in the corner said it came from the hospital, straight from the Chief Nursing Officer, the sight making her stomach churn. She wanted to ask what it was, why they were giving it to
her
, but questions were pointless. If they wanted to answer any of that, they already would've.

So carefully, she slid her finger beneath the loose flap and reached inside, pulling out the piece of paper. Unfolding it, her eyes glossed across the text of the letter, slamming right into a stream of words that made her stop short.

Improper relationship with a patient
.

"I can't believe this," she whispered, her voice struck with a small tremor. Anonymous complaints that she'd used her position to prey upon an emotionally vulnerable patient.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you how serious these allegations are," Monica said. "You'll, of course, be able to defend yourself when you meet with the CNO and clear up what I'm certain is just a misunderstanding, but you've been taken off the schedule until then as a precaution."

"But my patients…"

"We were able to pull others in to cover your shifts," she explained. "Your patients have been reassigned."

Dumbfounded
couldn't begin to describe Gabriella. She scanned the letter again, like maybe the words would change, but no, there it was in ink, her fate sealed, officially calling that gray area a big black strike. "So that's it?"

"For now," Monica said, standing up. “You’ll be back to work just as soon as it gets cleared up."

The woman walked out, and Crabtree lingered for a moment before standing up. "You should've known better, Nurse Russo. Maybe you
do
need that Ph.D. to spot an ethical issue."

He walked out, leaving her with those words. 

She was
screwed
.

After shoving the letter back into the envelope, she made the trek back to her apartment. Snow came down harder, the hidden sun moving on as night set in. By the time she stepped into the building, her toes were frozen and her nose ran, chills covering every inch of her as she shivered.

She unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment, silence greeting her. "Dante?"

No answer.

He wouldn't expect her back for twelve hours, so there was no telling where he might've gone or what he might've been off doing. After locking the door again, attaching the chain lock, she dropped the letter on the living room coffee table before stripping out of her cold, damp scrubs, discarding them wherever as she headed into the bathroom. While drawing herself a warm bubble bath, she fired off a quick text message to Dante's new number.
Back home. Not working, after all. Be careful, wherever you are.

She slid down into the suds, earbuds in her ears, her phone perched on the ledge of the tub, blasting music. It took a minute or so for him to respond, her phone lighting up.
Not working, either, so don't worry.

Where are you?

At Michaels.

Who's Michael?

Fuck if I know.

Her brow furrowed. Why would he be at someone's house he doesn't know?
Why are you there?

Because they got what I need.

What do you need?

A fucking psych consult for doing this shit, probably.

What are you doing?

Being a damn Girl Scout for you.

She stared at that, even more confused, when another text popped up from Dante.
Be home in a bit. You're distracting me.

She scowled at that, typing
K, 
figuring that to be the end of that, but her phone lit right back up seconds later.

Don't K me. I deserve that shit spelled out for all the trouble I'm going through.

She rolled her eyes, typing
OK.

Setting the phone down, she closed her eyes, sinking further into the tub, hoping to clear her mind and forget about everything that had happened that evening. She mumbled along to the words, letting the warm water soothe her muscles, relaxing so much she dozed off.

Something startled her, drawing her out of her light slumber. Blinking, Gabriella sat straight up, a chill ripping through her as she turned her music off. Goose bumps coated her, the now cool water nipping at her skin. Her teeth chattered, the bubbles dissolved. Crossing her arms over her chest, she climbed out of the tub, snatching up a towel when she heard the faint sound of footsteps.

"Dante? Is that you?"

No answer.

Silence permeated the apartment. A door shut in the distance. Her heart stalled a beat before kicking in. It was hard living in the city, differentiating noises, the walls thin and floorboards creaky. Innocence felt alarming, while the dangers of the world registered as whispers on a breeze instead of fiery explosions. Up was down, and it all went round and round. Sometimes gunshots were just fireworks but occasionally the sparkling bangs masked the suppressed sound of a bullet from a silencer.

Gabriella shook it off, wrapping the towel around her before letting the water out of the tub.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she walked down the short hall toward the bedroom, stalling in the living room when someone moved. "Dante?"

Dante turned to her, holding up a piece of paper. "This is about me, I'm guessing?"

The letter from the hospital board.

"So it seems."

He glanced back at the paper before shoving it in the envelope. "
Emotionally vulnerable
, my ass."

"It's true," she said, taking the letter from him. "Technically. You were hurt and you were grieving. You had nobody. But I was there, advocating for you."

"Don't do that," he said. "Don't act like I was just some fucking wounded animal."

"I'm not. I'm just saying—"

"I know what you're saying. I was beat down, at my lowest, and you swooped on in and made me feel something, like I caught Stockholm Syndrome, but that's bullshit. Because I've
never
been that weak, Gabriella. I'm not going to roll over and beg for the first pretty face that comes along."

"I didn't mean—"

Dante cupped her cheek, his thumb roughly grazing over her bottom lip. "Look, I love you, and I could stand here and list dozens of reasons why I do—you're funny; you've got guts; you understand my life—but not a single one of those goddamn reasons will be because you saw that tube in my dick."

She cracked a smile as he wrapped his arms around her. "Too bad the hospital board won't see it that way."

"I'm sure you can convince them." He nudged her chin, making her look at him. "When in doubt, just tell them you'd rather have your pussy shrivel up and die than let Dante Galante inside of it."

"That's a horrible lie," she whispered. "The biggest lie ever told."

Leaning down, he kissed her. "That's good to hear, because I'm pretty sure
I'd
die if I never got to fuck you again."

He gazed at her in silence, and she stared right back, those goose bumps still coating her.

She shivered in his arms. "I should put some clothes on."