I cursed back once

I cursed back once.

That was the day she decided she loved me.

Dante started appearing more often.

At first, only in doorways.

Then at dinner.

Then late at night in the industrial kitchen while I organized medication.

One evening, I found him sitting alone at the marble island with untouched scotch beside his hand.

“Did she eat?”

“Chicken soup. Half a grilled cheese.”

“Blood pressure?”

“Good.”

“Grip strength?”

“Improving.”

I kept my eyes on the pill organizer.

He noticed.

“You can look at me, Clara.”

I did.

Bad idea.

For one second, the scary crime boss disappeared.

What I saw was a tired son.

Nothing more complicated than that.

“She could have another stroke,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

His jaw tightened.

“Could it kill her?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Then he nodded.

“Thank you for not lying.”

That was the first night I understood him.

It was also the first night I became dangerous to him.

Because Dante began coming home early.

Staff noticed.

His men noticed.

Rosa definitely noticed.

During a thunderstorm, the estate lost power.

Someone knocked on my bedroom door.

Dante stood there holding a flashlight.

“You okay?”

“I’m from Queens. We survive electricity outages.”

His mouth twitched.

That was his smile.

Tiny.

Rare.

Terrible for my judgment.

By October, trouble was everywhere.

Two Marino-owned warehouses burned in Brooklyn.

A driver was beaten in Staten Island.

Victor Russo, head of a rival family, had apparently decided peace was boring.

Security doubled.

Dante stopped letting Rosa leave the estate.

Then her neurologist ordered an MRI.

October 14.

Mount Sinai.

Dante wanted to cancel.

I cornered him beside the staircase.

“She needs the scan.”

“No.”

“It could catch another bleed.”

“No.”

“If you keep her locked here because you’re scared, you’re not protecting her.”

His eyes went hard.

Nobody spoke to Dante like that.

Behind me, one of his men quietly walked away.

Smart man.

Dante stepped closer.

“You think I’m scared?”

“Yes.”

His jaw flexed.

I put my hand on his forearm.

“You’re terrified.”

He stared at my fingers.

Then at me.

For once, he had no comeback.

Finally, he said, “I’m going with you.”

The next morning, gray rain covered New York.

Three black SUVs rolled down the hospital’s private garage ramp.

Rosa held my hand.

Dante sat across from us, staring through rain-streaked glass.

Then the fluorescent lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Dante’s entire body changed.

“Keep the engine running.”

The driver reached for his radio.

A gunshot exploded through the garage.

The windshield shattered.

The driver collapsed against the horn.

And before I could even scream, Dante lunged across the seat.

“DOWN!”

That was when the steel door slammed shut behind us.

We were trapped.

And somebody had known exactly where we would be.

PART 2: The hospital garage became a trap built for Rosa

“The first man died before I understood we were under attack.”

The horn from the lead SUV kept screaming.

One endless note.

Dante shoved Rosa and me onto the floor.

“Do not move.”

Automatic gunfire cracked through the concrete garage.

Windows blew inward.

Glass covered my hair.

Rosa grabbed my sleeve with her good hand.

“Dante.”

“I’m here, Ma.”

He sounded completely different now.

No exhaustion.

No softness.

Just command.

Two dark vans blocked the exit.

Masked men moved between concrete pillars.

Dante’s security team fired back.

One of his guards stumbled near the rear SUV.

Another dragged him behind an engine block.

Everything smelled like smoke and antifreeze.

I pressed Rosa against the floorboards.

Her body shook.

“Look at me,” I said.

She did.

“Breathe.”

Another burst of gunfire punched dents through the door beside us.

Bad advice.

Breathing seemed optional.

Dante fired from behind the open door.

“Tommy! East side!”

A man named Tommy returned fire from behind a concrete column.

Then shouted something I couldn’t hear.

My ears were ringing.

Rosa whispered, “This is Russo.”

I looked at her.

She wasn’t guessing.

She knew.

Then Dante shouted.

“Clara! Stay down!”

I saw why.

A gunman had moved around the disabled vehicle ahead of us.

Not toward Dante.

Toward our side.