Page 41 of Vicious Souls

And then, a loud clap and a thunderous voice orders, “Quick, quick, quick” in rapid succession, and the boots of grown men rap against the floor as they hurry into the den carrying Dante. One man clutches his shoulders, while another lifts his legs, his lifeless hands flailing limply at his sides. A line of blood coats the ground he moves over. The men settle him on the only empty space, his desk, before the doctor that treated me earlier hovers over him, stripping his shirt off and cutting away at his fatigues.

I cannot breathe. I cannot see and I cannot feel. I cannot see in front of me. So much blood. So many wounded. And Dante lying there, the life sucked out of him as his blood continues to drain away from his unresponsive body. His body is bleeding in so many different places. It’s bleeding for me.Becauseof me. There’s so much blood everywhere.

I want to go to him. I want to make sure he’s still breathing. I want to breathe life into him somehow, but Durian rushes into the room, two more doctors on his heels, and I watch as they get to work on Dante, trying to save what’s left of him. I don’t want to linger and make their job harder; they need all the space and patience and presence of mind they can muster to help Dante the way he needs to be helped. So I swallow the overwhelming sense of grief that consumes me, bite back the scream that threatens to escape from my mouth, and retreat quietly from the room. I sit on the bottom stair and wait, listening to the vibration of noises that float through the house. Amongst the yells, the whirring of medical drills and other equipment. I know even then that the team collectively reassembling the wounded will in all likelihood probably do an even better job of healing them than a hospital would. I have no doubt that a man of Dante’s status, from a family as connected as his, would have access to the very best in medical care even from his very own home. That is a given. Yet still, I feel like I have to do more. So I prime myself and I do something I have never done before. I pray. I pray to a higher power and I take comfort in the knowledge that my prayers will be heard and answered. They have to be. Dante has to get better. He has to recover. He has to make it through this thing, one way or another. Because I would hold him to his promise to answer my three questions. He has to. And because Dante is the only person in the world I have left who I consider a friend.

* * *

Many hours pass.Many hours in which I watch the door of the den, waiting anxiously for some news about Dante. People walk in and out, their steps rushed, but I can’t make out anything. Until Durian staggers from the room, his coat long discarded, his hands caked with blood. The blood of his son. He turns, sees me and his eyes flicker with surprise, before he releases a heavy, burdensome sigh and comes to sit beside me on the stairs. He looks down at his hands, clasps his wrists on his knees, and concentrates on a spot on the ground, his thoughts his own.

“He’s going to make it,” he says, yet it sounds to my ears like he is trying to convince himself, rather than me. “He’s going to make it.”

I turn wide eyes to him, as though looking for confirmation that what he said was real. He sounds unsure. Is he unsure?

“He wouldn’tdarego and die on me now,” I tell him, my gaze flickering fiercely to match my words. “He owes me and I aim to collect.”

* * *

Dante is movedto his room as soon as the doctors stabilize him. I pause at the door, where two fierce looking guards regard me suspiciously and won’t allow me access. Although I don’t know all the guards by sight, I am sure I haven’t seen these two before. They are built like tanks and actually look like mercenaries. Come to think of it, the security at the house has more than doubled since the attack on Dante’s men. I still haven’t gathered enough fragments of the story to put together the sequence of events that led to Dante’s body laying riddled with bullets, and I’m not sure I actually want to know the horror of what happened. But I do know that a cold silence descends upon the house as more security detail arrive. There are now guards at every corner of the house, on every level, and they obviously do their job well as they are cautious of every visitor to Dante’s room. In reality, I still don’t know the full magnitude of Dante’s role in the Accardi family. I’m not certain whether it is he or his father who runs the show, but I could say without doubt that Dante is an important part of this well oiled machine.

“Let her in.”

I snap out of my thoughts as the sound of Marco’s voice breaks the silence. He waves me into the room, and I take a step toward the door as the guards take a step away. Marco watches me as I approach Dante’s bed, then reaches up and closes the door behind us.

Dante is asleep in the middle of a huge bed, half sitting up, unaware of the world as it moves around him. There are bandages crisscrossed against his upper torso, around his arm and one around his other wrist. A thin blanket covers up to his hips; I can’t start to guess the damage inflicted upon his legs also. Even as he lays somewhere in that fragile realm between life and death, his body shattered and broken, he is still the most beautiful man I have ever seen. So much so that my breath catches on a gasp as I edge closer to his bedside.

I can feel Marco’s eyes on me as he takes his place at Dante’s other side. I look up at the bag of antibiotics that drips slowly and flows into Dante’s veins, then down at his limp body as he lays peacefully in front of me.

“Doctors should be here soon,” Marco says, tracking my attention to Dante.

“I won’t stay long.”

Marco shakes his head then frowns. “Sorry, I wasn’t asking you to leave. Just talking to myself.”

I swing my eyes away from Dante and settle them on Marco. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I know Marco isn’t my greatest fan, but I hadn’t stopped to consider his pain as he stands by his best friend’s bedside. Not knowing whether or not he would come out of this. Not knowing if there would be any permanent damage. Unsure of anything but the fury he must feel at what has happened and the overwhelming need to seek justice.

“Will he be okay?” My voice is the softest whisper, laced with worry and grief and fear.

Marco lets out a huge breath and fiddles with the blanket covering Dante. It has fallen more to his side and now he rights it, much like a caring older brother would. I wonder about the nature of their relationship. Are they friends, or related? They had seemed more like brothers to me when I’d witnessed their interactions. But I don’t even know for sure if Dante has any siblings.

“He’ll be fine.” He forces the words out with some difficulty, the fear coating his voice spreading like a bad vibration throughout the room.

37

DANTE

The light pierces through every one of my senses as my eyelids flutter open, announcing my return to the land of the living. There is a heaviness around me, one I feel sharply as I try but fail to lift my arm. A painful sting radiates from my left hand, all the way up my arm and to my shoulder at the slightest movement. My eyes, finally alert, settle on the window opposite my bed, where the light pushes through from the terrace. I give a few short blinks, adjusting to my new environment, then sweep my eyes across the room.

Everything is as I left it. Everything is as it should be. Something stirs by my leg, and the air shifts. I try once again to lift my hand, but find I can’t. I allow my gaze to fall to my hand, where a needle and tube are firmly secured with tape.

“Dante?”

It is the barest of whispers. A soft melodious sound that tears at something deep in my heart. I blink again, and Kingsley’s head rises by my leg, where she’s obviously been dozing. She blinks rapidly, not believing what her eyes are seeing, then straightens on the bed, rolling off until she stands by me, her hair a mess and her crumpled clothes looking like they’ve seen better days. She looks down at my face, shakes her head as though willing the sleep to leave her, then says my name again. A sound I wish to hear til the end of my days.

“Oh my God, Dante.” She heaves a sigh of relief, before she hurries to the door and flings it open, speaking to someone who stands there. I follow her actions with my eyes, the view narrowed by my limited ability to turn my head either way.

It is mere moments before Marco and my father come running into the room, followed by the doctors, who all spend the next few minutes fussing over me. The whole time I am being poked and prodded, my eyes remain firmly on Kingsley, who stands uncertainly by the window looking on. In all the time I have known her, she has never displayed any weakness. She has never shown any fear or emotion less than a fierce strength. But now as she stands watching me, all I can see is a vulnerability that makes her seem small and insecure. Kingsley has no idea how to navigate a life of death and destruction. She would flounder and drown amongst the sharks in her world. For all the measures her father had taken to protect her identity and therefore her from the world, he had failed miserably at setting her up for life after him. With the odds stacked against her, and enemies lining up to take their shot, there is no way she will survive what is to come.

“King.”

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