Chapter 15 - The Aftermath
They arrived at a highly secure underground bunker disguised as a warehouse. Dante’s medical team was waiting.
Clara paced the concrete hallway, her velvet gown stained with Dante’s blood, her hands shaking violently. Enzo stood by the door, uninjured but deeply furious.
“Is he going to live?” Clara demanded, grabbing Enzo’s lapels.
“He’s Dante Cavallo, ma’am,” Enzo said gently. “A bullet graze isn't going to kill him. But Victor Russo is going to die tonight.”
An hour later, the underground doctor emerged, wiping his hands on a towel. “He’s stitched up. The bullet went clean through the obliques. Missed the vitals. He’s asking for you, Mrs. Cavallo.”
Clara burst into the medical room. Dante was sitting on the edge of the cot, bare-chested, his torso wrapped in thick white bandages. He looked pale, but his eyes were sharp and focused.
“Clara,” he breathed, holding out his hand.
She ran to him, falling to her knees between his legs, burying her face in his uninjured side. “You stupid, reckless man,” she sobbed, hitting his thigh weakly. “You jumped over me. You took a bullet for me.”
Dante cupped her face, lifting her tear-stained cheeks. “I would take a thousand bullets for you. I would burn the world down before I let a single piece of glass touch you.”
“I was so scared,” she cried.
Dante leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce, desperate kiss. It wasn't gentle. It was possessive, bruising, a physical confirmation that they were both still alive. Clara kissed him back with equal ferocity, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
“I love you,” Clara gasped against his mouth, the truth tearing out of her soul. “I love you, Dante.”
Dante froze. He looked down at her, his eyes shining with something wet and raw. “Say it again.”
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“I love you.”
Dante pulled her into his lap, ignoring the pain in his side, burying his face in her neck. “And I worship you, Clara. From the first night in that bakery. You are my soul.”
