Chapter 6
Dante stopped directly in front of the padded examination bench. His imposing, deeply masculine presence instantly seemed to shrink the massive room, wrapping a protective, impenetrable shield around his three-year-old daughter. He dropped to one knee, ignoring the mess of foam pads and shattered plastic on the floor, bringing himself down to her eye level.
The cold, sharp intimidation in his eyes vanished entirely. When he looked at Lily, his gaze softened into profound, aching tenderness. He reached out with his artistic, tattooed hands, gently wiping the tears from her fair, rosy cheeks.
"I am here, Lily," Dante whispered, his low voice a soothing, rhythmic rumble. "The bad men are asleep. They will never shout at you again. You are perfectly safe."
"Daddy," Lily sobbed, throwing her small arms around his neck, burying her face into the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. She smelled of horses and tears. "My boot... my boot is hurting me."
Dante gently rubbed her back, holding her tightly. He looked over her shoulder at Dr. Emma, his expression shifting back into the cold, calculated mask of the Mafia Boss.
"What is the medical assessment, Doctor?" Dante asked, the controlled pauses returning to his speech.
"Her right ankle is moderately swollen, Mr. Bellandi," Dr. Emma reported, her American accent regaining its professional edge as she picked up the blunt trauma shears from the floor. "She complained of a sharp, scratching sensation inside the rubber riding boot. When I attempted to remove it manually, the pain caused her severe distress. I determined that the safest course of action was to cut the boot away to prevent any potential fractures or further lacerations to the skin."
"And my cousin. Attempted to stop you," Dante stated, not asking a question, but cementing the facts of the betrayal.
"Yes, sir," Emma nodded, glaring at the unconscious Marcus across the room. "He became violently agitated when I mentioned cutting the rubber. He insisted on pulling it off by force, which would have severely injured her foot. That is when Leo intervened."
Dante’s jaw clenched so tightly the refined tattoos on his neck shifted against his fair skin. He slowly stood up, keeping one hand resting comfortingly on Lily’s knee. He turned his head and looked at Marcus, who was groaning softly amid the ruined orthotic cart, slowly regaining a fraction of consciousness.
The bright, cinematic light from the skylights cast harsh, unforgiving shadows over Marcus’s bloody face.
Dante took two slow, deliberate steps toward the ruined cart. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating, and loaded with the promise of further violence. He stopped a few feet away, looking down at his treacherous cousin like a god observing a particularly repulsive insect.
"Marcus," Dante said, his voice quiet, lethal, and dropping to absolute zero.
Marcus groaned, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the pristine white tiles. He looked up at Dante, his eyes wide with unadulterated, primal terror.
"Dante... please," Marcus wheezed, his voice bubbling with blood. "I didn't mean to hurt her... I swear."
"You put your hands. On my doctor," Dante murmured, every word measured and dangerously cold. "You ordered your dog. To attack my nephew. And you tried to rip a boot. Off my screaming daughter's swollen foot."
Dante crouched down, resting his forearms on his thighs, bringing his handsome, movie-star face uncomfortably close to Marcus’s ruined visage.
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"Let me see," Dante whispered, his voice a dark, terrifying promise, "what’s got you so terrified."
He stood back up and turned to Dr. Emma. "Cut the boot open, Doctor. Now."
