My jaw drops at the thought of him doing something so… sweet. Endearing. It’s been a long time since I believed in a man showing up when it counts, even though my stepfather has always done that. But since my father's death, I just thought men were all unreliable in some way. It was mostly the reason I treated them so coolly and only used them to get me off.
But when Dante speaks or offers help, I believe him.
And that terrifies me.
I look back at his wound.
“I want the money from any sales to go to depression awareness and women who need help but can’t afford it themselves.” I think of Lorraine and the struggles she fought with her depression. I think back to the time when she accidentally overdosed. She admitted only a year later that it was a wake-up call because all the thoughts she had leading up to that evening swarmed her, and she no longer wanted to be alive. It was a wake-up call for both of us.
Lorraine had me, and although she went to regular therapy, it never seemed to be enough, but she was adamant she didn’t need medication, which I always found interesting, considering she found other ways to self-medicate.
When I think about putting her work out into the world to help support such a cause, I know without a doubt Lorraine would approve. Maybe not to publish her work, but to realizethat in her name, she could help so many other women who struggled as she had.
“It won’t be an issue. I’ll make some calls,” he says.
I look at him, still struggling with the idea of depending on him. Because if I do, it feels like I’m finally submitting in some way. As if I’m giving him my power when I’ve always thrived on doing everything myself. “I wasn’t asking for your help.”
“You never ask for help. That’s part of your charm.” He’s smiling as he watches me work around him, but when I open the kit, I’m surprised that the first thing I see is a photo of two young teens and a little girl.
I pull out the photo, and he’s watching me, unfazed by my discovery. “That’s Milia, in the middle. The ridiculously cute one is me,” he says. The weight of it feels heavy in my hand. The fact that he carries around a photo like this surely means he cares about the past, even when he pretends it doesn’t affect him.
That he, too, had a family and has experienced loss. It shapes us all differently.
“And is this Lorenzo?” I ask carefully, well aware of their strangled relationship.
“The troll in the background? Yeah, it is.”
I glare at him and decide to put the photo away. Whenever his brother is mentioned, blades come out, and it saddens me, considering what he’s told me, Lorenzo is his only family left.
I look through the kit.
“Do you know what you’re doing,Cattivella?” he asks.
“I know how to clean a few scrapes,” I tell him, irritated, as I begin to disinfect the wound, and he barely flinches when I know it burns like a bitch. He simply watches me with that shit-eating grin.
“I don’t know how to stitch, though,” I admit.
He chuckles. “I can do that. Or I can teach you since you’ll have a lifetime ahead of patching me up.”
My gaze flicks to his, and I’m somewhat irritated by his presumption.
“Look, just because you’re head over heels, it doesn’t mean I feel the same.”
I might’ve let the monster into my heart, but I need to protect myself, especially while I focus on getting myself back on my feet.
“It’s part of your appeal, Romi Lutton. I’ll have a lifetime of winning you over, knowing that you’ll claw at me every step of the way,” he says in a sing-song way.
He’s a fucking psycho, a still-bleeding one at that.
Once I’ve wiped away most of the blood, he grabs my hand and takes over. To be honest, I have no interest in learning how to sew skin together. But I watch him, grossed out and curious, as he begins to work on himself.
“I suppose being adoctorreally has its perks,” I say as I pick up Borris again and sit across from Dante.
“One year away from being a surgeon, sweetheart. So, I’m not only ridiculously handsome but also incredibly smart.”
“My definition of smart doesn’t involve a man who gets shot twice within forty-eight hours.”
“Touché,” he says with a smile. I try to hide my own, not wanting to give in to his charm. From this angle, beneath the tattoos, I can see the scars.
