“We’ve got it from here,” she said, not unkindly. “You should step back and let us work.”
I nodded but didn’t move immediately. Dante’s eyes were still on me, and I couldn’t look away. There was something in his gaze that I hadn’t seen before. Vulnerability, maybe. Or hope.
“I’ll ride with him,” I heard myself say.
The paramedic looked up, surprised. “You family?”
“Husband,” Dante said before I could answer, and the word sent a strange thrill through me despite everything.
She nodded, accepting this without question. “Alright, but you’ll need to stay out of the way while we get him stabilized.”
They worked quickly, checking his ribs, his breathing, asking him questions about pain levels and where it hurt. I watched from a few feet away, my own shoulder throbbing where I’d hit the ground. Angelo stood beside me, looking pale and shaken.
“That was fucked up,” he muttered. “I thought he was dead for a second there.”
“Yeah,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from Dante as they loaded him onto a stretcher. “Me too.”
“I know this isn’t the right time,” Angelo said softly. “But, the boss… he’s not a bad guy. I’ve worked for his family for a decade. He’s the best one by far.”
I glanced over at him, also keeping my voice low. “No offense, but I don’t think there’s such a thing as a good guy in the mob.”
He just shook his head. “That’s because you don’t know any.”
The paramedics wheeled Dante toward the ambulance, and I followed automatically, my legs moving before my brain caught up. The female paramedic gestured for me to climb in, and I did, settling onto the small bench seat as they secured Dante’s stretcher.
The doors closed, and suddenly we were moving, the siren wailing above us. Dante’s hand reached out, fingers searching, and without thinking I took it. His grip was weak but steady.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting mine in the harsh fluorescent light of the ambulance.
“For what?”
“For not leaving me there.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “For caring enough to be scared.”
I wanted to deny it, to tell him I was just doing what anyone would do. But deep down, I knew the truth.
Despite every logical thought in my head, I was starting to care about him too.
Chapter 9
Dante
“Three fractured ribs, Dante? Are you fucking stupid?” my father barked from the other end of the phone. “You’re supposed to be running a business, not playing cowboy!”
I pressed the phone tighter against my ear, wincing as the movement pulled at my taped ribs. The hospital bed was stiff beneath me, and every breath felt like someone was pressing hot coals against my chest.
“It was an accident, Pop,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the pain. “The cow charged Nick. I got in the way.”
“You got in the way,” he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of a cow. Jesus Christ, Dante, you sound like an idiot. This is exactly what I was worried about. You’re letting your dick do the thinking instead of your brain.”
Heat flushed through me, part anger, part shame. “It wasn’t like that. He would’ve been seriously hurt if I hadn’t?—”
“So what? He’s a rancher. Getting hurt is part of the job. You think he hasn’t been thrown from a horse before? You think he hasn’t dealt with aggressive livestock?” My father’s breathing was heavy on the other end. “But you? You’re a Valenti. You don’t risk yourself for some cowboy you barely know.”
“He’s my husband,” I said quietly, and the word felt heavier than it ever had before.
“He’s a business arrangement. If he gets trampled, we keep the ranch, not the other way around.” The correction was sharp, cutting. “Don’t forget that. Don’t forget why you’re really there.”
I glanced toward the door of my hospital room, where Nick had stepped out a few minutes ago to give me privacy for this call. I could still see his silhouette through the frosted glass, pacing back and forth in the hallway. He’d refused to leave the hospital, had stayed by my side through every test and scan, his hand gripping mine whenever the pain got too bad.
