I look at Dante's face. At the sharp lines of his jaw, the dark stubble, the scar through his eyebrow. He looks younger like this. Vulnerable. Nothing like the man who threw me over his shoulder two years ago. Nothing like the enforcer who sat at my hospital bed for days.
He came here.
Of all the places he could have gone, he came here.
I don't have time to think about what that means.
"Stay here," I whisper, which is stupid because he's unconscious and couldn't go anywhere if he tried. But I say it anyway. "Don't you dare die in my hallway."
I scramble to my feet. Rush inside.
I yank open the cabinet above the fridge. My hands close around a bottle of whiskey. A gift from a coworker I never opened. I grab it, grab a dish towel, and run back to the door.
He hasn't moved.
The blood has spread further.
I kneel beside him again, uncap the whiskey with my teeth. The smell burns my nostrils.
"Okay." I pour some onto the towel. "Okay, this is going to work. This has to work."
I press the soaked cloth against his face. His neck. Under his nose.
Nothing.
"Come on." I slap his cheek lightly. Then harder. "Wake up. Dante, wake up."
His eyelids flutter.
My heart lurches.
"That's it." I pour more whiskey on the towel, hold it under his nose. "Come back. I need you to come back."
A groan. Low, pained.
His eyes open.
For a moment, they're unfocused. Glassy. He stares at the ceiling like he doesn't know where he is.
Then his gaze finds mine.
"Marina." My name comes out broken. Barely a whisper.
"Can you hear me?" I lean closer, searching his face. "Dante, can you hear me?"
He nods. Barely. Just a slight dip of his chin, but it's enough.
"Good. Okay." I wipe my hands on my jeans, leaving dark smears. "You need to help me get you inside. Can you do that?"
Another nod.
"You have to stay awake. Just for a few minutes. Just until we're inside. Do you understand?"
His eyes hold mine.
"Yes." The word is barely audible.
"Okay." I hook my arm under his shoulder, brace myself. "On three. One, two?—"
