C83 Part Of Mine

The stench of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, a sharp contrast to the rundown state of the hospital.

Dante’s sharp gaze flicked over the peeling paint on the walls and the worn linoleum floor that creaked under his polished shoes.

He clenched his jaw, his fists flexing at his sides as he resisted the urge to grab the nurse by her collar and demand that she move faster.

Annabelle stood beside him, her back straight and her voice calm as she spoke to the nurse, but he could see the strain etched into her features.

Her green eyes, normally so vibrant, were dulled by worry.

She didn’t meet his gaze, her attention fixed entirely on extracting information about her mother’s condition.

Dante admired her composure even as it grated against his instincts.

She was holding herself together with a brittle strength that he feared would snap at any moment.

He stepped closer, his looming presence making the nurse shift uncomfortably.

The woman’s hands fumbled with the paperwork she was holding, and she glanced nervously between him and Annabelle.

“Annabelle,” Dante said, his voice low and firm, a quiet storm beneath the surface.

She turned to him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and determination. “Not now, Dante. I will handle this,” she said, her tone sharp but quiet.

Dante raised a brow, unaccustomed to being dismissed so easily, but he held back the retort burning on his tongue.

She was holding on by a thread, and he didn’t want to add to her burden.

Still, the urge to take over, to shield her from this and bulldoze anyone standing in their way, simmered just below the surface.

“The nurse,” he said with a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “is wasting time.”

Annabelle turned back to the nurse with an apologetic look. “Please,” she said, her voice softening. “We just need to see my mom.”

The nurse seemed to relax under Annabelle’s more diplomatic approach. “She’s stable but weak,” the woman said. “Room 112. Please follow me.”

Dante bit back his growl of frustration as they followed the nurse down the poorly lit hallway.

He fell in step behind Annabelle, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, like a predator on high alert.

This wasn’t Acadia, but danger didn’t care about geography.

They were just shot at outside Stoneraine after all, and the danger could be from anywhere.

Annabelle hesitated at the door, her hand hovering over the handle.

Dante moved to her side, his presence steady and grounding.

She glanced at him, her lips pressing into a thin line, then pushed the door open.

The room was oppressively small, the faint beeping of medical equipment the only sound. Dante’s gaze immediately fell on the woman lying in the hospital bed.

Mauve Whitaker. Annabelle’s mother.

Her frail frame was a stark contrast to the strong, vibrant woman he had imagined.

Her face was gaunt, her cheeks hollow, and the bruises marring her skin told a story of suffering that made Dante’s blood boil.

Annabelle sucked in a sharp breath, her hand flying to her mouth.

She stepped forward, her movements hesitant, as if she feared the sight before her would shatter her.

“Mum,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Dante hung back, his broad shoulders filling the doorway as he crossed his arms over his chest. He watched Annabelle approach the bed, her hands shaking as she reached for her mother’s.

The raw emotion on her face made something tighten in his chest.

Mauve stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering open.

Her eyes, dulled by pain and exhaustion, landed on Annabelle.

A faint smile tugged at her cracked lips.

“Annabelle,” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m here, Mum,” Annabelle said, her voice breaking. “I’m here.”

“I knew you would come back. Did you find Cathy? I told your dad you would find her. Is she here with you?”

“No, mum. Cathay is staying at the Wieners'. She is fine, mum.”

Mauve was about to relax when she looked at Annabelle hopefully again. “Have you seen your father? Someone needs to tell him that I am here. I don’t want him to think…”

“You need to focus on getting well first, mom. Stop thinking about…anyone.”

Dante stayed silent, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

The bruises on Mauve’s wrists looked fresh as if she’d been restrained.

His jaw clenched, and the urge to find Tad and end him once and for all surged through him like wildfire.

Annabelle sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing her mother’s hair away from her face. “Why didn’t you tell someone you were sick?” she asked, her tone a mix of frustration and heartbreak.

Mauve’s gaze flickered toward Dante, then back to Annabelle. “Didn’t want to bother anyone,” she murmured. “Didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Annabelle’s voice rose, her emotions spilling over. “Mum, you collapsed! A kid had to find you! You could’ve died!”

Mauve winced, her hand weakly squeezing Annabelle’s. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Dante’s patience snapped. “Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he said, his voice like steel.

Annabelle shot him a sharp look, her eyes flashing with anger. “Dante, don’t.”

“She needs to hear it,” he said, his gaze hard as it met Mauve’s. “You don’t get to make excuses when your choices affect the people who care about you.”

Mauve’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, her face crumpling.

Annabelle stood abruptly, rounding on Dante with fury in her eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed.

Dante didn’t flinch under her glare. “You think I’m being harsh?” he asked, his tone dangerously low. “Maybe. But I don’t have patience for people who put themselves in harm’s way and then expect others to pick up the pieces.”

Annabelle’s fists clenched at her sides, her chest heaving with emotion. “This isn’t about you,” she said, her voice trembling. “This is my family.”

“And you’re part of mine,” Dante shot back.

The weight of his words hung between them, the tension crackling like a live wire.

Annabelle’s breath caught, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

Mauve’s weak voice broke the silence. “Annabelle... who is he?”

Annabelle turned back to her mother, her expression softening as she forced a smile. “He’s... a friend,” she said quietly.

Dante’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t correct her.

Not here. Not now.

Annabelle sat back down, her attention fully on her mother again. Dante took a step back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

He watched them silently, his mind racing with thoughts of how he could protect them both.

Because one thing was certain.

Tad wouldn’t get another chance to hurt this family.

Not if Dante had anything to say about it.