DANTE's POV
There is nothing like a brush with death to set a man on the right path.
When I finally opened my eyes after the bullet had been extracted, it was as bright as day and there was something weighing my f*****g palm.
I turned, my eyes settling on the sleeping form of Francesca. She had her face resting beautifully at arms length and her hand intertwined with mine which she held onto tightly as she slept.
I did not move, merely watched her face with a sense of deja vu washing over me. I could remember that this had happened before only she had taken care of me and it was at my father’s house.
A brush with death wasn’t something a man celebrated and while it made other men sober and self conscious, it only made me angry and vengeful.
Francesca stirred, turning my thoughts back
