Dante's POV
"How do you always get shot, even if it's a small wound?" Marco chuckled, but when he saw the glare on my face, his laughter stopped. He cleared his throat and then stepped back. "I'll go get a nurse to handle that." He gestured to my injury.
"Don't disturb any of the nurses," I snapped. "Let them take care of the injured men."
"Okay, and then what about you?" He questioned, raising a brow as if I had just said the most stupid thing in the world.
"What about me? I'm fine. It's just a scratch; I'll be okay. And I have to go out now for the meeting at the club."
"Uh, I don't think that's a good–"
"What?" I cut him off, my brows arched, daring him to repeat what he had just said.
"I meant that I would go now. That's what I said." He rushed out before practically running out
