Dinner on Friday

24. Dante

ALL THOSE FEELINGS

I knew fear, but not intimately. Growing up, I never feared my father and uncle. I respected them, but they were the ones who taught me how to instill fear in others.

So yeah, I knew fear. I was used to seeing it in other people's eyes the moment they realized I was about to end their lives for good.

In the end, there were always so many expressions. Regret. Rage. Sadness. But fear? Fear was always the one to make me hesitate. It said a lot about me. The man brave enough to take the life of another with little to no regret.

Experiencing fear on this side for a change was no fucking fun. Carla's mom was taken to the hospital, her condition critical. The doctors believed that the shooter had been aiming for her heart. Instead, the bullet had grazed her left lung, causing enough damage to impair her breathing.

"Bruce is on his way," I told Carla as I paced the blue carpet of the hospital's private waiting room. My anger made me want to find the woman responsible and torture her for days on end, starting with her small toe. I would work my way up, finishing with a show-stopping haircut, Edward-scissor-hand style.

I had shit to do, but I didn't want to leave Carla unprotected. Besides Schipper, Bruce was the only man I trusted with her life.

"He should be here in two hours," I said.

"Oh, okay."

I stopped pacing to look at her. I knew that tone. It was the voice of disconnection and hopelessness. The slump in her shoulders was a dead giveaway.

Shit. I couldn't let her spiral into whatever hole she was about to fall into. The last time shit hit the fan, I hadn't been there for her. But not this time. I wasn't letting her out of my sight.

Our time with the 'note killer' was up. Her last note had made that clear, and if shooting Carla's mother wasn't clear enough, I didn't know what was.

"Carla, do you understand how serious this is? You are not to leave his sight or walk away from Bruce at any point. Unless he tells you to run. Then you run like the dead is chasing you. Do you understand?"

I waited for her to acknowledge me. She took her precious time, and then her lashes lifted and her brown eyes flashed at me. "Yes, husband, I understand."

"But?"

"I'm scared! Can't you see that? I'm scared of losing my mother, a woman I tell myself I don't really care for. I'm scared of losing my friends because I destroyed all the trust we had between us. I'm scared you're gonna get yourself killed trying to protect me. I'm scared of dying."

Now, that was a lot of shit to unpack, and I wasn't in that kind of business. I talked and solved all my problems with my gun. Feelings were for the weak. Feelings were a liability in my world.

Because of my feelings for Elisabeth, Santiago had been able to use her against me; killing Eduardo and hurting Carla in the process.

But meeting my wife taught me that feelings weren't shackles, but a source of immense power. The fear and pain etched on her face were raw and real, and I could feel the weight of her emotions in the tears glistening in her eyes.

It took incredible strength to allow myself to feel so deeply. Something I was always good at, but had to hide so I could be able to do my job.

I was my wife's protector, her confidant, and her main source of support. And that meant embracing her emotions fully and being there for her when she needed me.

"Cariño, my love," I said softly while making my way to her side. Without thinking, I scooped her up in my arms and then sat down in her chair. Her body settled against mine, her skin warm and soft. "I'm scared too. The thought of living without you turns my blood cold. I know you're worried about a lot of stuff right now, but remember, you're not alone."