Free Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) by J.M. Darhower Page A

to do, pressing buttons on the machines, but she wasn't done with the conversation. "I can understand why you don't like the numbness, but it's better than the alternative."
    "Which is?"
    "Pain."
    At the sound of that word, Dante laughed bitterly. He laughed . It didn't feel good, but he did it anyway. "A little pain never hurt anybody."
    A soft smile played on the nurse's lips. "You seem to be accustomed to it."
    Instinctively, Dante's hand drifted to his chest, the flimsy hospital gown covering the scars from his burns. He didn't make a habit of showing them off to people, but he knew the nurse had seen them. Everyone there probably had.
    He evaded mentioning it, brushing off her assumption. Pain, he was used to, but the numbness had to go. "So, what do I have to do to get out of this place? Pay someone? Sign something? Petition a fucking court?"
    This time, the nurse laughed. There was no humor in it, either. "Get out of here? I don't think you understand the severity of your injuries."
    "Oh, I understand," he said. "I was there when it happened."
    Before she could react, another voice cut through the room. "And what, exactly, would 'it' be, Mr. Galante?"
    The sound was like sharp claws ripping away at Dante's calm. He knew that nagging voice, the grating, mousy tone, the sarcastic edge that screamed 'look at me, I'm an asshole !' His gaze turned to the doorway, to man clad in a cheap gray suit. He was a small guy, five and a half feet, a hundred pounds soaking wet, middle-aged with deep red hair and a thick moustache covering his lip. The guy, this squeaky little son of a bitch, reminded Dante of a hamster.
    Practically a fucking rat, as it was.
    Detective Bryan Tracey, with NYPD's Organized Crime Investigations Division. Detective Dick .
    They'd had their fair share of run-ins over the years, a few useless conversations, where the detective hammered him with questions that he knew damn well Dante had no intention of answering.
    Nurse Russo mumbled, "I can give you some privacy."
    "Don't bother," Dante said. "I have nothing to say to him."
    "It's fine," the detective said. "Continue what you were doing."
    The nurse hesitated before going back to her work.
    Detective Tracey lingered near the doorway, not coming any closer. "I've got to say, Galante, I honestly thought I'd never see you again."
    "Hate to disappoint."
    "Ah, I'd hardly say I'm disappointed," the detective said. "Multiple broken ribs, lacerated spleen, punctured lung, bruised kidney... not to mention the stab wounds. They say you were beaten from head-to-toe, severely dehydrated, practically starved . So instead of disappointed, let's go with surprised… surprised you're alive when someone wanted you dead."
    "They wanted me to suffer," Dante corrected him. "There's a difference."
    "Is there?"
    Dante didn't humor him with a response to that question. Of course there was a difference. Sometimes surviving was the worst thing that could happen to someone.
    The detective strolled closer. "Who did this to you?"
    "I don't know."
    "Where'd they keep you?"
    "I don't know."
    "Why'd they do it?"
    "I don't know."
    "Cut the bullshit, Galante… just tell me the truth."
    Dante remained silent.
    That was his right, after all.
    "Look, I know what you're thinking, but this isn't the time for it," the detective continued. "You can't go back out onto those streets looking for revenge. I'm not a fool. I can make an educated guess about who's to blame, and I know you'll want them to pay for it. But at some point you have to break the cycle, and I suggest you do it now, before it's too late."
    "It's already too late."
    "So that's how this is going to be?"
    "That's how it's always been."
    The man glared, although he didn't appear surprised. He'd been playing the game longer than Dante. He knew the rules. He knew how things went.
    "If this is how you want to play it, so be it, but mark my words: this war is  over . Enough people have been hurt. Too many lives have been lost. So I