Leo was jolted awake at 3:00 AM. The bedroom door didn't just open; it was thrown back against the wall. A tall, dark shadow stood in the doorway. It was Dante. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket, and his white shirt was soaked through with sweat.
"Get up, Leo. Now," Dante rasped. His voice sounded strained, like he was in pain.
Leo rubbed his eyes, his doctor instincts immediately overriding his fear. "What happened? Is Marco okay?"
"Not Marco. Me," Dante said. He stumbled slightly, gripping the doorframe.
Leo jumped out of bed and rushed to his side. He caught Dante just as the big man's knees buckled. As he helped Dante sit on the edge of the bed, Leo felt something wet on his hands. He pulled back and saw his palms covered in dark, sticky blood.
"You're shot," Leo whispered, his heart racing. "Dante, you're losing too much blood. We need to go to the hospital."
"No hospitals," Dante groaned, his head falling back as he fought to stay conscious. "The police watch the ERs. You're a surgeon, Leo. Do what I paid you for. Fix me."
Leo looked at the wound. It was a high-caliber graze on the side of Dante's chest. It was deep, and it was bleeding heavily. Leo's hands shook for a second. This wasn't a stranger; this was the man who had claimed his life. The man who had kissed him with enough fire to burn his world down.
"I need my kit," Leo said, his voice becoming firm and professional. "And I need you to stay awake, Dante. Do you hear me? Stay awake!"
Dante looked up, a ghost of a smirk on his pale face. "I'm not going anywhere, Doctor. I still have a debt to collect from you.