Dante fell into a deep, feverish sleep. Leo stayed by the bed, unable to leave. He told himself he was just monitoring the patient, but his eyes kept wandering to Dante's face. Without the cruel smirk and the cold violet glare, the Mafia Boss looked younger. Almost human.
Morning light began to peek through the heavy curtains. Dante stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked confused for a second, then his gaze landed on Leo, who was sitting in the chair next to the bed.
"You stayed," Dante said. His voice was scratchy and weak.
"I had to make sure you didn't get an infection," Leo lied, looking away.
Dante tried to sit up, but he hissed in pain and fell back. "Stay. Come here."
"Dante, you need rest—"
"That wasn't a request, Leo," Dante said, though the command had no bite to it.
Leo sighed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Dante reached out and took Leo's hand, lacing their fingers together. The Boss's hand was warm—too warm. The fever was starting.
"If the Italians found out I was hit... they would move on the house," Dante murmured, his eyes closing again. "You saved the family tonight, Leo. Not just me."
"I don't care about the family," Leo whispered.
"I know," Dante breathed. He pulled Leo's hand up and pressed a dry, hot kiss to his knuckles. "But I'm starting to think... I care about you."
Leo's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the fear this time. It was something deeper, something that terrified him more than a gun ever could. He was supposed to be a prisoner, but as he sat there in the quiet room, holding the hand of the man who owned him, the cage didn't feel so cold anymore.
"Go back to sleep, Dante," Leo said gently.
"Stay," Dante whispered, his grip tightening even in his sleep. "Don't leave me."
Leo didn't move. He sat there in the sunlight, realizing that the Mafia Boss's debt was changing. It wasn't just about money or blood anymore. It was about a heart that was starting to beat for the wrong person.