Dante's Promise

"Let me in." The command of a woman echo's from outside.

"Yes."

It's silent for a second before the iron door squeaks open, introducing Sienna into the white room.

She closes the door behind her, and stands in front of it, without effort to move even an inch further into the room.

This was one of the numerous rooms in the Mafia's main treatment center, like a hospital. Asides from the scent of disinfectants, the atmosphere is saturated by the aura of a man, deep in the filth of shame and regrets.

Dante layed on the bed, looking like a mummy with all the bandages he was covered in from head to toe. He is completely still and looks lifeless from afar.

Sienna's nose scrunches up slightly to the pathetic sight. She really doesn't want to deal with this crap, but Isadora has forced her hands this time.

She expertly replaces that look with one of concern and sympathy and saunters to the side of the man lying in pain on the treatment bed.

"Dante," She whispers, "Are you awake?"

Dante's eyes