“If it wasn't the Chinese, then we have to seriously evaluate who would target us in such a manner.”
Pacing past the window, I didn't bother to look out at the cold, gray day. My attention was too focused on the conversation; I felt like we’d rehashed it a few too many times in the past several days. “Russos or Lomardis. No one else would dare fuck with us.”
“It sounds like the men did as you requested,” Dad pointed out. “Have you decided you can trust them?”
While we had some answers about who had killed Lorenzo, I wasn't fully satisfied with what we’d learned so far. “I’d feel better if they could tell me conclusively who it was.”
“But?”
Giving in to the need, I headed to the liquor cart and poured a tall glass of bourbon. “But, yeah, apparently I can trust them. Gio followed up behind them and agreed with their assessment.”
“Has anyone gotten with our contact to reschedule the buy?”
“Roman said he’d do it.”
The bourbon didn't have a satisfying burn when it went down. Maybe I was finally numb. I wanted to make Gio my underboss, but I didn't have the authority. I wasn’t the one in charge.
Not officially, at least, but the weight of the entire organization rested squarely on my shoulders.
“We need to uphold the deal so we can keep our relationship intact.”
“I know, Dad.”
As though I hadn't thought of that, and the fact that we needed to be careful wherever we tried to set up our deals in the future. If they started bombing us left and right, we’d lose more men than we could afford.
“Excuse me,” Bedford said, standing in the doorway with his hands clasped in front of him. “Dr. Wentworth has arrived.”
“Thank you, Charles,” my father said.
We exchanged a look, and I knew he was warning me to keep it civil. I’d been taken aback when she said she wouldn't forgive me, but I could admire her tenacity.
“Benito,” she said cheerfully as she came into the room. “Good afternoon.”
Then she spotted me, and I smiled politely. At the frown flickering across her brow, I wondered if I’d done a poor job at thepolitepart.
“Mr. Costa,” she said formally.
“Doctor.”
Since she didn't spend too much time assessing my father every day, I wanted to wait for her to leave so we could continue our conversation. Moving off to the corner of the den, I ran my fingertip over the dust jackets of Dad’s favorite books. Behind me, Sailor talked about his blood pressure, pulse, and the sound of his lungs.
“You’re improving every day, bit by bit.”
“All thanks to you, no doubt.”
He really liked her, and I had to make my peace with that. She certainly had a good bedside manner with him.
In the distance, I heard what sounded like the engine of a low-flying plane. With a heavy frown, I turned to the large picture windows. “Does that sound like it’s too low to be normal?”
Before anyone could answer me, the house rocked and a loud sound exploded in my ears. It was almost impossible to describe, but the entire house immediately started crumbling down around us. Without thinking twice, I stumbled over to Dad, dodging falling debris. Something akin to an aftershock rumbled through the walls, and the plaster fell off the ceiling in chunks.
Bedford hurried in, his face covered in dirt. “Is anyone hurt?”
Finding my father’s bed in the gloomy light, my stomach sank to my knees.
“Dr. Wentworth?” I called, shaking her.
She’d collapsed on the floor beside Dad’s bed, her eyes closed and a bruise forming on her temple.
