A bruise shadows his temple, probably from the scramble to get out. Dried blood clings to a small cut near his hairline; someone cleaned most of it, not quite all.
“He was talking,” Luca says, voice flat. “Nico said he kept giving orders.”
“Thatsounds like him.” My fingers settle on the side rail again. “He’ll be pissed we heard about his heroics.”
“He’ll be pissed it happened at all.” Luca’s eyes don’t leave Antonio.
“We’ll find out who did it,” I say, keeping my tone even because the only way to deal with Luca in this mood is to be calm.
Luca’s jaw works. He lifts his eyes to the glass wall, not at me but through me, past me, out to every street in this city that might hide an answer. “We start with the name. ‘Ferro.’ We find the cousin who ‘vouched.’ And when we find who did this, we burn them to the ground.”
“We’re already pulling feeds,” I say. “Vito will come in to see Antonio, then head out soon. I imagine Nico will do the same. They’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“Good.” He leans in a little, like he could shield Antonio from the light. “And the Russos.”
“We don’t know it was them,” I tell him. “Not yet. If it’s them, they’re smarter than their last attempt. Different shooters. Cleaner exit. Could be a subcontractor. Could be someone trying to pin it on them. They’ve been quiet since we took out Adriano Russo.”
I think back a few months, when Adriano Russo—younger brother of Leonardo, don of the Russo crime family— kidnapped Bianca in retaliation for the death of his son, Gabe, who had died on the floor of Luca’s bedroom after he’d tried to kill Elena.
Soon after we helped Giovanni recover Bianca, Adriano’s home had mysteriously gone up in flames, the result of an explosion.
So far, Don Leonardo and the Russos have been silent, but we can’t expect them to stay that way.
Luca’s eyes cut to me, but he nods. We’ve done this dance long enough to know when my side runs point.
The ventilator cycles. Antonio doesn’t move. I let out a slow breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“You should say something, talk to him,” I tell Luca. “They always say they can hear you speak.”
He places his palm over Antonio’s forearm, careful of the IV.
“It’s Luca,” he says, his voice low. “We’re all here. You did good. Now you gotta wake up so I can kick your ass for scaring us all like this.”
Unexpected laughter catches in my throat. I swallow it down.
“He’ll come out of it,” I reassure Luca. I aim my next words at Antonio. “He’d better, or else I’m taking a turn kicking his ass.”
We stand like that for a minute, then turn to walk away. Others want to come in and see him, too.
“When he wakes,” Luca says, dropping his hand, “I want a name for him before he opens his eyes. I want him to know we didn’t sit on our hands.”
“We’re not sitting on our hands,” I say. “We’ll get them. Right now, he’s the focus.”
Luca’s head snaps my way, anger moving like a tide. “I’m not waiting.”
“I didn’t say you should.” I keep my voice low and level. “You’re hunting. There’s a difference. You can hunt quiet. You can hunt smart. You taught me that.”
He breathes once through his nose, a sharp inhale that means I’ve bought us a few inches of patience.
We move through the double doors and see everybody still in the waiting room. My eyes land on Olivia, and I wonder again what happened to her when we donated. Further screening, she’d said. For what? Was something wrong?
Luca notices the direction of my eyes.
“Is it serious?”
“Yeah, it is,” I say. “Though I’m not sure how she feels anymore.”
“She figure it out?”
