“I’m not convinced,” says Emma, glancing around for our men. “Murphy, see to Dad, will ya?” she tells the red-headed giant who seems to be permanently at McErlane’s side. A click of her fingers has Mario and Paolo snapping to attention.
God, I love how easily she commands a room.
“You two! Help me with this great lug of mine,” she demands. I start to laugh. “What’s so funny?” she snaps at me.
“You called me your lug.” God, she’s cute.
“I’ll call you far worse, you daft twat! Especially if you pull another stunt like this.” She’s all bluster and fire, but when she reaches over to examine my filthy dressings, her touch is gentle. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “Just look at ya.”
I close my hand over hers, pulling her close and plastering my damp body against hers as I tilt her face up for a kiss. She’s sweet as ripe cherries.
“Ah, Christ, would you stop already?” my father-in-law grumbles. “I canna look at the pair o’ ya, I just canna!”
I grin against her lips, ignoring his objections. The warmth of her mouth is a drug, and I can barely pull away, even when Mario clears his throat beside us.
“Boss…?” He taps my shoulder, almost earning himself a smack to the head. “Sorry, Boss…”
“Fuck it, this better be good!”
“It’s Mr. Dario, Boss.” He hands me my phone, and I stare down at my brother’s number flashing there. I take the call.
“You’d better get on the line to Rikers,” he says without preamble because Dario has never been one to waste time on pleasantries like “Hello, how you doing?”
“Why?” I frown.
“It’s our father,” he replies. “Someone just took out a hit on him. He’s in critical condition.”
Chapter 10
Raoul Caraldi
Dario’s face is still twisted with rage several hours later as we linger in the waiting room. Our father was airlifted to New York City Hospital under heavy guard. Dario’s been cursing a blue streak since the moment he arrived. We’ve been told the few details that the guards were able to glean. A fight had broken out in the prison yard, and by the time it was dispersed, our father had remained, lying in a pool of blood. Multiple stab wounds have left him with severe blood loss, but most alarmingly, a punctured lung and ruptured spleen. For the past hours, he’s been in theater, surgeons battling to save him.
“Figlio di puttana!” Dario says for the thousandth time, his dark hair ruffled from having his hands thrust through it. “When I find out who did this…” He leaves the threat unspoken. Too many ears in the waiting room. Though from the cautious glances we keep attracting, I’m pretty certain everyone around us is well aware of what’s implied.
“Sit down, Dario.” I keep my voice measured. He’d been scathing when he first laid eyes on me earlier. I still stink of the fight club, having hastily pulled on my clothes and headed straight here when I received the news. Dario took several hours longer, his flight from Vegas leaving him ruffled and agitated. I’m not accustomed to seeing him like this, but then again, our father lies unconscious just doors away.
Oddly, I feel numb. A strange ambivalence took hold when I heard Dario’s words. Someone tried to kill the man who sired me, the man I’ve spent a lifetime trying to emulate. I should be raging and planning vengeance like Dario. And yet, I’m not.
“Where the fuck is Mateo?” Dario snaps. It’s not the first time he’s asked this, and I roll my eyes at him.
“Exactly what kind of shit have you been smoking back home, bro?”
Does he really believe Mateo would be here? The man practically had our father locked up single-handedly…for murdering their mother. I almost wonder if this assassination attempt was orchestrated by Mateo himself.
Nah.Rules are still too hardwired into him.
“Vaffanculo!” Dario mutters but doesn’t look at me when he says it. He’s probably thinking the same thing. “Fucking Eduoardo,” he says under his breath. “I’ll tear his guts out.”
I dip my head slightly, acknowledging his sentiment. This is my uncle’s doing. Jokes of Mateo aside, there’s no doubt in my mind that Eduoardo organized this hit.
More long minutes tick by into hours until a doctor appears in the doorway, and I feel myself go tense. A soft hand on mine squeezes slightly, and I look over at where Emma sits silently in the chair next to me. She hasn’t left my side since we got the news.
“How is he?” Dario barks and the man shrinks back a little.
“Mr. Caraldi hasn’t regained consciousness yet, sir,” he says. “However, the surgery went well. We should be able to give you an update in—”
“An update? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” Dario yells. “All day I wait here for you and your goddamn ‘updates’! I should be ripping—!”
