“Get your dirty hands off,” the guy growled, pushing Othello away just as Iago walked by them as if he hadn’t seen what was happening and mixed into the crowd.
“I’m really sorry,” Othello said, standing up. “I...”
“Fuck, kid, stop apologizing,” the man yelled. “Just get the hell out of my face. I have somewhere to be. Dammit, why did I let Maria talk me into coming here? Fuck, I should have brought my guards. I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit,” the man rambled as he continued dusting off his jacket.
“Oh...oh, okay. But I’m really sorry,” Othello said softly, but the man heard him and growled, glaring at him.
“Leave,” he snapped.
“Yes, sir.”
Getting the message, Othello walked off as calmly as he could, even though he wanted to run as fast as he could and catch up with Iago, who was already at their hiding place, an abandoned building that used to be an old pizza joint. That day was the biggest windfall for them. They ignored the credit cards and focused on the thick stack of hundred-dollar bills that amounted to one thousand dollars that were easily split fifty-fifty.
While Iago spent his half, Othello saved his, thinking of his goal of getting away from the Willow-Brook group home. That was the difference between them. Othello was always thinking of what came next, while Iago lived in the moment, which was something he envied about his brother. He wasn’t reckless, but Iago was rash, while Othello was a thinker. The differences in their nature had served them well, but it had also made them come to blows and arguments over the years.
After they had stolen from the man, Iago wanted to find another mark, but Othello had to convince him it was better to take a break and stick close to home for a bit. Three weeks later, just as they were returning to their old tricks, the man they had stolen from walked through the door, changing Othello and Iago’s lives and giving them a far better life than they could’ve hoped for.
“Boss, you’re awake,” hearing Tallen’s voice caused Othello to step back into the present and look away from the window and over to the two men who had been sleeping soundly. “I’ll go get the doctor.”
He hurried out of the room, leaving him with Marco, who moved closer to Othello while fixing his suit. “It’s good to see you awake, Boss. It was touch and go for a little bit.”
“The don?” he asked, his voice raspy, having not used it for a few hours.
“He’s fine. He and Iago have been working around the clock for two days to find out who ambushed us. Speaking of which, I should call him. He’ll want to know you’re awake.”
“Two days?” Othello said.
“I told you it was touch and go for a bit.” Marco pulled out his phone and stepped away from the bed to make his call just as Tallen and a hospital staff member entered the room.
“Mister Moor, it’s good to see you awake.” The doctor smiled, walking over to him.
SCENE IV
DES
Des smiled and moved closer to Othello Moor, who was trying to sit up, but Des stopped him.
“Please remain in your position. I’d prefer you not rip open your stitches. I believe they were some of my most beautiful work,” Des joked, looking into the handsome man’s face, which remained impassive.
Okay, Des, don’t quit your day job. You’ll never make it as a comedian,he mentally chided himself.
Des was happy to see the patient fully awake. He had been watching over the patient for the past two days. He’d spiked a high fever, and Des was worried it would lead to an infection, but he was thankful it didn’t happen. At one point, Mister Moor opened his glazed light amber eyes and stared at him for a few seconds. Moor had opened his dry lips and asked if he was an angel, before falling back to sleep as if nothing had happened.
Des was sure the man was delirious on the drugs he was on, or he thought he was dead. But it wasn’t uncommon for that to happen with people who’d had major surgery. It wasn’t the first time hewas mistaken for a god or the devil, depending on the day or the patient. It was only the first time he’d wanted to answer.
Pushing past that thought, Des got serious about the examination. First, he adjusted the bed, positioning the patient upright and comfortably, and pulled out his penlight. He shone it in the man’s eyes while asking him the normal questions, but truly, he was eager to hear what the guy’s voice sounded like.
Never had he been fascinated by a patient, and honestly, he was feeling a little out of his depth. He was always a professional, but right now, he wanted to cater to the man’s needs no matter what it was, when he knew next to nothing about Moor. Over the two days he’d done his due diligence as a doctor and checked on Mister Moor, he’d often wondered if the man was dreaming or walking to the light. Des could have turned the case over to another doctor, but he seriously didn’t want to.
Many times, he’d muttered it would be a crying shame if such a handsome man were to die. Des knew next to nothing about the guy but understood that he was an important figure since he had guards watching him twenty-four hours a day. Des had also figured with the man’s status, the cops would have been here to question the staff about the gunshot victim, but in the two days, no one had shown up. When he spoke to the head of his department, he was told to drop it and simply treat the patient and not dig too deep into things that weren’t his concern.
But how could he not be concerned when he’d pulled a bullet out of his patient's chest? Des had pushed and threatened to call the police, but his boss had countered by writing him up, reporting him for insubordination, and informing his parents of his actions, which caused Des to back down. He’d had a good record so far and couldn’t have it marred, not to mention reaching hisparent's ear and having to deal with them putting Des in a corner he didn’t want to be in.
His department head and a few of the higher-ups knew he had a strained relationship with his parents and sometimes used it to get Des to do what they wanted. He hated that he couldn’t stand on his own yet, or he would have quit his job. He had money saved but not enough, and he didn’t want to take out a loan. However, with how everyone pretended Moor wasn’t a gunshot victim, Des couldn’t help but be suspicious. What could he do about it? Nothing but take care of his patient.
“Can you tell me your full name?” Des asked.
“Othello Romano-Moor,” a deep, steady, and sultry voice responded, sending goosebumps all over him. Looking into the man’s whiskey-brown eyes, which were staring back at him with such intensity, it was as if he were peering into his soul’s depth. Clearing his throat, he turned off the penlight, holding it upright in his hand.
