Page 23 of The Mobster’s Nurse

“I know what you’re going to say. You have to …” She puts a finger to her head, a fake gun, pulls the pretend trigger. “Right?”

“Right,” I snarl.

“What if I said, I can draw him out, but I want you to send him to jail instead? He’s weakened these horses with his bullshit. I hate him for that. But does he have to die?”

I stroke unruly strands of hair from her face. “Ellie, in this world⁠—”

“If we’re going to be together, then maybe you have to change your world, just a little, sometimes, for me. Or is that asking too much?”

I grind my teeth. Father would undoubtedly brand this as weakness. Listening to my lady instead of ruthlessly following my own path. The loyal, obedient path. The right path. But Ellie’s opinion matters. A lot. Even if it shouldn’t. She’s implicated. She’s central to this.

“There must be times where you can’t … you know,” she goes on. Kill. “For certain reasons. If it’s too high-profile or whatever. You must have other means.”

“We do,” I say, impressed.

“Then do that.”

I work my jaw. Look down and think about what Ellie just did and said. Already becoming a mafia princess … She doesn't realize she's doing it — talking about strategies, procedures, and options. I admire her tenacity and her smarts. But say nothing. For now.

“Luca.” She presses her hand against my chest. “If we’re going to do this⁠—”

“There’s no if.”

“We have to learn to compromise.”

“How am I ten years older?” I say with a smirk. “But you’re the mature one?”

She smiles shakily. “So?”

“We can do it your way,” I say. “A large quantity of narcotics could be found at his apartment. And trusted police officers could make sure no Good Samaritan gets between him and justice. But it’d be easier to just …” I slice my finger across my throat.

“Easier isn’t always better,” she says wisely.

Alarm bells should be ringing in my head. Screams and warnings that she’s trying too hard to protect this man. Instead, respect swells in me. It takes a fierce woman to stand up to a mafia prince.

“How will you draw him out?” I ask.

“Daryl has made some mistakes,” she replies. “But he cares about animals. I’m certain of that.” When she meets my eyes, I see some of the innocence draining out of her. “We can use that against him.”

We spent the afternoon planning. Ellie sat across from me at a café table, her hands wrapped around a coffee she wasn't drinking, and we went through it three times. I watched her wrestle with her own doubt. Going back and forth, justifying to herself why Daryl deserved to be held accountable for his actions. Why we needed to act. If not my way, then hers.

“Daryl poisoned horses in his care.” Her anger emerged hotter with each processing of Daryl’s culpability. Her disbelief thawed even more after the third re-telling

“I told you, Ellie, that people will do anything for money, for prestige, or to save their own skin. Anything.”

“But he threatened my job and my integrity. He was going to leave me holding the consequences of his crimes. My boss.” I shake my head.

“Yes, welcome to my world. I see this and much, much worse, almost every day, Ellie.”

I watched her practice what she'd say on the phone. Her voice didn't shake.

She's stronger and braver than she knows.

Vito and I hide in Ellie’s small pantry in her small apartment. When she first led us in here—past stacks of textbooks and photos of Ellie with various animals—I felt a twist in my gut. She deserves better than a tiny apartment. She deserves the whole world.

Vito looms opposite me, huge and focused. When I told him we weren’t clipping the chief vet, I saw the glint in his eyes. The doubt. But he quickly smothered it. My word is the law for him. But still, this is a risk. I notice Vito pick up the photo of Ellie and the puppies from the floor and set it carefully back on the wall.

I’d risk everything for Ellie.