Page 24 of The Mobster’s Nurse

Her voice rises in the next room. “It’s apartment number six. I’m sorry for calling you at home, Daryl. He’s getting even worse, and my vet is just useless. They’ve got no idea what to do. He’s not even moving anymore.”

A lie to get him here.

“Daryl…Daryl…you still there?” There’s a pause. “Hello?” I hear Ellie’s footsteps. “No, no, I can’t do that. I cannot just pass you my vet’s number. Oh, okay, I’ll ask him and call you right back.” Ellie’s thinking on her feet. Daryl is obviously more cautious than she expected.

She’s dialing again.

“Daryl, my vet said it’s fine for you to call him after you take a look. You're less than thirty minutes away, and my vet cannot be here for hours.” She starts to sob. “And that’ll be too late, I’m sure.” Another pause. “Daryl … you’re a saint, thank you so much. Hurry.”

Ellie’s dog is sick.

Except she doesn’t have any pets. When I asked her why, she said, “I like to give all my love to the animals at work.”

He’s almost here now. This call was just to confirm which apartment Ellie is in … and maybe for Daryl to try and assure himself he’s not walking into a trap. Which is exactly what he is doing.

Soon, the apartment buzzer goes off. Vito catches my eye over Daryl's head. I know him well; I see the question in his eyes. I give him the smallest shake of my head. He accepts it. That's why he's my most trusted man — he knows when to push and when to hold back. That loyalty is hard to find. He’s more savage than most other mobsters, but smart too.

I hear the front door open. Daryl’s high, anxious voice carries. “I was on my way out of town when you called,” he says.

“Oh?” Ellie replies.

“A long overdue holiday. I’ve got my stuff in the car. But I can’t ignore the cries of a sick dog. So, where is the little fella?”

“He’s just through here.”

I wait until the sound of their footsteps gets close. A whining floorboard.

“Where?” Daryl asks, voice close now.

I burst out of the pantry, gun in hand. Daryl gasps and throws himself backward in pure shock. He ends up crashing against the wall, knocking a photo of Ellie among a litter of puppies to the floor.

Rushing at him, I press the barrel of the gun under his chin. “No more struggling,” I snarl. “This ends here.”

“I’ve got … people with me!” He gasps. “I’ve got backup!”

I laugh darkly. “I’ve got four armed men the next block over. I’ll take my chances.”

His eyes glisten as they dart left and right, looking for an escape he definitely won’t find.

“You’ll be sorry,” Daryl whimpers. He turns to Ellie, who stands nearby, her hands anxiously crossed over her middle. “And you, bitch⁠—”

I headbutt him so hard, his lights go out.

Ellie turns away. I don't blame her. What she just did took more courage than most men twice her age would manage. She doesn't know that yet.

Daryl slumps against the wall. I nod at Vito, who immediately steps forward and picks him up off the floor as though he weighs nothing.

“What happens now?” Ellie asks quietly.

I go to her. Put my hand on her shoulder. “He tells us everything he knows. Explains who’s behind this. Then the cops discover an ungodly quantity of drugs in his place, and he does half a decade behind bars. Maybe less, if he’s smart.”

She nods, biting her lip.

I touch her chin and make her look at me. “Believe me, he’s getting off easy.”

Taking out my cell, I call Georgio.

“Boss?”