Wolfe #2
“She’s the doctor?”
“Well, she’s our doctor, but I think she’s a nurse.”
I didn’t have time to be impressed when I saw all the blood he was losing. “Come on.” I walked him outside and found a golf cart they used on the property. He got into the passenger seat, the glass still sticking out of his arm, and I rushed down the path to the main villa in the distance.
He continued to look pale, quiet as he sat there and breathed deeply.
“You’re in the Mafia, and you can’t stand the sight of blood?” I asked incredulously.
“Just my own.”
I made it to the villa and came to a stop.
“Come on.” I helped him up the stairs and entered the house, stepping into the entryway, which had a table that held an enormous vase of fresh flowers.
“Frankie!” I yelled as I pulled him into the kitchen, where some of the staff were washing and preparing tomatoes and garlic, probably to make sauce for dinner.
They scattered away when I guided him to the table and put him in a chair.
“Frankie!” I’d never formally met the girl, but I screamed her name like we were well acquainted. “Got a patient for you.”
A moment later, hurried footsteps came around the corner, and she appeared in high-waisted jeans and a white top with poofy sleeves, a gold cross hanging around her neck and gold bangles on her right wrist. She took one look at Salvatore and sighed.
“Cristo, what the hell happened?” She came to his side and examined his bloody arm, her palm and fingertips immediately soaked in Salvatore’s blood, but she didn’t even blink.
She looked at one of the maids in the kitchen. “Suture kit and alcohol.”
“Yes, Signorina Mancini.”
Frankie grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside him. “Get me a towel.”
I assumed that order was for me, so I grabbed the first one I saw on the counter near the sink and handed it over.
She grabbed the shard and pulled it out in a single smooth motion, like she’d done this before.
Salvatore made the mistake of looking at the pool of blood that started to pour out. “Oh Jesus…” Then he started to sway.
“Hold him,” she ordered.
I grabbed on to his arm and shoulder and forced him upright when he passed out. His head tilted back over the edge of the chair.
She applied pressure to the wound, and then one of the maids brought the medical supplies she needed. Frankie kept one hand on the wound with enough pressure to turn her knuckles white while she ripped open the suture kit with her teeth. “Hold him for a second.”
I assumed she was addressing me again, so I held him up with one arm while I gripped the gauze with the other.
She prepared the needle and thread then came back to his arm.
She grabbed the bloody towel and tossed it onto the table before she got to work, quickly poking the needle through his skin and bringing the thread taut across the wound before she closed that part of the gash.
“What happened?” she asked as she worked, her eyes focused on her needle.
“He grabbed the wrong crate and dropped it.”
“Why was he moving crates in the warehouse?”
“To keep me company.”
She continued her work and asked no further questions, stitching him up like she’d done this a hundred times, brushing away a strand of her hair and getting some blood on her cheek.
I almost wiped it away but thought better of it.
If I’d known the best way to get alone time with her was with an injury, I would have shot myself in the arm on my first day.
She finished the last suture then dumped alcohol over the cut, cleaning it again before she wrapped it in gauze and secured it.
“He’ll be alright?”
The kitchen staff had left the room, probably to avoid the blood that had gotten all over the table and the floor. All the food on the counter was now contaminated, so they’d have to toss it.
“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” she said. “He didn’t lose enough blood. Nothing to faint over.” She secured the gauze in place with tape then grabbed his face and gave him a gentle shake. “A little pathetic.”
“Men ain’t shit, huh?” I asked with a smirk.
It was the first time she looked at me, and the swatch of blood on her cheek somehow heightened her goddess-like beauty. Her emerald eyes took me in with a sudden sharpness, as if perhaps she hadn’t realized I was the one standing next to her because she’d been focused on Salvatore. “Some—not all.”
“I think most.”
“Does that apply to you?”
I smirked. “We’ll find out next time I get shot.”
“Next time?”
“Oh, I get shot a lot.”
“Then you must not be very good at your job.”
My grin widened because she was just as sassy as I’d hoped she’d be. “If that’s the case, you’re going to be seeing a lot of me.”
For a split second, she seemed to be lost in thought, as if she didn’t catch what I’d said because she’d been distracted by how hard I stared at her.
She brushed it off a second later by rising to her feet and collecting the bloody trash from Salvatore’s sutures.
She tossed everything in the bin then went to the sink to wash her hands.
I gently let go of Salvatore, and he remained balanced in the chair like he wasn’t going to tilt sideways then break his head open on the tile floor and give Frankie an even bigger mess to clean up.
I stared at her back as she scrubbed her hands and underneath the nails, which were painted a brilliant blue.
“So, you’re a doctor.”
“A nurse,” she corrected.
“Salvatore called you doctor.”
“Because these idiots don’t know the difference.” She turned off the faucet then dried her hands with the colorful towel and turned back to me.
I was right beside her, leaning against the counter and seeing the way the light struck her face through the open window directly over the sink. “Wolfe.”
Her eyes shifted back and forth between mine. “Frankie.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Francesca.”
“Pretty.”
“Yours?”
I smirked. “Maybe after we get to know each other a bit, I’ll tell you.”
“Maybe?” she challenged.
“Gotta earn it, sweetheart.”
With a suave level of confidence I’d never seen a woman pull off, she said, “And how would you like me to earn it?”
Ooh…she’s into me.
“What—what happened?” Salvatore jerked in the chair and nearly toppled over. He lifted his arm and looked at it. “Oh shit.”
Frankie left my side at the counter and walked over to him. “Be more careful, alright? That’s the third suture kit I’ve used in a week. We’re going for a record.”
He continued to eye his gauze. “Gonna hook me up with the good shit?”
“No. But I’m going to give you some antibiotics.”
“That’s not the good shit.”
“Would you rather get an infection and then have surgery? Because you’ll definitely get the good shit then.”
He gave a sigh. “Alright, thanks.” He got to his feet, his face still as pale as snow.
“You’ll be fine, alright?” she said in a kinder tone. “Just watch it next time. You’ll probably have a scar.”
“Yeah, I should get back to work,” he said. “The truck’s probably loaded.” He walked out.
The second he was gone, I was aware that I was alone with Frankie. Two open archways led to the rest of the house, but it was the first time someone else wasn’t in the room with us.
She turned back to me. “How’s the warehouse?”
“Boring as fuck,” I said honestly. “But I’ll pay my dues.”
“My father doesn’t trust you.”
“And he’s smart not to.” Not that I had any nefarious intention toward the Mancini family. But I definitely had less-than-honorable intentions toward this specific Mancini family member.
“Do you think—”
“Frankie.”
She turned to the open archway when she heard her father’s voice.
He must have spotted her in the kitchen because he stepped inside. His expression was a lot kinder than it was a second later when he realized I was in there with her. His eyes landed on my face and stared for a hard second.
The room filled with unspoken tension.
“What happened with Salvatore?” He addressed his daughter but looked at me.
“Cut himself in the warehouse.”
His eyes stayed on me. “And how did that happen?”
“He helped me with the crates—”
“And why was he helping you?” Don Mancini stepped toward me, turning his back on Frankie and facing off with me in the kitchen.
I continued to lean against the counter, arms crossed over my chest, several inches taller than his six feet of height.
“Because you’re too weak and lazy to do it yourself?” He was ten years older than me but in great shape, lean and toned like he was a runner and didn’t eat too many biscotti in the morning. He infected the room with hostility that he didn’t have to work hard to produce.
I was impressed but not intimidated.
“Dad,” Frankie said in a warning tone.
“Leave us,” he said without looking at her.
She stayed.
I didn’t look at her, my eyes on her father, but I wanted to tell her to leave. I could handle her father like a man, no problem. Didn’t need a woman to fight my battles for me—especially against her father.
Her footsteps sounded as she walked out.
He continued to show me his quiet ferocity. “You belong in the warehouse, not in my house. Is that understood?”
My eyes flicked back and forth between his. “Just wanted to get him to the doctor—”
“Capisiti?”
It took all my strength not to smile because Don Mancini really had no idea who I was. But I played the game and kept my eyes on the prize. “Yes, Don Mancini.”