21. Vito
Chapter 21
Vito
I rush after Andy, intercepting her off before she goes down the stairs.
“Hey.”
She scowls and detours around me.
I grab her arm. “Hey!”
She spins to face me, one hand on the bannister as she rips herself free.
“You know what? Forget a bullet in the brain. An overdose of morphine is more humane. I’m sure you can rustle some up. Even heroin will do in a pinch. I mean, it’s not like anyone will be pressing charges or anything.”
Andy trots down the stairs, and I have to hurry after her again. Half way down I grab her arm.
“Jesus, stop.”
This time she lets me hold on. “How long has he been like this?”
I pause, staring at the chandelier as I work backward. So much shit has happened between then and now that it feels like months, but it’s barely been a fortnight. “I’m afraid you’ll punch me if I tell you.”
She looks away, but there’s no anger on her face anymore, only resignation. “You’re a bunch of animals, you know that, right?” Her green eyes narrow with disdain as she casts a disgusted look down at the villa’s vaulted entrance hall, the glittering chandelier, the works of art crammed into every nook and cranny. “All this money. Maybe you should try buying some fucking empathy with it.”
This time, when she tugs free, I let her go.
I haven’t told the guards to keep her on the grounds. I don’t think anyone will miss her if she’s gone. Savage might have wanted to talk to her, but he seems more interested in Nyx right now.
Christ, I need a cigarette. I head outside where hopefully no one will stop me lighting up.
Andy’s standing on the perimeter of the circular drive, staring at Savage’s Expedition like she’s wondering if he left his keys inside.
I take a greedy tug at the cigarette, puffing out a thick cloud of smoke as she turns. She starts, like she wasn’t expecting to see someone standing there. I expect her to leave, but instead she squints up at the midnight sky, face scrunched.
It’s one in the fucking morning.
Time to turn in, or head out.
“Hey…uh…wanna grab some dinner?”
Her face is still scrunched when she looks back at me. Then down at herself. “I need a change of clothes.” She comes up to me, gives me a very methodical once-over, and then taps her finger against my chest. “And then you’re taking me back to Doc’s house.”
I choke on the lungful of smoke I’d just inhaled. “The fuck for?”
She laughs at the sky. “Are you serious? This is seven shades of fucked up, Vito.” Andy stabs a finger at the villa like a prosecuting attorney delivering a damning closing statement. “No self-respecting nurse, never mind a doctor, would leave anyone in this condition. So either this Doc guy can’t tell the difference between a scalpel and a tongue depressor, which means my mother flaked on me again , or there’s something even more fucked up going on here.”
I crush out what’s left of the cigarette, turning and beckoning her to follow. “Let’s find you some clothes. You good with sweats?”
She huffs out a breath, looking slightly surprised that I’m not arguing with her. “As long as it doesn’t say JUICY on the butt.”
Andy bends down, carefully emptying the bottom shelf of Doc’s hallway closet, her black sweats stretching tight over her ass. Any red-blooded man would struggle to keep his eyes averted.
I don’t even try.
They don’t say JUICY, but they don’t need to. It’s pretty obvious what a delicious derriere she has.
I have my hands tucked into the armpits of my beige Givenchy hoody to keep them warm. Knowing me and Andy wouldn’t be going near any more clubs tonight, I decided to change out of my threads. Michelin star restaurants seemed to be out of the question too, judging from the deadpan look she gave me when I asked her if she was hungry yet.
The fact that I’m starving is apparently nobody’s business but mine.
We’ve been here for an hour already, but thank God it’s not in the presence of decomposing bodies. Our cartel soldiers disposed of them yesterday. Instead of putrefying flesh, the house reeks of detergent and bleach. The carpets where Doc and his family were so carefully posed have been ripped up, leaving behind bare floorboards, some discolored from the harsh chemicals. Our clean up crew isn’t subtle, but they get the job done.
Doc has most likely been buried by now. If he had extended family members not included in the massacre, they’ll be compensated for their loss.
Just like that, Doctor Felipe Gomez has ceased to exist.
Andy shoves to her feet, hands on her knees. There’s a deep crease on her forehead when she turns to face me. “They took it.”
“They who?” I’m frowning too. “Took what?”
“His medical records. Unless he didn’t keep any, which is stupid. Is that how it works in the cartel? Your doctors just have to keep all that shit in their heads?” She taps a finger against her temple. “Chronic conditions, blood pressure, family history, past procedures?—”
I hold up a hand to cut her off. “Yeah, Jesus, I get it.” Shrugging, I glance around like I might just spot the missing file cabinet. “Maybe he kept his stuff in the cloud.”
Andy muses on this. “We didn’t find any laptops, so they took it either way.”
“Again with the they. They who?”
“His murderers, Vito. Figuring out who they were is your department.” She shakes her head, shoving her hands into her hoody’s pouch. “He knew something, and he got killed for it.”
“I could have told you that,” I mumble. “Now can we get out of here?”
“Sure.”
Andy blows out a breath as we head out the back door. “You know this probably has to do with Bryan, right?”
I didn’t want to risk parking outside in case the house is still being patrolled, so we parked two streets over and walked, cutting through a neighbor’s yard to gain access to the tiny patch of grass in Doc’s backyard.
“You think Doc was poisoning him or something?”
“No,” she scoffs. “But the guy must have known he was in a critical state. You said he didn’t mention anything about that to you or Savage?”
“Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about him being a fraud?” I ask, ignoring her question.
No, Doc didn’t say anything to me about Bryan’s condition. It’s possible he told Sergio or Savage, and none of them bothered to relay the info. Shit like that happens all the time, especially when my rank in the cartel leans more toward Racketeering Playboy than Hardcore Enforcer like Savage.
She glances over at me, waiting until I look at her before rolling her eyes. “I saw the medical certificate you shoved in my face,” she says dryly. “It’s legit, which means he’s legit.” It’s not a happy proclamation. But I’d be pissed too if I’d been trying to get my own medical degree and my mother kept messing it up with her cartel lifestyle.
“Then why keep it a secret?”
“He must have run tests, but the results would have been with the rest of his things. Unless we know which lab he used—and he probably paid them under the table, so there wouldn’t be any official records anyway—there’s no way we’ll ever know what the results were.”
We cross the street, and I pull her to a stop on the sidewalk. “What if he was still waiting for the results? Don’t blood tests take a few days?”
She nods, wrapping her arms around herself as a chilly breeze brushes past us. “They do. Even if you rush them, you’re looking at three to five days.”
“Could you run some tests?”
“Yeah, of course.” She starts counting off on her fingers. “We’d have to do a blood count to check for signs of infection. A metabolic panel for organ function. Toxicology screens.” Her hand curls into a fist, which she shoves back into her pouch. “It’ll take a few days, but that should give us enough data to start figuring out why the hell he’s in such bad shape.”
I glance away, then force myself to look at her again. “Is he going to last that long?”
She blows out another breath, studying me for a long moment. “I’m sorry I got so…emotional back there. It was a lot, seeing my mom, seeing how close she is to Bryan, then seeing how critical he was. I kind of blew up.”
I wait for her to finish, probably because I’m delaying the inevitable.
“How long, Andy?”
“I can’t say for sure. Not without test results.” She purses her lips, seeming almost sympathetic. “But if I were you, I’d make sure all his affairs were in order.”
“Fuck.” I drag a cigarette out of its box with my teeth, ignoring Andy’s sour expression as I light it. I hit it hard, and blow out the smoke even harder.
“So we still don’t know who killed Doc, or why. What’s wrong with Bryan, or if we even have enough time to figure any of this shit out before the Domingo cartel loses its capo.” My voice is rougher than I intend it to be. Andy flinches at each consonant, until she decides to turn away from me and stare down the street instead.
I start walking again. “I’m so glad this wasn’t the massive waste of time I thought it would be.”
Andy follows a moment later, head bowed.
I wish I could tell her I’m not pissed at her, but I am. Before she arrived, I was plodding happily along, assuming Bryan would get better, Nyx would be reunited with her sisters, her and Savage would go off on honeymoon, and I could return to my never ending merry-go-round of drugs, booze, and skinny chicks with daddy issues.
I never realized how blissful that ignorance was until Andy shattered it.