Chapter 28
28
MICHAEL
Husband.
This morning was the first time Gianna called me that without derision, with something close to sincerity in her eyes.
And I want to hear it like that again. Over and over.
I want her to come up to me without hesitation next time, to press her sweet kiss on my lips instead, not just my cheek.
To make that happen, I push aside all my other work the moment I get to the office and start looking into failing hospitals near the house. It takes four grueling hours to find one that meets my exacting standards, and another hour to dig up the building’s blueprint online.
I study the layout carefully, nodding as I trace every corridor, every exit, every potential vulnerability. In my mind, I’m already installing security cameras in blind spots, positioning men at strategic entrances, and implementing biometric locks in restricted areas. Then I run through scenarios of potential threats—Aldo’s men, Carlo’s pathetic soldiers, unknown enemies…
Like I told Gianna earlier, her safety isn’t something I’m leaving to chance. I considered building her a hospital from the ground up, but that would take months. I don’t have months.
I want her gratitude again, and I want it now .
I thought getting her pregnant would be enough for me. Knowing I own her body and soul. But now I want more. I want her heart. I want everything she has to give. Every last piece of her.
And I’ll fucking get it.
Even if it means I have to wipe out the whole fucking world to get it.
For now, Loretto Hospital will do.
“You don’t really have to come with me, you know?” Lorenzo says, glancing back at me from the front seat of my car. “I’ve handled deals more important than this alone. You have other more urgent matters to deal with.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Lorenzo.” I adjust my jacket as we pull up to the crumbling excuse for a building. “Nothing can be more urgent and important than this.”
Marco kills the engine, and I don’t wait. I unlock the door and get out on my own. When we walk into the warm lobby, I’m met with something I wasn’t expecting. The entire staff—twenty exhausted, overworked people—stand there with their director, waiting.
I scan the room, taking in their weary, hopeful faces before leveling a look at the man in charge—Pete Langhorne, if I’m not mistaken. “I asked for a meeting with you, not your employees,” I remind him.
“Yes sir, I know. But we’re one big family here, and we all wanted to give you a warm welcome to your new home.”
Family. My jaw tightens in disgust. The last thing I’d ever do is mix business with sentiment. I flick a glance at Lorenzo and give him a subtle nod. He scribbles quickly into his tablet, understanding my unspoken command. As soon as the hospital is mine, I’m getting rid of the entire staff.
“Let’s go to your office for the meeting, Peter. We don’t have much time,” I say, already leading the way.
I don’t need a tour. After studying the blueprint and hacking into the pathetic excuse for a security system, I know every corner of this decrepit hospital better than he does.
“It’s Pete, sir,” he mumbles behind me, quickly dropping his gaze when I turn to glare at him. What the hell difference is there between Peter and Pete?
I push into his office and make my way straight to the wooden desk, claiming the leather chair behind it like I already own the place.
Peter hovers awkwardly, looking a little lost, so I wave at him to take the chair across from me. After a brief hesitation, he sits, while Lorenzo stands guard at the door behind him.
I get straight to the point. “Tell me, how did you manage to run this place into the ground? It seemed to be thriving just a few years ago.”
Peter’s mouth works uselessly for several infuriating seconds before he glances back at Lorenzo for help. A big mistake, since Lorenzo isn’t here to assist him—he’s here for me alone. The last thing he’s going to do is throw a lifeline to a man who’s already on his way out.
Though not just yet. I’ll keep Peter around long enough to guide my Gianna through the transition. Once she’s got a solid grip on running this place, he’ll be out the door faster than he can say run .
“Well, you see, the economy has been going downhill for a while, and most people are on insurance now, and you know how these insurance companies are—they never want to fork out money, and it’s been a battle that I?—”
His rambling dies when I raise a hand. “All I’m hearing is excuses. Excuses, excuses. And quite frankly, I don’t give a shit how you managed to run this place down, Peter. It was a rhetorical question.” What matters is that by the end of this week, the deed to this place is in Gianna’s name and in my hands.
He gulps audibly, and as he opens his mouth—no doubt to offer more pathetic justifications—an alert goes off on my phone.
I stiffen, instantly recognizing the tone as the one programmed into my search software.
Could it be Emilia?
I yank my phone out, heart pounding—only to feel an immediate, sharp stab of disappointment.
Not Emilia.
It’s about those four assholes from the club. The vermin who have been going on a rampage, destroying the medications my brothers and I brought into the city—twisting something meant to save lives into a tool for destruction.
I scan their location details, a cold smile forming on my lips. Club Harare. One of the clubs I used to frequent back in the day, and although it’s in Romero’s territory in Brooklyn, I still have some jurisdiction there. Enough to handle these bastards myself.
Time to go hunting.
I tuck my phone away and push up from my seat. “Listen, Peter, something has come up that I need to attend to right now. But I want this hospital of yours, and rest assured that by the end of the day, my lawyer will be in touch with you.”
Peter practically leaps up, nodding so fast it’s pathetic. “Of course, sir! Thank you! Thank you so much?—”
His thanks ring hollow in my ears as I walk out. I’m sure he won’t feel so grateful once he finds out my conditions for taking over this place.
I call Romero on the drive over to Harare.
“Michael.” Romero’s voice lacks its usual playful edge when he answers. “I’m a little busy right now.”
I check my watch with a frown. Past 4 PM. Is he still at court this late?
Regardless of his location, he’s clearly occupied, so I cut straight to business. “The men I’m after are in your territory. Let your guys know I’m coming over and to cooperate.”
“Of course, fratello . They already know to cooperate with all my brothers, but I’ll send out a message to them right away.”
We end the call, and I shoot out a text to my lawyer, laying out exactly what I want him to present to Peter—my non-negotiable conditions spelled out in explicit detail. His reply comes almost instantly, as it should. I don’t pay him an obscene amount for anything less than absolute availability.
Hank Templeton
The place isn’t worth that amount, Michael. We could cut the price in half and it still wouldn’t be worth it.
I don’t care. Close the deal.
Loretto is the only hospital close to my house with owners desperate enough to agree to my terms. If it speeds up the process, I don’t mind throwing in more money than it’s worth to sweeten the deal for them.
We reach the club in a little over thirty minutes, and this time, I don’t bother slipping through the backdoor. It didn’t quite work the last time anyway, so what’s the point?
Even though it’s still early evening, the club teems with bodies—mostly lowlifes drawn to this seedy part of Brooklyn. The air reeks of booze and sweat, the music blaring to the rafters. It’s not quite as beautiful and elegant as Rafael’s, but it suited my purposes a couple of years ago—and so I frequented it.
I’m not proud of everything I did back then. Some of it cemented my reputation as crazy. But I don’t regret the image it gave me. If it means people know to leave me the fuck alone, then good.
And judging by the way the crowd parts like the Red Sea as they see me and my men approach, that reputation is still very much alive. I keep my gaze locked on my phone, glancing up only occasionally as I track my prey.
Then a pair of red, strappy heels crosses my line of sight.
I’m frowning before I even look up at their owner. “Evie,” I say tonelessly.
One of the girls I used to fuck around with back in the day. I favored her more than the others because of her boldness and fearlessness. She was willing to try anything.
Tonight, that trait is nothing but an irritation.
“Michael Hart.” She flashes what she probably thinks is a seductive smile. “What are you doing on my turf? Finally missed me and came back for more of this?” She palms her tits and jiggles them.
I don’t take the bait. My gaze stays firmly on her eyes. “Get out of my way, Evie,” I say impatiently, raising my left hand so she can clearly see the wedding band I haven’t taken off since Gianna slid it onto my finger a few days ago.
She scoffs. “And so? You think that’s supposed to deter me? You know how many married men come in here, thirsty for pussy that isn’t their boring wife’s?” She takes a step closer, reaching for my chest.
Big mistake.
I grab her wrist before she can make contact, gripping tight enough to hurt. She lets out a small, startled cry, and I use my free hand to adjust my jacket—just enough for her to see the gun holstered on my hip. “You really don’t want to fuck with me right now.”
Her eyes widen, and I let her go. She stumbles back, cradling her wrist, muttering, “Crazy motherfucker,” before scurrying away.
Damn right.
Lorenzo growls, starting after her with murder in his eyes, but I place a restraining hand on his shoulder. “She’s not worth it.”
I glance down at my phone, my pulse kicking up for half a second. Did my prey run while I was distracted with that bullshit?
No. They’re still here. They haven’t moved.
We follow the tracker to a backroom, meeting no resistance from the bouncers or management. Inside, we find the bastards absorbed in an intense game of poker with some unknown fifth man. Their heads snap up as we enter, eyes going wide.
Then, like the cowards they are, they try to run, just like they did the last time.
But tonight, there’s nowhere to run. I’ve made sure of it.
I take my gun out of its holster and fire.
The unknown man drops. So do two of the original four. Blood splatters across the poker table, staining the cards mid-game.
The last two are frozen in place, scared shitless.
I point my gun directly at the head of the fourth man. “Tell me everything about the drugs you’re selling, or you’ll join your fallen comrades.”
He gulps. “I can’t, I’ll–”
I pull the trigger, and his body crumples to the floor.
The last man doesn’t even wait for me to speak. He drops to his knees, sobbing. “It’s Carlo! It was all Carlo’s idea.” The words tumble out between sobs. “Please don’t kill me, I was only following my don’s orders—I swear!”
“Tell me everything,” I command.
And he does. He spills it all. Every last detail pours out of him.
When he’s done, I look him straight in the eyes. “Thank you.” Then I shoot him point-blank.
“Get rid of the bodies,” I tell my men as I holster my weapon, already walking out with Lorenzo.
As we leave the club behind, I pull out my phone and shoot a text to the group I have with my brothers.
Emergency meeting. Finish up whatever the fuck you’re doing and join me at Harare in three hours.
“Carlo Armani,” Maximo mutters, shaking his head slowly. “Didn’t think the old man had the balls. Is this his way of retaliating for you marrying his fiancée?”
“They were already diluting our shit before Michael married Gianna,” Romero points out, rolling his tumbler of whiskey in his palm. “Michael had to get rid of some vermin a few weeks ago, remember?”
Those bastards had been working the corners, buying up our cheap meds under fake names and fake sob stories, depriving the people who actually needed them—only to dilute them and resell at ridiculous prices, using our name.
I inhale my Cohiba deeply, leaning back in my seat, trying to think through the red haze of my rage. “It’s not just Carlo,” I remind them, exhaling a perfect smoke ring that hovers in the air between us. “He’s working with Aldo.”
“Aldo’s been on our side for years,” Maximo starts, frowning. “He was one of the first older dons to swear fealty to us. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to risk that. He knows very well what we’re capable of.”
“The man lost his son. Maybe he’s lost his mind too,” Romero muses, taking a sip of his drink.
I watch him carefully. He’s taking this a hell of a lot better than I expected, considering he’s basically the one who got us all into this medication distribution in the first place. Why isn’t he pissed?
Rafael sighs, leaning back. “He’s been at it before he lost his son, so he doesn’t even have that as an excuse. What the hell is he thinking?”
“I don’t give a shit what Aldo is thinking, but I trust Michael will get to the bottom of it. As for me, I have my wife to get to.” Maximo gets to his feet, adjusting his cufflinks. “Good night, assholes.”
I blow a smoke ring at him in response, and he rolls his eyes as he walks away.
Romero downs the rest of his drink and gets up. “Well, I have to go too. No wife waiting for me at home, but I’ve got a pile of work on my desk… and a pretty thing at the bar who’s been eying me all night. Can’t deprive her of all this goodness.” He pats his chest before heading out.
That leaves just Rafael and me at the table now.
He studies me for a beat, then asks casually, “And how’s married life treating you?”
“I assume the same way engaged life was treating you,” I reply just as casually, and his steel eyes frost over. I smirk, enjoying his reaction. “I still have the search running for Emilia, but nothing’s coming up. You know which organization she’s working with and exactly where she is, don’t you?”
He stands abruptly. “Would you look at the time? I have to go… water my plant.” And with that pathetic excuse, he’s gone as well, leaving me alone at the booth, chuckling to myself.
“Well, I have a wife waiting for me at home too,” I say to myself, taking one last, deep drag from my cigar before stubbing it out in the ashtray.
But I’m not going to her.
Not yet.
Tonight’s discoveries have stirred up fresh suspicions about Gianna’s parents’ deaths. I’ve always thought something was off about how the case was handled, but now, with Aldo’s betrayal confirmed, those suspicions have sharpened into something more concrete.
I make my way back to the office and spend hours combing through every lead, every document, every buried report.
Whoever covered their tracks thought they were smart. But I’m smarter and a stubborn fucker. All I need is one loose thread.
And when I find it, the whole thing unravels in my hands.
And yet the truth doesn’t surprise me one bit.
It was Aldo. He murdered his brother and his sister-in-law. And tried to kill his little niece too.
But the hitman he sent was sloppy. Thought the girl was already dead and didn’t bother wasting his bullet on her.
That motherfucker.