23. Soren
D oc lays his head on my lap as we share the cot in the corner of his office. It’s not exactly comfortable for either of us, but at this point we’re both exhausted enough that we can sleep anywhere.
Gently, I run my fingers through Doc’s soft hair. They snag a little in the tangled locks, but I try to be careful so I don’t disturb him.
The door to the office opens and I watch as Carter pulls on a disposable gown and heads to the sink to wash his hands. He forgoes the gloves and mask but I don’t say anything. We’re reasonably sure everything with De Luca is stable now, and well, if Carter wants to risk inadvertently making his father ill, who am I to say anything? As I’ve been made aware of, De Luca is Carter’s to do whatever he wants with.
I watch as Carter takes a seat at his father’s side, but makes no move to touch him, nor does he show any emotion. I can’t say how I would feel if our roles were reversed. My father and I might disagree about many things, and my childhood may be full of things I’d rather not remember, but I would like to believe I’d feel something more than the quiet apathy Carter shows.
Then again, Kail and Doc both shared some of what they know of Carter’s past, and the things they’ve said were bad enough, I can’t imagine how much worse the true story is. Growing up with Nikolai Petrov wasn’t easy. Any type of abuse is unacceptable, but at least my scars are only emotional and not physical.
“How much would it take to overdose him?” Carter asks in the quiet.
I shrug a little, even though his attention is still on his father. “Not much. We’re giving him more than we probably should be.”
“Why?”
“Because Doc said to keep him calm and comfortable. He’s older so it’ll take him longer to bounce back from this. Keeping him as sedated as possible will help with the healing process. Plus, Doc thought you’d want him to be…pliable, at least for now.”
Carter lets out a low, humorless laugh. “He’s not wrong about that. So, you’re saying I can ask you to…accidentally give him a little bit of the painkillers or sedatives and…”
He trails off but I answer him anyway. “You could. I’d do it, too.”
Carter looks at me now, and though the room is cast in shadows, the only light the dim ones at the edges of the room, I can feel his blue gaze searing into me. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because you’re the one in charge here. I know he’s your kill. Not only that, you’re an Amato—the mafia spouse—your word carries as much weight as the Boss’s.”
“Have you ever killed a man, Soren?”
“No, sir. Not for my father’s lack of trying though.” Just another way for me to disappoint him.
“Yet you would if I asked.”
“Yes, sir.”
“ Why? ” he presses, and I take a long, slow breath.
“You’re the boss here, and because I think, whatever the history between the two of you, you deserve to get your justice, however that may look. I’m not here to question orders, sir; not unless they go against medical advice. In this case, I don’t think anyone would care if that happened.”
He’s silent for so long I wonder if I’ve overstepped. Finally, he says, “You’ll be good for him, I think. Don’t let him push you away. And take care of him. Doc means a lot to Cristian. I’d hate to see such a promising young man die too early because you broke our doctor’s heart.”
Looking down at the man sleeping in my lap, I can’t suppress the small smile that graces my lips.
“No, sir,” I say, almost too quietly. Running my fingers through Doc’s hair again, I tell him, “I’m worried what he’ll do to my heart, but it’s a risk I’ll die to take.”
“Good.”
If he has more to say, I don’t get to hear it as my phone begins to vibrate. Pulling it out quickly so it doesn’t disturb Doc, I quietly curse. “Excuse me, sir, I need to take it.”
“Go, we’ll be fine here.”
Carefully, I slide out from underneath Doc, who only stirs a little. I can’t resist leaning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead before I stride quickly out of the room.
By the time I get to the door, the call has gone to voicemail, but it doesn’t take long for it to ring again.
I barely have the office door closed behind me when I answer, giving the guard currently stationed outside of the office a brief nod as I bring the phone to my ear. “Papa,” I hiss, striding down the hall. “I’m working.”
“I’ve been calling you for days, boy,” Nikolai says. “You mean to tell me you’ve been working this entire time?”
“Yes, Papa. I don’t know if you’re aware, but shit went down three days ago and it’s been all hands on deck ever since.”
He grunts, and I take that to mean he has heard about the attempt on Georgio De Luca’s life, he just doesn’t give a shit. According to him, no one outside the Bratva matters unless there’s something to be gained from them. Never mind my uncle and Cristian have had a truce in place since shortly after Roman was born, and with me coming to the Amatos, their alliance has only grown in strength.
“You mean you’re not done playing with the Italians yet?”
I barely repress a huff and lean against the wall, having turned down a hall off the one Doc’s office connects to for a semblance of privacy. I’m aware someone probably knows my movements from the cameras scattered through the house, but it’s the best I can do without going too far in case Doc needs me.
“I’m not playing at anything, Papa. This is my life, my career, we’ve discussed this before.”
“You’re too good for them, Sory. You’ll regret it soon enough, and by then it’ll be too late for your uncle to do anything but watch as they put you in your place.”
I try not to let his words get to me. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but fuck , I wish my own fucking father didn’t think so little of me. Gritting my teeth, I count backwards from ten, first in English, then Russian, hoping to calm myself enough so I don’t say something I’ll regret.
“I’m here to stay, Papa. I wish you’d respect me and my choices. I’m becoming my own man, isn’t that what every father wants from his son?”
“I want a son I can be proud of, boy. Not someone who jumped ship because he doesn’t have any Goddamn loyalty! What kind of message does that send to the Bratva? Ivan can’t even keep his own nephew in check! How do you think that makes him look? Like a capable Pakhan? Pfft, you’re both kidding yourselves.”
“Enough, Papa,” I snap. “As his brother and my father you should be showing your respect. How does it look that you question your Pakhan? Huh? If Uncle Ivan is a fool for letting me go then you’re an even bigger one for raising me, for not talking sense into your brother.”
If rage could be felt over the phone, I’d probably be quivering now. The teenage Soren who knew he couldn’t tell his father he’s gay returns and I pray he can’t hear how unsteady my breathing is. In all my twenty-five years of life, this is only the second time I’ve stood up to him, and the first was when I told him I was leaving the Bratva.
“You have your mother’s fire, boy,” is all he says after a long minute.
I don’t dare believe he means that as a good thing. I know my father far too well. “Spasibo,” I say anyway, knowing it’ll only piss him off further, but I’m already in deep shit so it doesn’t matter.
“Don’t disrespect me, Sory,” he growls. “You are not too old for me to put you in your place.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Papa. And I respect you, I just don’t always have to agree.” Only one of those things is a lie.
“You should come around to dinner soon, boy. It’s been too long since we’ve had a face to face, even before you up and betrayed me.”
Biting back a sigh, I say, “If I have free time, Papa, we can arrange something, maybe at Uncle Ivan’s?”
His noncommittal grumble says he knows what I’m doing, but I’m not stupid. The ghost of a memory only a few months old makes my wrist throb. After all, I may carry emotional scars from my childhood, the same can’t be said for anything that happened after I turned eighteen, and Nikolai thought I should have been treated like a real man.
Because, of course, becoming a nurse somehow puts that into question. Fucking toxic masculinity at its finest.
“I need to get back, Papa. I’ll talk to you soon, da?”
“Yes, sure. I am serious about dinner, Sory. Don’t make me wait too long.”
“Never, Papa. I’ll be in touch.”
The line goes dead and I drop my arm to the side, resisting the urge to pitch my phone at the opposite wall. Closing my eyes, I take longer than I probably should to regroup, but right now I don’t give a shit. Talking to my father is always a minefield of emotions I need to wade through, and one day, I’m terrified I’ll step on the wrong one.