Chapter 15
Antonio
Sitting idly has never been my strong suit, and I don’t do well in situations where someone else is in charge. Being at the hospital tests the limits of my patience. I hate that I hold little power here. I want to demand the doctors hurry up with their tests. We need to spend time with Gio, and so far, only my mother has had the chance to sit with him. I want someone to come in here and tell me my brother is awake and asking for me. If nothing else, I’d like more fucking information on what they’re doing to make him better. Unfortunately, no amount of intimidation is going to get me what I want. The staff might be wary of me and my family, but they won’t budge on hospital protocol and patient care. I suppose I should admire them for that.
I’m not happy with the lack of updates on the search for the shooter, either. Leo left here hours ago to get answers from his wife, and I’ve heard nothing from him since. Then there’s Dante, my supposed right-hand man. Who knows where the fuck he is? According to Matteo, he locked Vinnie up in one of our warehouses and then went to hit the streets to see if he could find anyone who knew anything about the shooting.
As I check my cellphone for the hundredth time, Alessandro crosses the room to where I’ve been leaning against the wall for the last hour, and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m taking Emilia and Livvy home for a shower and a change of clothes.”
“Yeah, they’ve had a long night.” I look over to where my sister is resting her head on Matteo’s shoulder. She’s staring blankly into space, clearly exhausted. “You should take Mamma too.”
Alessandro makes a face. “I suggested it. She won’t leave.”
Her reluctance to go is to be expected, I suppose, but until we have more news about Gio, it seems pointless for us all to sit around waiting. If anything happens, it won’t take long for my family to get back to the hospital. I cross over to where my mother is sitting next to Olivia and crouch in front of her. She curves a hand around my cheek. Her eyes glisten, as if she’s on the verge of tears.
“You look tired, Antonio.”
It’s typical of her to worry about others before herself. “You should take a break, Mamma. Let Sandro take you home. Get some rest.”
She shakes her head as I knew she would. My mother is kind, gentle, but she’s got a backbone of steel. She knows her own mind, and she’s stubborn once she’s set on something.
“I am not leaving this hospital until Gio does.”
“That could take a while.”
My mother fixes me with a determined look. “If it takes all year, I will wait for my youngest son.”
I look to Matteo for help, but he shrugs, jolting Olivia, who sits up straighter.
“How about I bring you some fresh clothes, Mamma?” Alessandro suggests and she nods. “You need anything, Tony?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Alessandro and Emilia both kiss my mother on each cheek and then my brother helps Olivia up from her seat. She wobbles on her stupidly high heels but Matteo puts a hand at the small of her back to steady her.
“Come on, Livvy,” Emilia says, wrapping an arm around my sister’s shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”
“Poor Livvy’s dead on her feet,” Matteo says.
I cast him a stern glare, a warning to choose his words more carefully, but my mother doesn’t seem upset by his remark.
“She’ll be fine.” My mother’s tone is resolute. “And so will Gio.”
Matteo gets up from his seat, stretches out his arms, and goes to the window.
“Why isn’t Leo back yet?” my mother asks. “He’s been gone a long time.”
“He had something to take care of.”
My mother narrows her eyes. “Even if this is Carlo Bianchi’s doing, Vinnie was not involved.”
“You don’t know that, Mamma.”
She purses her lips and I know I’m about to get a lengthy rundown on my sister-in-law’s qualities that make it impossible for her to have plotted against us. Fortunately, I’m saved from that by a tap on the door. I get to my feet as Darryl, one of our newer recruits, pops his head into the room.
“Got a Detective Winters here to see you.”
He’s one of the many cops we have on our payroll. “Send him in.”
“Damien,” I acknowledge the detective as he steps into the room. At thirty years of age, he’s already got an impressive beer gut and an ever-expanding bald spot at the top of his head. He wears the weary expression of a man who took the wrong path in life and can’t find a way off it.
“Antonio.” He looks over at Matteo and nods to acknowledge his presence before turning his attention to my mother. “Mrs. Volante.”
“I’ll get straight to the point.” Winters usually does. It’s one thing I appreciate about him. “Do you know a Gino di Santo?”
The name is familiar. I glance over at Matteo. He’s frowning as if trying to recall where he’s heard the name before. Mamma is the first to speak, however.
“The chef from Roma?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Winters replies. “We believe Mr. Volante, uh, Leo Volante, fired him recently.”
The man worked for us since my father’s time, but he was getting sloppy, making mistakes in the kitchen that were driving our customers away. Leo let him go with a generous severance package.
“Yeah, and what the fuck’s that got to do with anything?” Matteo demands.
“Well, Mr. di Santo was found dead this morning, a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”
Matteo obviously hears an accusation where there wasn’t one. “Well, none of us did it. We were here.”
My mother tuts loudly. “He said self-inflicted, Matteo.”
If she hadn’t married my father and had six kids, my mother would have made a pretty decent lawyer. She doesn’t miss much, which is why I lied to her about where I’ve been the last couple of days. It wouldn’t actually surprise me if she knows I was with Isabella and is just choosing not to call me on my bullshit.
“Anyway,” Winters continues, “he left a note saying he was sorry he hurt the wrong brother.”
“You’re saying this di Santo shot Gio.”
“Looks that way. He was making noises about getting revenge. His intended target was obviously Leo.”
“You’re sure about this?”
Winters nods. “Just a tragic case of mistaken identity.”
My mother rises from her chair, shoulders pulled back, head held high. “First of all, Detective, no tragedy has occurred here since my son still lives. Second of all, if it was a tragedy, it would be no less so if this lunatic had hit the intended target.”
“Of course.” Winters turns an unappealing shade of purple as he withers in the face of my mother’s stern gaze. “My apologies, Mrs. Volante.”
She smiles tightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a breath of fresh air.”
“Take a guard with you,” I call out after her as she glides from the room. She’ll do as I ask. My mother is as security conscious as the rest of us.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
I hold a hand up to stop Winters before his groveling becomes unbearable. He’s suffered enough with my mother shriveling his balls for one misspoken word.
“Is there anything else?”
Winters shakes his head.
“Then don’t let us detain you.”
The detective doesn’t hang around. I watch him scurry from the room and then turn to Matteo.
“You’d better get ahold of Leo.”
“Oh, fuck, yeah. If he hurt Vinnie…”
He lets that thought hang in the air. If Leo used force to try to get his wife to admit she was involved in a plot to kill one of us, he’ll regret it. When he finds out she’s innocent, he’ll make damned sure we’re sorry for it, too.
“Just call him. I’m going to check on Mamma.”
As Matteo gets his cellphone from his pocket, I step out into the hallway. Several of our men stand to attention when they see me. I wave a dismissive hand, as it looks like a couple of them might follow me to the elevators. Going to see my mother was just an excuse. I need a minute to clear my head. The last few days have been intense.
Pushing through a double door, I come to an abrupt halt. A woman in a blue gown is standing at the end of the corridor, leaning against a tall, gray-haired man whose arms are wrapped tight around her. His chin rests on her head as he murmurs something to her.
It takes me a minute to realize what I’m seeing. My mother and Boris Reznov, head of the fucking Bratva, are hugging. It’s an intimate picture, but I could be reading it wrong. He might simply be offering her comfort.
That notion is dispelled a moment later when Boris pulls back. He takes my mother’s face in his hands and lowers his head. There’s nothing platonic about the way he kisses her. Fury boils in my veins. The Volantes have been allies with the Reznov Bratva for years, but there is no way I’m allowing this shit to happen.
“Reznov!” I bellow as I storm along the corridor toward them.
My mother springs back in surprise, guilt written all over her face. She tries to get between me and Reznov, but I push her aside as gently as I can, considering my rage. She screams as I draw back my fist and punch Reznov square in the face. There’s a satisfying crunch as he reels from the blow. Blood spurts from his nose. I hit him again and again and he goes down.
My mother shrieks again as I dive for Boris. He tries to defend himself as I grab his lapels and smack his head against the floor, but with his arms flailing, he doesn’t land a punch on me. I haul him up again, intending to crack his fucking skull open, when a shout stops me in my tracks.
“Tony, no!”
Looking up, I’m stunned to find Isabella, flanked by Dante and Paul, one of the guards from the Westport house. Dressed to kill, Isabella is a fucking goddess. The expression she wears is one of anger laced with concern.
While I’m momentarily distracted by the vision my wife presents, Dante rushes forward and drags me to my feet, away from Reznov.
“Calm the fuck down,” he hisses in my ear as I try to throw him off. “We’ve got an audience.”
As my mother drops to her knees next to the Russian prick, I glance around the corridor and realize we’ve drawn a small crowd. Some onlookers are hospital staff, others are my men. There’s even one woman in a hospital gown, an IV attached to her arm, gawping at us.
“Get the fuck out of here!” I yell and people scatter. I turn to my mother, who’s fussing over Reznov. “And you get the fuck away from that Russian bastard.”
“Antonio!” My mother tries to scold me as she strokes Reznov’s face with a tenderness that tells me she cares about the asshole.
“I’m serious, Mamma. Go back to the waiting room.”
She stiffens at the cold command in my voice, but doesn’t move. She actually looks to Reznov for guidance. He nods, and she gets to her feet. Shaking her head in disgust as she passes me, she walks away.
“Help Mr. Reznov up,” Isabella tells the giant at her back.
Paul does as she asked, grabbing Reznov under the arms and lifting him to his feet. I watch in disbelief as Isabella steps up to the Russian, raising her hand to his face and tilting his head one way and then the other, examining his injuries. She whispers something to him, then leans closer and gives him a quick hug. What the fuck? Have the women in my family gone insane?
“I love Ava.” Reznov turns and looks me in the eye. It gives me great satisfaction that his face is a mess. “We plan to marry.”
“Over my fucking cold, dead body!” I lunge for him once more, but Dante holds me back.
Again, Isabella murmurs something. Reznov nods resignedly, pats her arm, and walks away.
“Make sure he leaves,” I tell Dante. He follows as the Russian Pakhan staggers away. “And you,” I turn my ire on Paul, “get back to Westport before I shoot you between the fucking eyes for bringing her here.”
“No.” Isabella touches the big idiot’s arm. “Wait downstairs. I might need you.”
Like fuck she will.
“Yes, Mrs. Volante.” Paul accepts her order over mine. What the fuck did my wife do to deserve such loyalty all of a sudden?
As he moves off toward the exit, I march over to Isabella. Grabbing her arms, I back her against the wall. Her breath hitches as I lean in closer. Fear and arousal flare in her eyes.
“Now, my disobedient wife, you can explain what the fuck you’re doing here.”