Chapter 43
43
Roman
G loria looks like hell. She sits in the back of an ambulance, her arm wrapped in a gauze burn dressing. A male nurse is standing beside her, adjusting the drip running into her wrist.
“Are you family?” he asks when he sees us. “I’m waiting for a call to say I can bring this lady to the hospital. We’re overrun with casualties, as you can see?—”
I jump up the ambulance’s two steps, reach into my jacket, and withdraw my handgun. I don’t hesitate whatsoever, and the paramedic gasps when he feels cold steel against his temple.
“So one more casualty won’t make much difference, will it?” I push the man onto his side on the floor. “Or shall I make it easier on your colleagues and send you straight to the morgue?”
I take a wad of bills from my pocket and stuff it into his mouth. “Give me five minutes, and you can carry on. I won’t do anything to hurt this lady; I just wanna talk.”
I catch Quinn’s eye and realize she’s dumbstruck. Shit, I didn’t think about what I was doing.
The ease with which I threaten a man’s life suggests I have plenty of experience. The paramedic scurries hastily out of the ambulance, and I holster my gun before turning my attention to Gloria.
“What happened?” I ask. “Who was it?”
Gloria’s eyes are barely open. “I don’t know. Everyone was asleep except the night nurse on duty, and she didn’t make it out. “
“Does this place have cameras?”
Gloria nods. “They will have burned up. Oh, wait,” she furrows her brow, “no. The facilities people who maintain the parking lot came last week and fitted one in the trees beside the entrance. Some regulation change or something.”
Of course. Silvio knew he had to do the job himself—burning down a hospice home is a despicable act, even for the mob—so he did his research and came prepared.
Except he didn’t, because he made mistakes. He forgot the backup alarm and didn’t know about the new camera, presumably because he didn’t do proper reconnaissance. This is why professional arsonists are so well paid.
All I have to do is get Viktor onto his contacts and get that footage. Then I’ll have my proof and be able to go after him without any risk of the komissiya getting shitty about it.
“Roman.” I’m so lost in thought that Quinn’s voice seems to come from miles away. “You know what happened here, don’t you?”
My cell rings, and I answer it, ignoring her beseeching eyes. “Viktor, I need you to?—”
“They never attacked and were never planning to,” he says, interrupting. “The whole thing was a fucking set-up. When I started digging for info about Quinn, it got back to Vercotti; presumably, he bought the same information from the same people. He knew what you knew. Someone must have tipped him off that you’d brought her here tonight.”
It makes sense. Make a threat, knowing I won’t want my wife caught up in it, then watch to see where I hide her and go after her there. She should be ashes now. Only her resilience and Silvio’s overconfidence threw a spanner in the works.
“Quinn got out, but many people didn’t,” I say. “The bastard has gone off the rails. You gotta lean on the facilities company and get the parking lot footage.”
“There’s something else, boss.” Viktor’s voice is heavy. “A real nasty sting in the tail.”
“What?”
“He burned down the bakery, too.”