32. The news
32
THE NEWS
SEVERIO
A few years ago, the Hungarian government offered me the properties of a man in dire straits in exchange for negotiating his release from a cartel prison. He poked into cartel business in Paris and got caught doing things he shouldn’t have been on their turf. They moved him to Mexico, where he sat in one of their prisons for two years before anyone found out where he was taken.
One of the properties was a hotel in Hungary. Before accepting the deal, I stayed in one of the hotel’s regular rooms so I could get a feel for the property from a perspective I normally wouldn’t experience. I do this anytime I’m investing in a large business. I feel it out from the perspective of its average customer.
It was seven in the morning, and I was walking down the hotel hallway toward the elevators when a room door opened and a man walked out, followed by a woman I recognized. I held the elevator for them while I stared at her familiar face, instantly knowing who she was.
Cristina Capone had grown into a beautiful woman. She wore a deep green dress with modest cleavage and a Virgin Mary plate pendant draped from a gold necklace. Her gold heels went well with her dress. She barely spared me a glance because the man she shared a hotel room with took all her attention.
When the couple left the elevator, I called in a favor with an escort service, and that night, the man who was with Cristina ended up with the girl I sent him. I made sure he never visited Cristina’s hotel room again, and I know he didn’t because I followed her on her way out of the hotel.
She looked sad.
I was thrilled.
That was many years ago. Cristina Capone never again crossed my mind. Until I found out my uncle was going to marry her, and I stopped it from happening. I keep telling myself it’s because I couldn’t let him inherit her fortune, but the truth is, I seized her fortune and his as well before the wedding.
I didn’t need to make a point of claiming his bride.
But I did it anyway, and I told myself I took his bride because I didn’t want him to marry her.
I told myself many things about Cristina except the truth. Like how I didn’t want her to marry anyone who wasn’t me. It took my malfunctioning parachute to figure that out.
Drago saved my life during our recent mission. We jumped out of a plane that was on a crash path into the sea, and my parachute wouldn’t deploy. Drago and I shared one until I untied the tangled ropes of the backup parachute and managed to land relatively well.
During the time I was freefalling, my life flashed before my eyes. It was then that I decided that if I lived, I’d marry Cristina. I would marry her, and I would settle down, and I would allow myself to love her, because a life without the other half of your soul is not worth living.
The problem? I’m an asshole, a terribly difficult, ruthless man, and I wouldn’t want her to marry me. But that’s not my choice. It’s hers to make, and I wanted to give her the option.
Yet, I’m a better alternative than my uncle. She would have done worse.
In the chapel, I sit against the wall, one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched out in front of me. My elbow rests on my knee, my hand holding the gun I’ll put in my mouth in case they tell me she didn’t wake up from the surgery.
Since my phone hasn’t stopped ringing, the thing’s on silent on the floor next to me. I’ll answer the calls in order of importance. Jace’s line shows up on the screen, and I pick up. “I’m listening.”
“How is the girl?” he asks.
I appreciate him asking. Gordon is the same way, always looking out for his people. “No news on her yet. You have something for me?”
“We have the van and the people who drove it.”
I would love nothing more than to get my hands around their necks right now, but my place is here with Cristina, not out there getting revenge. Though that too will come.
Jace continues. “The driver was a mom with her two boys.”
“That’s the last thing I expected you to say.”
“I know. It’s a crazy story you’ll have to hear from her. I think she and the boys are telling the truth.”
“What is she saying?” I twirl my Walther.
“Said that some men blackmailed her. Had her oldest boy in the back of the van as a hostage if she refused to drive to the church.”
“And then?”
“She was supposed to wait there and then drive the van to the marina.”
“Which marina?”
“It’s called…hold on.” Shuffling. “Marina Bella Luna.”
“Jesus. That’s the cargo one.” I close my eyes, mentally chasing away the images of Cristina inside a metal cargo box in these temperatures and with nasty men. “What about the men Father Thomas talked about?”
“The older boy said he can identify them, but the mother won’t let him say anything about them because she’s scared we’re going to hurt her kids.”
“Tell her we’re not.”
“I have. She won’t say nothing. She’s asking to speak to my boss.”
There we go with the boss thing again. “I’m not available.”
“How about Corrado?”
“Not a good option for this situation. I’ll get Drago. Meanwhile, make the family comfortable. Put them in my villa, surround it, and give the kids access to any and all games and movies, whatever their little hearts desire. When they fold, she will too.”
“Will do, boss.”
I sigh. “How about the driver who hit Cristina?”
“A local man with his wife on their way to a friend’s house. Said Cristina ran into traffic. Nothing there besides apologies and tears. Says they’d known your girl all their life.”
“I’m sure they did. She was running from the van, I presume.”
“Looks like it.”
I run a thumb across my bottom lip, smelling Cristina’s blood on my skin from when I held her hand. “How are the cops dealing with the lockdown orders?”
“Not good, sir. Giving me a hard time.”
“I’ll bring in reinforcements. Hang in there.”
I hang up, pocket my piece, and end my pity party by returning to the ER, where the staff directs me upstairs into a waiting room.
Maria, Frenchy, and almost everyone who was at Frenchy’s is sipping coffee and chatting quietly, waiting for the outcome of the surgery. Heads turn to me, eyes wide and expecting something I can’t give them. Reassurance? Guidance? I don’t really know what they expect, but there’s nothing new on my end.
I lean against the window frame and look outside. Waves crash against the shore. Traffic jams the narrow streets. Someone should do something about the overflow of cars on the island. In the past decade, traffic seems to have doubled while the narrow streets stayed the same. The heavy traffic compromises the safety of the people. If Cristina remains living here, I’ll do something about it.
Or perhaps I won’t. Perhaps the best thing I could do after she recovers is leave her alone. I know her attempted kidnapping had something to do with me. Besides, before I went flying, she told me to die. She said it in anger, but what if I released her from the Order, from me, from this life? What if I offered her a life free from any obligations to the Order or me? A new beginning.
Cristina would take it, say good riddance to this life. If I asked her to marry me today, she would have refused, probably thinking that with time, I’d forget that I wanted her in the first place.
If I let her go, her newfound freedom would be my penance, a punishment for endangering her life.
I check my watch. It’s been nearly two hours since she went in there. I take that as a sign she’s fighting for her life. A sign the surgeon is fighting for her. I’m fighting for her. I hope she knows that.
Another hour goes by, and Corrado arrives.
My brother wears a sharp charcoal suit and a matching tie. He walks right up to me and puts his hands on his hips while giving me a once-over. I’m unsure what he sees on my face or in my body language but he leans his shoulder on the window frame opposite me.
“Not your girlfriend, huh?” he says in a way that suggests the opposite. “What happened?” he asks in a language we’re certain nobody here speaks.
I tell him about the accident and how I could’ve stopped it all from happening if I’d proposed in a way she couldn’t refuse. Then she would have walked with me to Frenchy’s. Or I’d have gone with her to church. I gave her breathing room, time to decide, you know. I was being nice. “After this, I’ll lock her in a glass cage.”
Corrado’s expression goes from shocked to concerned to pitying. He shuffles his feet, then looks up and scratches his head. “I had a feeling she was more than a means of getting revenge on Gio.” He clasps my shoulder. “I’m sure everything will turn out well. And if not, we’ll burn this place to the ground, brother.”
“I’ll sink the fucking island.”
Corrado nods in approval.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I tell him.
“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Drago is fifteen minutes out.” Corrado rubs his hands. “Then we go hunting. Any ideas of who might’ve tried to take her?”
“The same people who killed Gio,” I say so everyone understands. The conversations go silent, my members looking at me for guidance. “It’s the trafficking rings you all allowed into your marinas.”
“We didn’t—” Frenchy starts.
I raise my hand. “Don’t bother. You want to know what I’ll do, hm?” I push off the window. “I know you’re wondering what’s going on. Suffice it to say, the girl better live. You better pray she lives, because whoever is after her had access to her because you allowed them on this island, to do business with us, with the birds here.
“This can go one of two ways. One, she lives, you live, and we go to war. Two, she…” They get the idea. “In which case, Drago makes a list, and I’ll put in a special request for each of you to make sure he’s not quick about it. Once I’ve eliminated your dead fucking weight, I will sink this island and wipe it off the map as if it never existed. Think ancient Atlantis. I recommend you all pray hard for her. Pray. Hard.”
Drago walks in, reads the room with one sweep of his gaze, and says, “Looks like it’s payday for me.”
Frenchy says something, but just then, the surgery room doors fly open.
I expect Dr. Tru, the man who tended me at the villa after I got shot, but a short, stocky man in his thirties with dark eyes, matching dark hair, and a pleasant face walks out and looks around at the fifty or so people seated or standing between here and the hallway. “Family of Cristina Mancini?”
He’s not Dr. Tru, and he clearly recognizes nobody, so he’s new and not from the island. A bird.
The Order has thousands of surgeons in every corner of the world, and the one man operating on Cristina isn’t one of them.
Maria rushes to him.
I approach with caution, my heart thudding so hard that it seems like it wants to shatter my rib cage.
The man appears composed, if tired. “Good evening. I’m Dr. Bautista, the surgeon who operated on Cristina Mancini. We addressed the swelling in the brain from the impact and stabilized her. She is resting.”
“My baby,” Maria says, relieved. She turns to me, and I hold her against my chest as the weight of my worries leaves me.
My shoulders slump, and I allow myself a moment to exhale. “Thank you.”
Maria starts to recite prayers, but the man is still standing there as if he has something else to say.
His eyes lock with mine, and there’s something there I’m unsure I can decipher. “We will keep Cristina here for observation and, of course, keep you updated regularly.” Before leaving, he regards me in a way I dislike. There’s pity in his gaze. Something is wrong.
“I need to speak to Mr. Mancini,” he says.
Maria and I exchange looks, but before she has a chance to talk about Gio and how Cristina is a widow, I interrupt. “I’m Mr. Mancini. When can I see her?”
“In a little while. It’s best for her to rest as long as she needs to.”
Even though I want to see her, I don’t argue with the man who saved her life and who gives off a quiet, confident sort of energy. If I saw her now, it would be to tame my base instincts rather than because it’s what’s best for her.
“If you would follow me, please.” Dr. Bautista leads the way around the corner and through a narrow door into an office with a messy desk, an overflowing bookshelf in the back, and yet more books on the floor. I suppress the urge to chastise him for putting books on the floor.
“Whose office is this?” I ask, hoping it’s not his.
“I have no clue,” the surgeon says as he sits behind the mahogany desk. “I’m not sure it has an owner. Everyone seems to use it.” He gestures toward the guest chair as he explains. “Hence the disorder.” He seems to dislike disorder as well. I nod in approval.
The surgeon laces his fingers together before beginning. “Mr. Mancini, have a seat.”
“I’ll stand.” I’ll be restless until I see her.
“As you might know, in cases such as these, we routinely check bloodwork. During the surgery, the labs on her blood came back positive for pregnancy.”
Should’ve sat down. I grab the chair and sit now. “Cristina is on the pill,” I announce. She keeps them in the kitchen next to the coffee.
“I understand.” That look in his eye from the hallway was pity. Genuine pity. I didn’t recognize it before because I’ve never seen it directed at me in such a compassionate manner. I presume Cristina is stable, but the pregnancy is not.
“We were able to stabilize the mother.” He pauses, and I use the opportunity to inhale a deep breath so that when he says whatever comes next, I can remain collected.
“Go on,” I tell him.
“The baby seems fine.”
I exhale, drop my head into my hands, and give myself a moment of reprieve before sitting back in the chair. “The baby is fine for now, you mean, but might not be fine eventually?”
There’s a gentle smile on his face, pity still showing. I think he’s worried.
I’m trying to be happy because this man is telling me I’m going to be a father, but the dread isn’t going away. I don’t know if he’s giving me the good news before the bad or if that’s all the news I’m getting today.
When I say nothing, he continues, “This is a delicate situation that I will monitor vigilantly. Thank you for allowing me to care for your wife.”
My wife.
I’m still on mute mode, but I nod as if I’m fine after he told me the woman who might not want to marry me, might not forgive me for being a royal asshole when I seized her property and pretty much ruined her life, is having my baby. Cristina didn’t even let me propose. What this news is going to do to her, I have no idea.
“Excuse me,” I tell him. “I’m having a mental coping session. Shouldn’t be too long now.” I scrub my face and shake out my shoulders.
“There is more,” he says.
“Hit me with it. Go ahead.” I grip the armrest.
“In a case where I have to make a choice between the mother and the baby, I would?—”
“You will choose the mother.”
A pause, and he must see something on my face that tells him not to ask me if I’m sure. I am sure. As sure as the sunrise.
“Thank you for your time,” he says.
“I’m the one who’s grateful, Dr. Bautista. Before you leave, I have a request. The news of pregnancy might upset my wife. She was on the pill, and this was unexpected. I don’t want her rattled before she has a chance to recover. And I also want to be the one who tells her.”
“Mr. Mancini, I can’t?—”
“You heard me,” I say.
“I could lose my license for this.”
“You won’t. If anything, you’ll have done me a favor, and if you ask anyone around here, having me in your debt goes a long way.”
Dr. Bautista shakes his head. “I can give you two days.”
Two days.