18
Emergency room of a hospital
W e arrived at the hospital with our hearts in our throats.
We knew little about what had happened.
The police told Julieta that my husband and Dante had been taken by ambulance and that, for the moment, they could not tell us more.
The only thing my sister-in-law could get out of them before going into shock was that a guy had rammed his car into the club, poured a can of gasoline, and set it on fire with the two of them inside.
We could expect the worst, because when they don't want to talk about someone's condition, it's because things look very bad.
I couldn't get out of my head that maybe my brother had something to do with it, but if that was the case, he would have told me, right? Or was he still going with his "surprise factor" so that no one could tell from my face that I knew what was going to happen? If I was right, I was starting to really dislike his attitude, it made me distrust him.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly and restrained myself from hitting it because Julieta was still crying like a Magdalene, and I didn't want to scare her.
The idea of Romeo and his man burning alive was gut-wrenching. Could there be a more painful and distressing death than that? To smell your own flesh burning while the fire consumes you.
Just thinking about it made me shudder completely. I felt some moisture on my cheeks as I imagined the scene. The harrowing screams of my husband and his man. Silent tears slid down my cheeks trying to soothe the images that my mind kept projecting to torture me.
Why was I so affected by what might happen to him if he had been betraying me with his lover?
I couldn't answer that question; all I knew was that his death hurt me at a level it shouldn't. Perhaps the weight of his charred image blocked my ability to reason. The heart silenced the brain, turning me into a mess of incoherencies. I needed to know what had happened to him, I needed to know so it would stop screwing with me so much.
I floored the accelerator and I barely remember the drive from the salon to the emergency room, where a grumpy receptionist was demanding a patience I did not have.
"Madam, please, calm down." —I leaned over the counter.
"Calm down? Either you tell me right now what the hell happened to my husband and where he is, or I'm going to kill you and your whole damn family." —She looked at me horrified.
The last thing she expected that day was to get a threat from a woman dressed in bubblegum pink, who looked more like a Malibu Barbie than a mafia boss.
"You have to wait for the doctor to come out..."
She must not have taken me very seriously, at most, she might have thought I was going to claw her eyes out.
"Not a doctor, not bullshit, where is Romeo Capulet?!" I was about to pull out my gun to threaten her while my sister-in-law watched the scene unfold.
"Daughter, what is happening?!"
I turned around to come face to face with the queen of the Russian soap opera. There was my mother looking distressed and clinging to the arm of her inseparable new lover: my father-in-law. Irisha was also there, surrounded by a couple of bodyguards.
"Father!" exclaimed my sister-in-law, taking refuge in her father's arms. My mother had to let go, and Irisha came over to ask if I was okay.
"We don't know what happened, or how Romeo and Dante are. This incompetent woman won't speak," I complained, pointing at the receptionist.
She huffed with indignation and picked up the phone. Maybe to call security to have me thrown out. Or to ignore me by making calls.
A doctor emerged from between two swinging doors, asking for the relatives of Romeo Capulet, to which we replied with a desperate "yes."
"Where is he?" I asked frantically. "Is he okay?"
"We've treated the cuts and burns he sustained. Don't worry, he's fine, a bit intoxicated by the amount of smoke he inhaled, but alive, which is the important part. We've moved him to a ward; you'll be able to see him soon."
"Thank God," muttered his sister, still clinging to Massimo.
"And Dante?" I asked, knowing that Romeo would be the first thing he'd ask about as soon as he saw us.
"Who are you?" The doctor frowned, considering whether to answer me.
"Nikita Koroleva, Romeo's wife." My answer seemed to convince him.
"His condition is critical; all I can say is that your husband was a hero for not leaving him behind in that state."
"What condition?" I pressed.
"This type of information can only be given to direct relatives."
"We are his family, even if we don't share the same last name," interjected Massimo. "Dante has no one else but us."
"Your son told me something similar."
"Well, then, tell us how he is," urged my father-in-law.
The doctor crossed his arms and let out a resigned sigh.
"All I can tell you for now is that we are keeping him sedated and alive. He's intubated, connected to a mechanical ventilator in the ICU. He has 90% of his body burned, and we don't know if he'll make it through the night." Julieta let out another cry and began to sob desperately on her father's chest. "We'll do everything we can, but it would be a miracle if he pulls through." Massimo nodded.
"We'll pray for him."
"Do so, at this point, your faith and the patient's strength are the only things that can save him. We've done everything we can."
"Thank you, doctor," my mother said, as if she cared about Dante...
We waited at the admission desk until the grumpy receptionist gave us the floor number and room.
When I entered the room, all I could think about was seeing him breathe.
He lay on the bed, his chest and arms bandaged, covering most of the tattoos I so admired. They had removed his piercings, and a sheet covered his legs, so I didn't know if he had injuries to the lower part of his body.
A superficial, elongated cut crossed his left cheek. He remained connected to an IV drip, and there was a smear of soot on his forehead that hadn't been cleaned.
As soon as he saw me peek in, he whispered my name. His voice was barely audible, affected by the smoke inhalation that had damaged his vocal cords.
I walked over to him and took his hands.
"Shhh, don't speak, relax, we're here now." He lifted my hand with a pained gesture and brought it to his lips to kiss it tenderly. You have no idea how much that kiss stung.
"Dante?" I remained calm. If he had pulled him out of that inferno, he probably knew much better than us just how bad it was. I wasn't going to lie to him.
"They're doing everything they can to save him, the doctor says you were a hero."
A hint of mockery flashed in his eyes. As if what I had just told him was a tasteless joke, rather than a compliment.
"Who did it, Romeo?" his father asked pointedly. "Cheng?"
Romeo shook his head, and before he could answer, the police knocked on the door.
It was a pair of officers, one younger than the other. They did a visual sweep before addressing Romeo.
They apologized for the intrusion but said they needed to ask some questions for the investigation into what had happened.
We mentioned that R could barely speak, and they noted that they would take this into account when formulating their questions.
When they introduced themselves, I recognized Segarra, the homicide cop who worked for Romeo. I knew it was him from the almost imperceptible glance he gave my husband, which surely no one else but me noticed. Besides, the name was the same. How many Miguel Segarras could there be in the homicide unit? I guessed there was only one.
They limited themselves to yes or no questions so he could answer with a simple nod of his head.
That's how we learned that the person responsible for the fire was Jonás Sánchez, the journalist who had been a thorn in our side over the Mentium issue and who had calmed down quite a bit when we showed him all the clinical trial documents.
It didn't make sense that the journalist had done something like this without reason.
That's when I discovered that the probable cause of his mental derangement, which had led him to self-immolate and attempt to take Romeo and Dante with him, was the death of his son.
The boy, just fifteen years old, had jumped from a rooftop while participating in a challenge on an app after supposedly ingesting Mentium.
My head was spinning. How could he have taken one of those pills if I had withdrawn them all from the market?
"It's impossible," I interrupted the officers. "There must be a mistake. The drug was withdrawn from the market; he couldn't have taken that pill."
"And you are...?" asked Segarra's partner, showing interest in me.
"Nikita Koroleva, owner of Korpe, the pharmaceutical company responsible for Mentium, and Romeo's wife."
The man, about fifty, looked at me intently.
"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am, I've heard a lot about you." That didn't sound good. "You're in our line of investigation."
"Your line of investigation? Regarding what?"
"If you don't mind, I'd prefer to answer that question at the station and, of course, have you answer mine."
"You will not answer anything without our lawyer present," intervened my father-in-law. I hated when they answered for me. As if I were a damn puppet.
"I have nothing to hide, Massimo," I replied, challenging the policeman with my gaze. "What do you want to know?"
"Better at the station, where I can record everything on my computer, if you don't mind," he offered with feigned kindness. "If circumstances allow, it would be good if you could come by later, so we can take your statement."
"I'll see what I can do." The man handed me a card.
"Ask for me, I'm Inspector Ramos." I tucked the small piece of cardboard into my purse. "We hope you recover soon, Mr. Capulet," he said, addressing my husband. "We'll return when you're better and able to answer more questions. Thank you for your cooperation. Ladies and gentlemen," was the last thing he said before leaving the room with his eyes on me. I didn't like his look; it made me distrustful.
As soon as the door closed, Julieta carefully hugged her brother and I went to the bathroom for something to clean his face. My head felt like it was going to explode and I needed a few seconds alone.
How was it possible that Mentium was circulating among young people? What was I missing?
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Another thing that bothered me the most was the lack of control, someone else steering the ship in the shadows without my knowledge, leading me astray again.
Yuri couldn't be behind this; he no longer wanted to drag my name through the mud because it made no sense, and if it wasn't him, who wanted to sink me in the dirt? I was going to find out.