33. Bianca
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
bianca
I t’s time. The nerves are overwhelming. We have one single chance to do this right, or its all going to blow up in my face, no pun intended.
Mafia gods, if you can hear me, please let this work out for me.
After I psych myself up in the mirror for a few minutes, I head to the garage to meet Dmitri. I call the doctor and tell him I’m going to step out to lunch but he can deliver to my apartment and the nurse will help him. We officially start the mission.
We drive quietly to the restaurant, both Dmitri and I, deep in thought.
I put the car in park and take a loud, deep breath.
“Ready?” I ask.
He shakes his head and smiles, “Show time!”.
We meet two old, greying Russians at a bistro table outside the cafe. These guys are old school, so we both do our duty, kissing their hands and sitting down respectfully.
“So what are the plans, ah?” The heavier-set elder asks.
I start to rattle off some fake plans I spent all night coming up with. Operations that my father was working on, how we proceed and what we anticipate to happen when he wakes up. I make it enticing and present it just as my father always presented plans. I was feeling good and like a well oiled machine. I could see the glimmer in Dmitri’s eyes, the pride he had for me as I ran this meeting.
Focus.
I keep playing my part. I talk about my father and that I’m going to make sure I have everything ready for his triumphant return. That I would do right by him and make sure to never let anyone question our power, with him being temporarily out of service. I would uphold our family’s honor and ‘blah blah blah.’
After a half-hour of schmoozing, my phone vibrates and I politely excuse myself. I told them I had a business call.
I open my phone and check the camera, the nurse is in my room helping the doctor with the heavy jar heads. I gave them great instruction on how I wanted them handled and placed. I wanted to make sure they were both going to be far from my father’s room.
When I get back to the table, I apologize for the interruption and tell them we should get the check as I didn’t want to leave my father’s side for much longer. That was the sign Dmitri had been waiting for. He slyly pulls out his phone under the table, and I distract the elders by obnoxiously asking our waitress for the check. I look back at Dmitri and winks.
It’s done. Now we wait.
I take a breath and sip my grapefruit mimosa slowly as we hand the waitress cash. I start to stand, and as I do, my phone rings. I apologize again and take the call.
“Oh my go! What?! When?! Oh my god! Oh, god!” I really sell it.
“We are on our way.” I hang up the phone and force the tears to well in my eyes.
“Something’s happened, and we have to get home! Oh God! Dmitri, it’s father!” I cry into his arms as he stands to meet me.
“We have to go!” I run to the car, knowing they are going to follow us back to the house.
By the time we arrive, three fire engines are there working to put out the fire in the upper center of the manor. All the house staff including our medical staff were outside. Thankfully none of them were around.
I rush up and demand to know what happened. The fire chief tells me they are still trying to get it under control.
“My father is in there. He is in a coma and can’t move on his own!” I screamed and tried to push through them to go in the door. They hold me back.
“Ma’am, it’s not safe. You can’t go inside. We are doing all we can.” One of the firemen consoles me. I continue my sobs for my father and fall to my knees. It was my best performance.
Eventually, Dmitri came over and sat next to me on the concrete, holding me close and watching the flames fight to start ablaze.
It felt like hours had gone by, and finally, the fire chief had an update.
“Ma’am, Sir?” He approaches us.
“I am terribly sorry, but we were unable to get to your father in time. I am so sorry for your loss. We were able to contain the fire in just the den, and it seems to be an isolated incident, but that portion of your home was a total loss. I can’t imagine how difficult this is to hear, but know we did all we could.”
I cry into my hands harder. “How did this happen? I was only gone for an hour!”
“We believe it was a fatal combination of faulty electrical work and medical equipment malfunction. Your father was hooked to some machines that, when exposed to a surge of power or a spark of any kind, react like a bomb. The oxygen tank then exploded, and I can assure you that he didn’t suffer, ma’am. Again, I am so terribly sorry.” He puts his hat back on and walks away.
I continue to fake cry until real tears appear. I look up at our brunch companions, shaking their heads and trying to keep emotion from showing on their faces.
They bring out a body bag on a stretcher. They inform me where his body is being taken and that I can ride with them or follow them. Dmitri offers to drive me and helps me to my feet.