Chapter Six
Noah
“If it wasn't the Chinese, then we have to seriously evaluate who would target us in such a manner.”
Pacing past the window, I didn't bother to look out at the cold, gray day. My attention was too focused on the conversation; I felt like we’d rehashed it a few too many times in the past several days. “Russos or Lomardis. No one else would dare fuck with us.”
“It sounds like the men did as you requested,” Dad pointed out. “Have you decided you can trust them?”
While we had some answers about who had killed Lorenzo, I wasn't fully satisfied with what we’d learned so far. “I’d feel better if they could tell me conclusively who it was.”
“But?”
Giving in to the need, I headed to the liquor cart and poured a tall glass of bourbon. “But, yeah, apparently I can trust them. Gio followed up behind them and agreed with their assessment.”
“Has anyone gotten with our contact to reschedule the buy?”
“Roman said he’d do it.”
The bourbon didn't have a satisfying burn when it went down. Maybe I was finally numb. I wanted to make Gio my underboss, but I didn't have the authority. I wasn’t the one in charge.
Not officially, at least, but the weight of the entire organization rested squarely on my shoulders.
“We need to uphold the deal so we can keep our relationship intact.”
“I know, Dad.”
As though I hadn't thought of that, and the fact that we needed to be careful wherever we tried to set up our deals in the future. If they started bombing us left and right, we’d lose more men than we could afford.
“Excuse me,” Bedford said, standing in the doorway with his hands clasped in front of him. “Dr. Wentworth has arrived.”
“Thank you, Charles,” my father said.
We exchanged a look, and I knew he was warning me to keep it civil. I’d been taken aback when she said she wouldn't forgive me, but I could admire her tenacity.
“Benito,” she said cheerfully as she came into the room. “Good afternoon.”
Then she spotted me, and I smiled politely. At the frown flickering across her brow, I wondered if I’d done a poor job at the polite part.
“Mr. Costa,” she said formally.
“Doctor.”
Since she didn't spend too much time assessing my father every day, I wanted to wait for her to leave so we could continue our conversation. Moving off to the corner of the den, I ran my fingertip over the dust jackets of Dad’s favorite books.
Behind me, Sailor talked about his blood pressure, pulse, and the sound of his lungs.
“You’re improving every day, bit by bit.”
“All thanks to you, no doubt.”
He really liked her, and I had to make my peace with that. She certainly had a good bedside manner with him.
In the distance, I heard what sounded like the engine of a low-flying plane. With a heavy frown, I turned to the large picture windows. “Does that sound like it’s too low to be normal?”
Before anyone could answer me, the house rocked and a loud sound exploded in my ears.
It was almost impossible to describe, but the entire house immediately started crumbling down around us.
Without thinking twice, I stumbled over to Dad, dodging falling debris.
Something akin to an aftershock rumbled through the walls, and the plaster fell off the ceiling in chunks.
Bedford hurried in, his face covered in dirt. “Is anyone hurt?”
Finding my father’s bed in the gloomy light, my stomach sank to my knees.
“Dr. Wentworth?” I called, shaking her.
She’d collapsed on the floor beside Dad’s bed, her eyes closed and a bruise forming on her temple.
I shook her again. “Sailor?”
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked, his voice thin and hoarse as he leaned over the side of his bed.
“I don’t know yet.”
“I’ve called it in,” Bedford informed me.
“To the usual people?” I confirmed.
He nodded, and I returned my attention to Sailor. Squatting beside her, I picked her up and carried her to the desk. Once I’d laid her out on it, I put my ear to her mouth to listen for breath sounds.
“Is she alive?” Dad asked, sounding more worried about her than himself.
“Yes,” I responded, “but don’t you dare get up. Just because you’re awake doesn't mean you aren't injured.” I considered the same about myself, wondering if adrenaline was covering for any injuries.
“Thank God Gio took Vicki out to lunch.”
I had to agree with that statement. Sailor was breathing, though her chest only rose shallowly each time. It should be me who was unconscious. At least she’d know what to do to fix me.
“The ambulance is coming,” Bedford said, then he sat in an armchair.
“How are you?” I asked him.
“Had the wind knocked out of me, but I think I’m okay.”
There were no sirens when the ambulance arrived. We used a private company, and they knew better than to announce themselves to the world.
Besides, the crater in the side of the house would do that by itself.
“What’s wrong with her?” my father asked five seconds after they’d arrived.
“Too soon to tell, but it appears something struck her in the head.”
As the adrenaline wore off, I felt shaky and sick to my stomach. Obviously, I was making Dad go to the hospital with Sailor, but I was smart enough to ride with them.
“Charles, do you need to come, too?”
Our butler smiled at Dad. He’d worked with us for so long that they were more like friends. “I’ll catch the next one.”
Touching his shoulder as I walked beside the gurney, I told him not to be a tough guy. “Even I’m getting checked out.”
The ride was blessedly quick, but then I was separated from them both. To be safe, I was poked, prodded, and imaged. Only once they’d declared I would live did they let me go find my father.
“I inhaled too much of the crap falling off the ceiling,” he said as soon as I entered the room. “And without Sailor to come see me every day, they’ve insisted I stay here for constant monitoring.”
I didn't want to rub salt in his wounds, so I gave him an awkward leaning hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Have you checked on her yet?”
“No, I came to see you first.” Seeing the look in his eyes, I added, “But of course I’ll go now.”
“Tell me as soon as you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
I had to ask where she was, and then they told me I wasn’t allowed to see her because we’re not family.
“Well, she hasn't got any, so I guess I’m the closest thing.”
“Sorry, sir, but that doesn't count.”
Though I hated using the words, I knew I had to for Dad’s sake. “Then I’ll need to speak to your supervisor.”
The truth was, there was no such thing as the word no around here—not for me. She scurried off to do my bidding, and I went into Sailor’s room while there was no one to stop me.
The machines they’d hooked her up to reminded me of how Dad looked not that long ago. Feeling a squeeze in my stomach, I ran my hand gently over her forehead. Her skin was cool, and the bruise had darkened along with an accompanying lump.
I cursed under my breath at what I’d dragged her into. It was my fault she was hurt, and she was just an innocent bystander.
“Benito?” she mumbled. Her eyes popped open. “Noah. How’s your father? Is he okay?”
Pursing my lips, I bit back the mean retort. Exactly how close were those two? “He’s fine, but they’re keeping him here.”
Pushing herself up, Sailor threw back the sheets. Her body swayed, and I reached out to steady her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snapped.
Holding her head in her hands, Sailor said, “I need to see him. Who's his doctor?”
“I don’t fucking know. He ordered me to check on you.”
“God, that hurts.” Slowly lowering back to the bed, Sailor leaned over and left her hands on her head.
“You must’ve gotten hit with something when the second floor caved in on us.”
“What was that, by the way?”
The million-dollar question. I hadn't had time to really think about it since I was concerned with my father’s well-being, but we were obviously targeted. Again.
“I heard a low-flying plane before the house shook. Maybe it crashed on top of us.”
No need to feel guilty for the lie. After all, I could be right.
And ice doesn't melt in Hell.
“I need to see your father. I need to make sure they’re taking his preexisting conditions under consideration.”
“Do you think everyone else who works here is incompetent?"
“Yeah, she does, and I thought I told you not to come in here.”
The nurse was back at the door, and I folded my arms across my chest as I addressed her sternly. “And I thought I told you to find one of your supervisors.”
“They’re a little busy right now.”
“Tell them Noah Costa wants to speak with them and they’ll suddenly find themselves incredibly unbusy.”
Her face reddened. “I know who you are. Sorry about the confusion.” She squinted at me and then Sailor. “How do you two know each other?”
“I’m his father’s doctor,” Sailor said in an even snippier tone of voice than I’d ever been treated to. “Tell me who his pulmonologist is.”
“Not my job,” the nurse replied, turning toward the door. “Good luck with her.”
When she was gone, I asked, “What was that about? Aren't you colleagues?”
“None of them like me,” she muttered.
Interesting piece of information. “Why not?”
“I don't suffer fools, and if they’ve made a mistake, I tell them so. I won’t compromise patient care in exchange for tactfulness.”
I couldn't help smiling. “I see.”
Closing her eyes and leaning back, she added, “They compare me to a stray cat.”
Somehow, I doubted she meant to divulge that to me. “Jealous people are often rude to cover for their incompetence.”
She snorted, then groaned. “My head is pounding.”
And I felt guilty again that some dickhead who meant to go after me had injured an innocent woman in the process. “I’m sorry about that. Did they give you something?”
“They wouldn't have treated me with anything more than an NSAID.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Opening one eye, she gazed up at me. “That’s standard procedure.”
Clearing my throat, I said, “Why don't we go visit my dad?”
“I’ll need a wheelchair.”
“Also standard?” I asked, checking the room for one.
“Yes, but also because I think I’ll vomit if I keep my eyes open too long.”
Stepping out into the hallway, I tracked down the snobby nurse and told her to find me a wheelchair. It appeared with a brisk knock a few minutes later, and she reluctantly unhooked Sailor’s IV lines from the stand to hang them from the one attached to the chair.
As we headed down the hall, she said, “Thank you.”
“Wow, I’ve never heard you be so polite before.”
“That’s because you’ve never deserved it before.”
Conceding her point, I wheeled her down to my father’s room, rationalizing that it was for his sake and not hers.
“Noah? Sailor?”
I was pleased to see he’d been cleaned up and that he didn't look as ashen. But his voice was still hoarse.
“Benito!”
As soon as she said his name, Sailor burst into tears. Taken aback, I stood frozen while I watched her reach out to him. They held hands, and my father’s eyes actually watered.
“I don't know what I would have done if you’d been hurt worse just for being in my home, taking care of me.”
“I’m so grateful you weren't hurt worse, either. You’ve been making such good progress.”
Suddenly, I saw her the way he did: a caring, compassionate woman who truly wanted the best for her patient.
It was unsettling to know I’d been wrong.
“Now, who did they assign you to? It better not be Hofstadt.”
“It’s there on the whiteboard,” Dad said with a nod in that direction.
“Webster,” she said with a brief nod. “He’s good.”
“But he’s not you.”
She grinned. “No one is.”
While I enjoyed their exchange, I found it odd. She’d been coming to our house for a week, but they acted as though they’d been dear friends for years.
Then again, Dad was like that with staff he respected. Just look at Charles Bedford as an example.
“I’ll have to call Gio and Vittoria,” I said.
“Oh, she’ll be hysterical.”
Sailor patted his hand. “I’ll give you two space.”
When she aimed her big hazel eyes at me, I nearly flinched at how cruel I’d been toward her previously.
“If you wouldn't mind taking me back, I’ll get out of your hair after that.”
“No problem. I’ll be right back, Dad.”
As we approached her room, I overheard the ladies inside gossiping about her and hoped she was struck temporarily deaf.
“Just like her to be mixed up in something like this. The mafia, for crying out loud?”
“Maybe that knock to the head will fix her attitude.”
Loudly, I said, “Here we are, Dr. Wentworth. Thank you so much for checking up on my father. I know he values your healing touch.”
And as I pushed her wheelchair into the room, I glared harder than I ever had before. The two gossipers straightened their spines, scurrying out around us with mumbled excuses.
“Don't bother,” she said as I set the brakes so she could get up. “They all hate me, and I’ve never given them a reason not to.”
I scoffed. “That’s pathetic.”
“I know I am.”
Appalled, I basically picked her up to settle her on the bed. “Not you, Sailor. Them. They’re pathetic women who never made it out of middle school.”
The pain in her eyes as she briefly met my gaze was sad enough to stab through my heart. “Thanks, but I’m used to it.”
That sure as hell didn't make it right.