Chapter Twelve
Noah
At my father’s behest, we had contractors at the house rebuilding it, but I couldn't bring myself to go back just yet.
Every square inch of that place was deeply embedded in my childhood memories—not all of them happy—from the intricate wooden scrollwork to the lions my father was so fond of.
In his mind, they represented power, authority, and bravery.
In my mind, they were entirely too on the nose for a mafia family.
We had tunnels beneath the house in case we needed to make a hasty escape, with exits miles down the street.
The closets were outfitted with secret gun racks disguised as rotating shoe racks.
We had security cameras and intercom systems that could also listen in on conversations.
In short, we needed to use our connections to ensure none of those details were gossiped about over lunch breaks between subcontractors.
While my father was in a hurry to get back home, I couldn't find it in me to be as enthusiastic.
I met Gio at another abandoned location, this time in Harlem. We were trying our damndest to stay away from anyone’s radar, but sometimes I wondered if it was even necessary for the two of us if Dad was the intended target.
“Do you have anything new?” I asked him the second Roman and I stepped inside.
Gio turned from the wall to hand me a photo. “Do you know who this is?”
Frowning at him first, I then looked down at the picture. It was Alessandro Lombardi, the current head of their family, with his arm over the shoulders of another man. “Other than Lombardi, am I expected to know this guy?”
“Alex has been telling everyone in their operation that this new stranger is more than an ally. He’s a fucking big shot, according to them, and they’re making no secret of the fact they’re all to treat him as such.”
Looking down again, I tried to find something about him that would trigger acknowledgement. He had honey blonde hair, undetermined eye color, and was somewhere in his fifties. But the shape of his jaw rang some distant bell, and try as I might, I couldn't unring it.
“He looks incredibly familiar,” I murmured.
“That’s what I thought, but in what way? Why does he strike a chord?”
“I really don’t know, and that’s frustrating as fuck.” The urge to pace bugged me, but I pushed it back. Instead, I scooped a hand through my hair. “Have we been down the list of the usual suspects?”
“Yeah, I can’t find any record of his face anywhere. All the other made men and underbosses are accounted for, even in the Russo family.”
“Then why do I feel so strongly as if I know him?”
Gio shrugged. “Take this to your dad. Ask him the same questions.”
“I will.”
“And, for what it’s worth, I’m glad he’s doing better.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Even though it seemed as though God Himself had reached down from the heavens and cured him.
Before heading back to my father, though, I went by the hospital. I knew Sailor was trying to balance his care with her regular schedule, but I couldn't blame her for wanting to get back to work. I would go stir crazy with little to do during the day but check in on an old man.
After stopping by Dr. Hogan’s office, I headed to the surgical suites. As he'd told me, Dr. Wentworth was closing a patient on the table. Watching her through the observation window was a trip; I knew that was what she did for a living, but it was another thing entirely to see it firsthand.
About fifteen minutes later, she disappeared into a different room, soon coming out with paper towels in her hands. Her brows went up when she saw me, and she threw the paper towels in the trash can beside us.
“Is everything okay with Benito?” she asked right away.
“Yes.” Dipping my hands into my pockets, I jingled the change in one of them. Why did the sight of her in scrubs and a surgical cap do something to my insides? “I came to see you.”
If possible, her brows went up further. “Me? Why?”
“To make sure my chat with your CMO made a difference.”
She looked down. “I see the Chief of Staff more frequently than the Chief Medical Officer, meaning Dr. Hogan and I haven't spoken about it. This is my first day back performing surgeries, and I've been too busy to notice if the others are gossiping about me.”
“Understandable.” I wanted so badly to reach out and smooth the creases between her eyebrows. “As for my father . . . I wanted your professional opinion on his miraculous recovery. Do you think he was faking his illness?”
When she looked up, her expression was a tad shocked, though also somewhat resigned. “In all honesty, I wondered the same. But I double checked his x-rays and saw the evidence of pneumonia myself. Not to mention, the after-effects of the bombing—excuse me, the plane crash—are also well documented.”
My heart thumped heavily. All this time, I’d thought she believed my fake explanations. Subconsciously, I moved closer and lowered my voice. “You don't think it was a plane crash?”
Sailor rolled her eyes, showing me she was much more intuitive than I gave her credit for. “No, I don't.”
“Am I really that poor of a liar?”
I stepped even closer, and Sailor backed up until she bumped the wall.
“Sorry to be the one to break the news, but yes. It might have something to do with your reputation.”
“Well, damn.”
“I knew better immediately, but it didn't seem necessary to call you out.”
The urge to touch her became overwhelming, so I reached out until I could brush her fingers with mine. She inhaled sharply, her fingers twitching and her pupils widening as our gazes locked.
“I shouldn't have lied, but I didn't want you to worry about us, that's all.”
“I do worry,” she whispered, then swallowed heavily. “About Benito.”
“Not about me?”
We were so close I could make out the various flecks of green and brown in her eyes. Her scrubs were blue, making her hazel eyes change to a similar shade.
“You’re not someone who needs to be worried about. You're a big boy.”
For some reason, that made me grin. “That I am.”
Just the slightest shift brought my pants whispering against hers. Our arms bumped, and I linked our hands. I wanted to lean in, kiss her softly, and inhale the scent of her skin. With extra caution, treating her as a scared doe, I reached up to run the pad of my thumb over her cheek.
“Dr. Wentworth,” a nurse said, exiting the room Sailor had come from. They looked up from the chart they were holding. “Oh. I'm terribly sorry to interrupt.”
And the spell was broken.
Sailor pushed me away, her face morphing into a reddened version of extreme professionalism. “You don’t even like me, Noah. Go home and check on your father.”
Dismissing me, Dr. Wentworth turned to the nurse and took the chart from them to confirm the aftercare for the patient.
I felt lost, like I’d been seconds from something important and was now floating in the ether.
Every time I got her to drop her walls just a little, she brought them back up as quickly as possible.
And each time, it became even harder to crack her hard outer shell.
Not that I could blame her. I had walls I’d been erecting for decades, and I didn't lower them for anyone. Part of me wondered if I was merely attracted to Sailor’s pretty face, or if I had any actual feelings for her whatsoever.
She’d done an amazing job with my dad, forcing me to admit my defensiveness in the beginning was only due to his refusal to follow the first doctor’s orders.
I expected more of the same, and I’d expected his health to fail further until I lost him for good.
Taking that fear out on Sailor was unfair, but I didn't realize that until she’d been hurt at our house.
Despite my frustration, I left the hospital to head back to the hotel. My father still owed me explanations, I was certain, but I didn't see him choosing to divulge his secrets to me. Not after he’d insisted there weren't any.
The concierge greeted me with a smile, but I barely gave him a glance before heading up in the elevator. Too many things were on my mind, and I had to refocus my attention on the important matters.
Finding my father sitting at the table by the window, I watched him look up at me as I entered the room. His expression was guarded, and it gutted me to see that. We’d always been as close as two people could be, especially after we lost Mom and went from a family of four down to the three of us.
“Do you recognize him?” I asked without preamble, pulling the picture out of my inner coat pocket and handing it over.
Frowning at me, he took the photo. Once he’d given it a cursory glance, he said, “Of course I recognize Alessandro Lombardi.”
“And the other man?” I prompted.
Looking between me and the picture, the corners of his mouth turned down. “No. Am I supposed to?”
That had basically been my response to Gio, and yet it irked me that Dad would say the same thing. What I needed was a breakthrough, not more of the same runaround. “We’re trying to identify the man Lombardi claims is the next big boss in this town.”
“Who is he to make such a bold claim?”
“Yeah, that’s what we’d like to figure out. The more the Lombardis run their mouths, the more likely I am to think they’re the ones targeting us.”
“I’m inclined to think the same.”
Snatching the back of the other chair, I sat heavily beside him. “Why, though? What have we done to them?”
“Not a thing. Honestly, I can’t think of anything egregious, even before we made the peace treaty. We had a bit of tit for tat going on back in the day, but nothing earth-shattering.”
I recalled the things he’d told me about from before I became of age.
He and the elder Lombardi, Oscar, had fucked with each other’s deals and shipments, spied on underbosses, and tried to steal product.
When Alex took over five years ago, he reached out to Dad to make a deal.
We’d back off each other’s territories and stop trying to one-up the other family just for the shits and giggles.
Now, we stayed out of their way, and they stayed out of ours.
“Oscar is on his deathbed, isn’t he? That’s why Alex took over.”
“Yes, but he’s been hanging on for years. I haven’t spoken to him in quite a while, but I could reach out to him personally.”
I rubbed my temples. “Wouldn't Alex view that as offensive? He’s the one in charge now.”
“But I wouldn't be treating it as a boss-to-boss conversation. Just checking in on his health, from one old geezer to another.”
“Please, you’re only fifty-eight, whereas Oscar is eighty. Besides, you’ve proven to not be as much of a geezer as I thought a week ago.”
Dad shrugged. “I stopped being stupid. I had given up, but then I saw the light.”
“Clearly not the one at the end of the tunnel.” Standing, I walked to the window and looked down at Central Park.
I couldn't see the people from that height, but I knew they were down there enjoying themselves.
Ice skating, shopping, or just enjoying the crisp air.
They led such simple lives compared to the life and death going on up here. “Sailor said to tell you hi.”
“You spoke to her?” he asked, sounding entirely too happy about that.
“I asked her to prove to me you weren't lying about your health.”
Behind me, I heard him push the chair back. Then I heard him walk toward me, though he was very quiet when he moved. “You wound me, Nero.”
Without turning, I said, “The only way to fight is dirty, remember?”
“What reason would I have for faking an illness?” he responded.
“To test me.”
“Ever since your first hit eighteen years ago, you’ve made me proud. I have no reason to test your ability to do the job.”
The nagging headache was trying to come back. It seemed as though it reared up every day now, since my father ended up in the hospital the first time.
“Sailor cares about you.” And why did that matter to me so much? “I need you to not play around with her emotions.”
As I faced him, I didn’t miss the way his smile flickered before he smoothed his features out. “Of course not. I care about her too, and wouldn't do that to her.”
I knew he’d been trying to play matchmaker the other night, and once again, I couldn't fathom why he was so invested in Sailor’s well-being. But now I was too, and I felt the need to protect her.
Even if that meant protecting her from me and my father.