Chapter 132 133

Chapter 132 133
I pace around the studio when the front door slams, unable to paint, unable to focus. I wish it was just one way or the other. LLet us hate each other, or let us love each other. But this swirling maelstrom of confusing and contradiction? It’s so, so much worse.

31

Carlo

The war with the Irish rages on over the next few days. They burn one of our pizza joints. We firebomb a shipment of electronics coming straight from Dublin. They send a messenger to tell us that the Elephant wants to make a peace deal. We send him back one finger lighter, letting him know that he’s lucky his messenger isn’t in a box. I probably sleep two or three hours out of every twenty-four. And yet, somehow, I still find time to dream of Hazel.

One night, I dream that Angel and Hazel are playing Scrabble together. I just watch them from the doorway. Angel is the same little boy he was when he died. Hazel ruffles his hair. I wake covered in sweat, telling myself for the hundredth time that she lied, that I hate her …

But it’s getting harder to believe. The way she looked when I told her I’d take the baby was horrifying. And that story her father told her… Even if it’s not true, just imagine hearing something like that from your father. She deserves so much better.

I’m still caught up in the dream for a few hazy moments, so I don’t realize that my cell phone is vibrating from the table. I fell asleep in the library. It’s four in the morning.

“Yes?” I say, knowing it’ll be bad news.

I’m not wrong.

Nario is in the hospital, the Albino tells me. Nario was attacked on his way to Sole Nero. Nario is in critical condition. Nario, my second and my closest friend, is knocking on death’s door.

I run through the mansion to the garage, grab the keys to my sports bike from the wall and leap behind the handlebars. I don’t bother with the leather or the helmet, just screech out into the night and feel the cold sting of the wind on my face.

I drive fast. The ride is quick. I pull up outside the hospital and sprint through the ward, cursing as I slide on the linoleum floor in my polished shoes.

Finally, I find him. The Albino leans against the wall outside, looking up and down the hallway almost like he wants the Irish to attack.

“How bad is it?”

Maury makes the sign of the cross. “First Durante, now Nario Sartori. This must end, Carlo, one way or the other.”

“Is he awake?”

He nods. “The last time I checked.”

When I get into the hospital room, I have to work hard to convince myself that the man in the bed is Nario Sartori. He’s always been thin, and lately his hair has turned gray, but his skin has never been this pale. He looks more like Maury, the Albino. His heart monitor beeps and he can only turn his eyes at my entrance. He can’t turn his head. He’s in a really bad way.

“Jesus. What the fuck happened?”

He smiles. He’s covered in bandages and one leg is propped up.

“It looks worse than it is,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Four gunshot wounds. They’ve pumped me full of drugs, Carlo, so if I say anything stupid, like that you’re handsomer or funnier than me, you can blame the narcotics.”

“You sound thirsty.”

He manages a nod.

I grab the water from the bedside table and hold it to his lips. Something in me breaks when it dribbles down his chin.

“Who did this?” I ask. “The Irish, of course. But who? Did you get a good look at them?”

“It was Benjamin, Carlo,” Nario whispers. “I was leaving the club by the back door and he just came out of nowhere—”

“Wait, Benjamin? I thought he was in intensive care with internal bleeding?”

“Why did you think that?” he asks.

I remind him about the bug I’ve got on Hazel’s apartment, how I eavesdropped on the phone call with her brother.

“Oh, of course,” he mutters. His voice is getting hazier. I wonder how long until the drugs knock him out. “You shouldn’t have done that, Carlo.”

“What?” I almost laugh. “Stay on point, man.”

Nario sighs. “He attacked. We lost. He ran. That’s all there is to it.”

I lean back, cracking my knuckles. The cut on my forearm, the most stubborn of my injuries, is pulsing like it might tear open again.

“We have something he wants,” I say. “We have his daughter. Any other don in my position would offer to trade Colleen Sweeney to end the fighting, or use her as bait, or something. We have a weapon we haven’t even thought about using.”

Nario just looks at me. After a long pause, he says, “Are you considering it now?”

I want to tell him yes. I want to tell him I have killed the part of me that felt anything for her. I want to tell him I’ve made myself as cold as I need to be to make sure the Family lives on for generations.

“No,” I sigh. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Good.”

“Good? Look at what they did to you. There’s nothing good about any of this.”

He smiles. His scar puckers. “It’s good to see you happy for once, that’s what.” His voice is almost too quiet to hear now, fading to less than a whisper. I have to lean in. “Ever since we were kids, you’ve been looking for someone who could put up with your bullshit. And you found her. And now you’re going to cry because she isn’t exactly what you thought she was? She didn’t kill Angel, Carlo. She didn’t want any of this.”

I tell myself it’s the drugs. Nario wouldn’t be saying any of this otherwise. Or maybe that’s only half true. Maybe the drugs are just letting him say what he’d otherwise keep to himself.

“Just sleep, you sentimental bastard,” I sigh. “And don’t worry. We’ll make this right.”

As I stand up, the door opens and Sil steps in, the children hugging her legs, peeking around at their father. She meets my eyes and I read the message; what she can’t say with them here.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’ll make sure to put this right, Sil. You have my word.”

“You better,” she whispers. “Where is Hazel?”

I shake my head. “Not here.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“It would be good to have some female company.” She shrugs. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

I laugh, squeezing her shoulder. “He’s the toughest man I’ve ever met. This? It’s just his idea of a vacation.”

She smiles gratefully and then bustles past me, sitting down and giving Nario’s hand a squeeze. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, mister.” She giggles, but she’s crying. “I had some beautiful arancini balls in the oven for you, and then you, oh, of course you find a way to spoil it.” She leans down and presses her cheek against his hand. The children make as if to clamber onto the bed next to him, stopping only when Sil pushes them softly down.