Page 65 of Capo

Twenty-One

Luciano

Eric has called twice. I listen to the voicemail, my heart speeding up to a mad staccato at his words, then I call Dustin and charge through the hallway. Ivan is hanging on by a thread down at Zuckerberg, and I couldn’t care less about what state my house is in, or who is here. We’re leaving now. I can’t lose Ivan. I can’t see a future where I wouldn’t have the man by my side.

There are cops everywhere. A senior detective I know vaguely comes up to me to talk, but I push past him. “Later,” I growl and stride out the front door. Dustin waits by the car. He has to zig-zag between the vehicles in my front yard and mow down a couple of bushes, but soon we’re speeding down the hill. I call Eric.

“Talk to me.”

“Ivan’s in the OR. They’re pulling bullets out of his chest as we speak.”

“Everybody else?”

“We had a couple of losses. Matteo is fine.”

“Luca?”

“He didn’t even make it to the airport back in Chicago before all hell broke loose here, Luci. He’s on his way, though.”

“What happened. Why did you go in? Why didn’t you wait for nightfall?”

“They were packing up and were on the move. We decided to strike while we had them gathered.”

I can’t argue with that logic. “And who the fuck are the three mongrels lying scattered all over my bedroom? Who attacked my house?”

“I can only assume they had a backup plan to take you out and that someone made the call.”

“Three people? That’s fucking insulting.”

“Seems to me that was enough.”

“They knew the house was almost empty,” I say, gritting my teeth. Almost empty.

“What about the staff?”

“I don’t fucking know,” I snarl. “I left the house crawling with cops and EMTs. Whoever lives, lives.”

“Cops?”

“Didn’t have much of a fucking choice. We’ll sort that out later,” I growl as I glance out the window. “Where can I find you? I’ll be with you in a few.”

Dustin pulls up outside the fancy red brick and glass entrance of the Zuckerberg Trauma Center as Eric explains where he is. I instruct Dustin to gather our people and to get the situation back under control, and that no one touches my private wing.

Eric sits frozen as if he’s a statue, staring emptily in front of him, his fists clenched. His face is emotionless as he looks up at me. “We’ve never been this bad off, Luci.”

“Is there any-fucking-one I can talk to anywhere? I need some clarity.”

Eric tilts his head toward a glass booth in the far-right corner. The young nurse widens her eyes as our gazes meet. I don’t know what the fuck I look like, and I don’t care. “Ivan Sokolov,” I growl. “I need an update on his state. Pronto.”

“I’m, I’m sorry, sir… Are you next of kin?”

I slam my fist on the desk. “That’s none of your fucking business. I need a doctor. Give me someone who can give me some answers!”

She darts up, the chair shooting backward, hitting the wall, making a pile of papers scatter. “They’re working on him, sir,” she says pleadingly and lifts a phone. “Please just sit, or I’ll need to call the guard.”

I lean forward, clenching my jaw. “I am Luciano Salvatore. If you call anyone I’ll find out where you fucking live. Do you understand?”

“Someone will be with you as soon as they know anything,” she whispers, her face ashen.

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