Page 79 of Capo

Twenty-Five

Luciano

Tension runs high in my mansion. I don’t sleep more than three or four hours per night. I’ve just gotten off the phone with one of my men, saying they narrowly escaped an attack, a drive-by shooting downtown, and I’m pissed as all hell when Matteo calls.

“It’s almost time,” he says. “Three days top.”

My heart speeds up. “About fucking time. I’ll tell Eric to coordinate our men.”

“How’s everyone,” he asks. “I talk with Nate daily and I know Chris is still in a coma, but Ivan? Your girl?”

“Awake, and none of your business,” I growl. “Get to work.”

Ivan woke up this morning. I have no news of Chloe. No news is good news in my book.

“Boss.” Dustin comes darting into the office without even knocking.

I slam my laptop closed and look at him expectantly, sudden concern pinching my chest at his widened eyes.

“Call. For you. You wanna take this.” He hands me a cell phone and I look suspiciously at it and then back at Dustin as I put it to my ear.

“Salvatore speaking.”

A voice I don’t recognize stumbles over the words as he introduces himself. I hear ‘doctor’ and my heart races as I think it’s about Ivan.

“I have been instructed to call you. Your friend Mrs. Wokowska is in our care. She was in great pain. There’s not much we can do other than make her remaining time as peaceful as possible.”

“What?” I clutch the phone, my hand suddenly sweaty. “What the fuck’s wrong with Elena?”

“Your friend has stage four breast cancer. I’m so sorry Mr. Salvatore, I thought you knew. She’s been an out-patient with the palliative care for the last couple of months and I’m afraid she doesn’t have long.”

I can’t breathe. Not Elena. Not fucking now! My insides freeze as his words penetrate my mind.

“Where?” I growl and hold Dustin’s gaze as I put the phone on loudspeaker.

“Again, I’m so terribly sorry, I was led to believe you were aware of the situation,” stutters the doctor.

“Where?” I roar.

Dustin reaches for a pen and paper and scribbles down the instructions. I disconnect and dart to my feet, the feeling of urgency wrapping around my chest tightly.

“Go, go, go!” I storm past him. The sky is falling down on me and I have tunnel vision the whole way to the hospice. It’s as if every noise is too loud and clunky, and at the same time cotton is wrapped around my brain, muffling every sensory input.

I’m afraid when we enter the building. I am never afraid and the feeling infuriates me. Dark clouds whirl around me and my jaw is so clenched that I can barely speak.

“Elena Wokowska,” I grit out.

The girl at the reception taps at her keyboard. “Are you family, sir?”

“Fuck’s sake! Yes!” I almost explode at the inane question and force myself not to grab her collar and pull her to me.

Her lips tighten as she pins me with her gaze. She looks to be about twenty-five, young, inexperienced, but in this moment her features sharpen and take on a no-bullshit expression. “We have severely ill patients here. I suggest you leave your temper at the door or else I’ll have you out of the building in two seconds.”

I lean in, my worry over Elena, over every lost second making the void in my heart grow. “Do you fucking know who I am?”

The girl stands, puts her hand under the counter, no doubt on an alarm button. “I don’t, and I don’t care. I know you’re afraid. It often turns into aggression. It’s natural. Don’t escalate this. My concern is the well-being of our patients. Do you understand?”

Dustin lays a hand on my arm. “Boss.”

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