Page 17 of Bloody Union

“So many secrets, Makenna.” My voice is low but there’s a bite to it.

She laughs, “Oh, Dante, you have no idea who the hell you’ve married. I’ve so many fucking secrets I’m drowning in them.”

Everyone’s silent as we weave through the city, heading toward the suburbs. I’m wondering where the hell she’s leading us, when she comes to a stop at an iron gate; trees surround it so you can’t see anything. From outside it looks as though it’s an abandoned lot, but when Makenna drives through the gates, I realize it’s a fucking mansion. The building is at least five stories high, huge windows cover the majority of the downstairs as well as scattered around the upper floors. There’s an obnoxious sculpture of a cherub on the lawn. Everything about this place screams money. It doesn’t fit with what I have seen of Makenna so far. She’s not flashy like her father.

The garage door opens and she drives into it. Before anyone can react, she’s turning off the car and sliding out. I’m a nanosecond behind her, rushing to her side and opening the door to get Alessio out. “Let’s go, we need to get the bullet out and stop the bleeding.”

She leads us to an elevator, where she punches in a code. The doors slide open and she waves for us to go ahead. The doors close and she hits the button, the elevator purrs as it starts to ascend. “Holy shit, this is like some James Bond type shit.” Romero breathes and I want to rip his fucking head off for the look he’s giving my wife.

“Angela?” Makenna yells as soon as we’re out of the elevator.

“Mrs Bianchi…” A woman in her late fifties appears, wiping her hands on a cloth that’s attached to her apron. “I have the room set up, please let me know if you need anything.”

The two women start walking and I’m getting fucking annoyed; I hate being in the dark. Finally we reach a door and Makenna opens it. “Put him on the bed,” she instructs gently as her eyes survey the room and the instruments at the side of the bed. “Angela, the doc will be arriving soon, please let him in when he gets here.”

“Of course, Mrs Bianchi.”

“Shit,” Makenna groans as she rubs her head. “Angela this is my husband, Dante, and his brothers, Romero and Alessio.”

“Mr Bianchi.” She grins at me and shakes my hand, taking my attention away from my wife and to the woman shaking my hand as though she’s just met the damn pope. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Can I get you anything? Coffee, beer, whiskey?”

“Whiskey neat, please, Ma’am.”

She nods, “Certainly sir.” She turns on her heel and leaves the room.

“Dante, take your belt off please.” Makenna asks and I see her looking over Alessio. She’s taken off his jacket and ripped open his shirt, blood pooling from his wound. He’s lost a lot of blood; too much blood.

I frown but do as she asks. As soon as I hand it to her, she folds it in half and turns her attention back to Alessio. “I’m really sorry, but this is going to hurt. I’m going to need you to bite down on this.” As soon as he does, she goes silent, putting on a pair of disposable gloves and picks up tweezers. “He’s going to end up passing out. There’s no other way, I don’t have anything to give him for the pain.” She looks at me and I see the depth of despair in her eyes, she’s worried about hurting him. Does she think that I’ll punish her for doing so? I nod, unable to say anything.

I watch in sick fascination as she gets to work, pulling the bullet out of him; Alessio grunts around the belt, his eyes full of pain. Romero slides up beside me, he too hasn’t been able to take his eyes off the scene in front of him. “Angela?” Makenna yells and instantly the lady is rushing into the room, two glasses of Whiskey in her hands and passes them to Romero and I.

“Yes, Mrs Bianchi?”

“Jesus, Angela, how long have you known me?” Her tone isn’t impatient, instead full of love.

“Since you were six.”

Makenna nods, “And yet you still won’t call me Makenna.”

Angela shakes her head, “Oh no, I can’t do that.”

Makenna grimaces before sighing. “Fine. Will you please call the doc and see what’s taking him so damn long?” She glances at me, “What blood type is Alessio?”

I stare at her in confusion, how the fuck am I supposed to know that shit?

“Angela, find out his blood type and inform the doc, he’s going to need a transfusion.”

“Of course, I’ll do that right away. Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you. I’m okay. I’m almost done here, I just need doc and the blood.”

Angela nods and runs out of the room. “I just have to stitch him up, thankfully, it didn’t hit anything major. He’s lost a lot of blood but he’ll be fine as long as it doesn’t get infected. Once the doctor gets here, he’ll give him the antibiotics and transfusion.”

“Jesus, how the hell do you know how to do this shit?” Romero asks as she begins to put stitches in Alessio.

“Practice, years and years of practice,” she murmurs, her attention fully on what she’s doing.

I’m wondering even more what secrets she holds; this woman is a mystery, one I intend on solving.

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