3

The sun was bright in the early morning, but the January air was cold. NewYork-Presbyterian was still crammed with folks and law enforcement. It was just after nine o’clock, and Lucky, Maxine, and Choppa were asleep in the lobby. Their bodies were stiff from being in the uncomfortable and small hospital chairs for hours. Bugsy, however, hadn’t slept. He paced around the hospital floor and made phone calls. There was still no word on his father or Meyer, and it had been hours already.

Bugsy had gone up and asked for updates on Scott and Meyer each hour, and it felt like he was being stonewalled. He didn’t know if his loved ones were dead or alive. He felt like he could put his fist through a brick wall. If the FBI wasn’t on the scene, he would have flipped out and gone ballistic.

He stirred his sister awake. She opened her eyes with a frown. Sleeping in a small, uncomfortable chair wasn’t her idea of a good night’s sleep.

Lucky looked up at her brother and asked with urgency, “Any word on anyone?”

“Nah, I’m still waiting,” he said.

It was ridiculous. They were a powerful family, and it was embarrassing for them to wait like common folks. Lucky leaped up from her seat. It had been long enough. Something had to be done.

“Fuck this shit!” she yelled.

Maxine awoke too. She had a small crick in her neck from sleeping coiled in the chair. It was slightly painful, but she slowly turned her head in the direction of the siblings. Her eyes looked over at Lucky and Bugsy fretting about something. Her heart skipped a beat. Had Scott’s condition worsened—or was he dead? She removed herself from the chair and wanted to approach them, but she stood away with caution, knowing how Lucky felt about her. She wasn’t in the mood to argue with anyone.

Bugsy looked her way. He showed nothing—his expression was pokerfaced. Seeing no tears and no grief was a good sign.

Bugsy signaled Choppa. Choppa walked toward him and awaited his orders. They were simple.

“Go get everyone some coffee and breakfast,” said Bugsy, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of hundreds. He peeled off a C-note and put it into his lieutenant’s hands.

As an afterthought, he said, “And when you’re done with that, I want you to go find Layla.”

Choppa nodded. “I’m on it.” He turned and marched off.

Bugsy pivoted and he and Lucky marched toward the nurses station. Maxine was right behind them. She didn’t care anymore. She needed to know something. It was her fiancé fighting for his life.

The staff from last night was gone, and a new batch of nurses and orderlies were on duty and spreading the juicy gossip about two notorious patients who came in code blue last night. They were excited to hear the scandalous details of an alleged drug kingpin in their hospital—Scott West and his son. Was it a gang hit? Was it the cartel? There were rumors about Scott West, but none of them were ever confirmed. He pranced around the city a legitimate and shrewd businessman, philanthropist, and a playboy with wealth beyond their dreams.

Bugsy heard them and interrupted their gossip with, “I’m his son, Bugsy West, and I want to know how my father and brother are doing.”

The gossip was instantly silenced, but a petite white nurse right away snickered at his name.

“Bugsy—as in Bugsy Siegel?”

Before Bugsy could reply, Lucky shouted, “You find something funny? People are in here dying, and all you care about is the origin of his name? Get off my brother’s dick, bitch, and do your job!” The joke was getting old. Lucky was so tired of everyone asking the obvious about their names.

Instantly, the young nurse was intimidated. Lucky approached her, and the look on her face pushed the nurse into a full blown panic.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” she tried to apologize.

“You are a sorry-ass, silly bitch!” Lucky continued to rant.

The young, frightened nurse had a coworker, Adriana—an LPN who wasn’t as fearful of the petite loudmouth.

“And you’re a wannabe—” Adriana did air quotes, “—gangster bitch!”

Lucky’s head swiveled and her eyes connected with the young Italian woman. The dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty had an edge. They glared at each other and things quickly got ratchet.

“I will beat fire out of you,” Lucky warned. She was about to turn up and no longer cared about the feds.

“Oh, please!” Adriana mocked. “Does that routine really work on people? Am I supposed to fear you because you’ve misappropriated my culture? Where I come from the real Bugsy and Meyer are our brothers and uncles—not names jacked from a fictional movie.”

“Who’s the wannabe now? Nurse Jackie in here pretending to be mob affiliated.” Lucky shook her head and laughed. “Bitch, have several seats.”

Adriana wasn’t pretending at all. Her husband ran a faction of the Gambino mob out of Staten Island. Both of her uncles were made men, and her grandfather was one of the forefathers of the Bonanno crime family. Adriana’s family was Cosa Nostra; she had generations of mafiosos in her bloodline to prove it.

“I pity you,” Adriana admonished. “I’ll be quiet now, though. I was taught to not argue with fools.”

“Fool?” Lucky was insulted. “Guido.”

“Niglet.”

“Dead bitch!”

“Dead-eye!”

Lucky lost it. “Say it again! Say it again, bitch!”

Bugsy stood silent with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Lucky had to learn when to be quiet and when to pop off. Now wasn’t the time. She and Meyer were hotheads who thought everything could be solved through insults and brute force.

Finally, the supervisors hurried to aid the nurses and called security to defuse the situation. Since last night, everyone had been on edge. Agents quickly intervened and their presence provided quick comfort to the staff. One particular agent, Agent Devonsky, scowled at Bugsy and Lucky. Lucky returned the matching look.

They heard the agent say, “You’re next.”

Devonsky was itching to put the silver bracelets around Lucky’s wrists, and Lucky was ready for a battle with everyone. Her emotions were in overdrive. She was angry, and everyone was to blame.

The surgeon who operated on Scott eventually moved through the double doors and glided their way with his hands in his white lab coat, a stethoscope around his neck, and a look that no one could read. He was tall and aging with salt-and-pepper hair. His brown eyes were tired and bloodshot as if he had been up for days. All eyes were on him. Maxine grew more nervous the closer he approached.

“Are you the family of Scott West?”

Bugsy and Lucky jumped to attention and confirmed that they were.

“I’m Doctor Pym, one of the surgeons. He’s successfully pulled through his surgery.”

There was a sigh of relief from everyone. Maxine felt herself climbing out of tragedy, but she wasn’t out the frying pan yet.

“We were able to remove all but one bullet. The bullet penetrated the chest wall, and it damaged and collapsed his lung. We were able to stop the bleeding in his lungs and we removed one of his lobes. He’s awake and resting now.”

It was one down and one to go.

“And what about our brother, Meyer?” Lucky asked him.

“He’s in critical condition. He suffered massive internal trauma and he lost a lot of blood. He’s still in ICU. We’re monitoring his condition constantly, but he might not live through the night.”

It was devastating news. They couldn’t lose Meyer—not another sibling. If there was a time for prayer, it would be now.

Maxine didn’t give two fucks about Meyer, but she stood there and listened anyway. There was a part of her that hoped he would die, but she kept that to herself. As long as Scott was alive and awake, she was fine.

Dr. Pym turned and departed from the family. He was exhausted. They were left to contemplate their situation. Bugsy didn’t show any emotions. His eyes didn’t water, but inside he was grieving about his brother’s condition. Lucky, however, was falling apart. If Meyer were to die, it would send her over the edge.