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Saks tried calling Oakie, but couldn’t get through. Louis watched as Saks dropped the phone on his lap. He sat on the couch, feeling like shit. Despite telling Louis to leave several times, the detective refused to budge.
Louis’ phone buzzed with a tone for text message. He looked at it and his lips drew a tight line. “I have to get back to the precinct.”
“Then go.”
“I’m not leaving you alone here, idiot. Someone shot one of yours and I’m not sure if you’re next.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Those words are evidence of severe blood loss. Maybe it got lost on the way to your dick.”
“Ass.”
“Idiot.”
“We should’ve been brothers,” said Saks with a shallow laugh. It stung anyway because of the movement of his chest.
“We talk like brothers. And I’m going to look out for you like you’re one. My mother would kill me if she found out I left you here.”
“Moms are lethal.”
“Rocco moms are. So, you have a choice: The hospital or your parents’.”
Saks groaned. What did he hate more? The overbearing and intrusive nurses of the hospital, or the nosiness of his mother and his sister.
At least his mother had lasagna. And not the cheap stuff you get out of the grocery freezer.
“My parents’.”
Now settled into his old bedroom, staring at the memorabilia of his childhood, the Kurt Cobain poster, his collection of Transformers, his sports awards, he did feel like a child.
Or, rather, less of a man.
The whole thing with Chrissy? What a clusterfuck. He didn’t know what set her off. But she was nuts. One minute she made love to him in the sweetest way possible, and then when he asked her to marry him she got weird. What was that about? She knew he loved her. He was pretty sure she loved him.
Okay, he hadn’t helped things but getting angry with her. But there was only so much a man could take. He’d sustained more physical injuries in one week of knowing Chrissy than he’d received in his entire life. And that included high school football.
His father called in the guy he used to patch up associates who got hurt on the job. Saks didn’t know his name and the guy never gave it out. Saks didn’t know if the guy was an actual doctor, or nurse, or some paramedic. But the man’s hands were steady as he looked at Saks’ wound, cleaned it, and put a fresh dressing on it.
“You need several days’ rest.”
“Yeah,” said Saks. “I got that now.”
“No more time in the sack with the lovelies until that wound stops draining.”
“Got it.”
“Not that you shouldn’t walk around. You don’t want pneumonia or a blood clot from inactivity.”
“That can happen?”
“Yes. More with older people, but you don’t want to take a chance.”
“Fine.”
“Dress the wound every day. And no showers without covering it up watertight with plastic.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Wise guy, eh?”
Saks shivered. Wise guy was the slang for Mafia members. Saks had avoided that lifestyle like the plague. Now, he was on the outs with his boss and best friend, he’d lost his girl, one of his brothers in the club had been shot, and he was holing up in his parents’ house.
When did his life turn to muck?
The medic saw him shiver, and stuck a thermometer in his mouth.
When it beeped, he studied it. “No fever. Good. But if you do get one, go back to the hospital. You do not want this to get infected.”
“I’ll remember.”
“You have any pain medicine?”
“The police confiscated it for evidence.”
Without missing a beat or questioning Saks’ explanation, he pulled out a bottle of pills and counted out ten. “This should get you through a day or two. No more than one every four to six hours. I’ll have more delivered to you in the morning.”
“Thanks,” said Saks, marveling at the service. Uncle Vits must pay him well.
“No problem.” He left as Terri, Saks’ sister, sauntered in, rubbernecking the medic as he left.
“He’s cute.”
“I have it on good authority that his boyfriend would take exception to your predatory statement.”
“You lie,” she accused.
Saks chuckled and stopped. His shoulder hurt too much. “Get me a glass of water so I can take a pill.”
Terri came back with a tiny paper cup from the bathroom.
“Gee. That’ll slack my thirst.” He downed one of the pain pills and took the water like a shot of whiskey.
“Momma sent me in here to check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look like shit.”
“Is that your considered medical opinion?”
“It’s your sister’s opinion, which is more important. Damn, Anthony. Why did you have to get shot?”
“I was protecting our cousin, that’s why.”
“Which cousin?”
“Luigi.”
“The detective? The police detective needs you to protect him?”
“You weren’t there. Yes. It had to be done or we’d be attending his funeral.”
“Not me. He’s a blood traitor.”
“When you grow up, you’ll understand this shit better,” he said, in mock imitation of his father’s voice.
“If you’re going to be disagreeable, I’ll leave.”
“Go. I need to sleep. Doc said to rest. Can’t seem to get that anywhere.”
As soon as Terri left, his mother came in with a plate of lasagna. Damn, were they lined up in the hall to see him?
“I have your favorite, Anthony, to help you get back your strength.”
Saks smiled tiredly. He was hungry, but didn’t have the energy to eat. In fact, food seemed pointless now. “You’re a good woman, Ma.”
She put the tray on his lap.
“You’ll find one of your own someday.”
“What?”
“A good woman.”
“I’m not so sure,” he said, looking out the window.
“What? What’s wrong, Anthony?”
He sighed. “I’ve screwed things up badly.”
“Language, Anthony.”
He huffed with wry amusement. Only his mother would think the word “screw” was swearing. “Sorry, Ma. Anyway, I did find a good one. Only, she doesn’t want me.”
“Then she isn’t a good one.” His mother said this with absolute certainty, and he chuckled.
“She was. Beautiful, like you, Ma, and she knows her mind, just like you, and she loved me like no other woman.”
“Who is this paragon of virtue?”
“Christina Serafini.”
“Serafini?” said his mother with disbelief.
“Yep. Chrissy.”
“I thought you hated her.”
“Hate is a little too strong a word. Don’t get me wrong. When we get together the sparks fly.”
“They do?”
“But we are just as apt to argue as make love.”
“You went to bed with this woman?” Her mouth gaped open.
“Don’t act so shocked. I’m a grown man, you know.”
“But Pandolfo Serafini said—”
“I wouldn’t listen to him. He didn’t gauge Chrissy right at all.”
“He didn’t?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
“You did?” Her eyes grew wide.
“Yep,” he said as he took his first stabs at cutting the lasagna with one hand. The wide noodles slid on the plate, defying his efforts. “And she turned me down.”
“She went to bed with you, and then wouldn’t marry you?”
“Yes.”
“Then she’s a sl—”
“Don’t go there, Ma. Things are different from when you were growing up.” He kept struggling to cut his lasagna with one hand, so she took the knife and fork to cut the square into more manageable sections.
“Not so different when I was, oh, younger than you,” said his mother, attacking the lasagna with gusto.
“Oh?”
“I wouldn’t have worn white at my wedding, except my mother insisted.”
“Ma!”
“But only with your father. I loved him enough, it didn’t matter when we...well, anyway. Let’s just say we used our honeymoon to refine our technique.”
“Oh, Ma. TMI,” he laughed. His mother handed him back his knife and fork.
She sighed. “But things weren’t easy for us, either. Your Grandfather Rocco wasn’t happy I wasn’t marrying a “real” Italian.”
“What? Dad’s got Italian blood.”
“Well, back then a man couldn’t enter the organization unless he was a full-blooded Italian. Things have eased up since then. At least, for the Roccos.”
“Ma, you know I don’t want to hear about the business.”
“All I’m trying to say, son, is that if you love someone enough you find a way to make things work.”
“What? You wouldn’t mind a Serafini as a daughter-in-law?”
“If she was the right woman for you, I wouldn’t care if she had webbed feet and dressed like a penguin. All that matters is that you make each other happy.” She patted Saks on the leg. “I’ve got dishes to do. Your sister will come and take your tray when you’re done. Get some rest. You look like crap.” She stood and paused at the door. “If you and Chrissy are meant to be, then wild horses couldn’t keep you apart.”
