Chapter 2-1
725 Words
Chapter 2
Junior
I’m still mostly functioning on autopilot. Probably in shock in my own alpha asshole way.
Even so, I know pulling Desiree into this situation was wrong.
I’m breaking one of our sacred rules—don’t involve or corrupt the innocent.
But she was the first person I thought of and the only one I fully trust to save Gio. Yeah, we have a few veterinarian connections we’ve used in the past, but it’s been years. They must be in their eighties now—friends of my grandfather. I don’t know who we can trust anymore.
And if Gio dies, it’s all on me. I’ll never forgive myself. I keep questioning my judgment on not bringing him to the hospital, but if I do, the Russians’ deaths will be pinned on him. Or on me. f**k! —on us.
This is how my father would’ve handled it. We’ve treated bullet wounds in-house before. Just not immediate family. Paolo, Luca and Mario follow us in.
I pull Desiree into the house, jog up the stairs, still holding her hand.
She’s all piss and vinegar, dragging her feet to show me her reluctance, but underneath it, I smell her fear.
Which is for the best. I need her afraid. In my line of work, fear is an integral part of business.
We reach the landing and I turn toward the guest bedroom where Paolo helped me carry Gio, who had passed out by the time we arrived.
“Oh shit.” Desiree sees Gio. She strips off her coat and throws it on the floor as she runs into the room.
Relief hits me square between the eyes. Any worries I had that I’d have to coerce her to even look at him evaporate. She’s already in nurse mode, zeroing in on her patient.
“Your brother.”
She’s met him, then.
Or maybe she just sees the resemblance.
“Let me see.” She pries the blood-soaked washcloth from his wound. “Gunshot wound,” she mutters. “Help me roll him to the side to check for an exit wound.”
I’ve already noted one, but I help her see for herself.
“Good, that’s good. It means we won’t have to go digging out a bullet. How much blood has he lost?”
I don’t know if she expects me to give an actual calculation, but all I can do is hold up the first towel he went through before the current washcloth.
“Great. That’s a good sign, too. There would be way more blood if it hit anything major.”
I’d already guessed at the same, but I don’t disturb her process. “Tell me what you need.” I lift my chin at Paolo, who’s standing in the doorway. He pulls out his phone, thumb hovering over the keypad.
“A needle and thread to close the wounds. Gauze to pack them. Saline. Lots of saline—to keep them clean. I can use Everclear or some other alcohol in a pinch, but I’d really prefer saline. And I’ll need IV needles—21 gauge if you can get them. And the bags and tubes. Sodium potassium for the IV. And an antibiotic. Is he allergic to penicillin?”
“No.” My throat closes, a fresh rush of fear for Gio flooding me.
“Then penicillin.”
“Hang on. Back up. I didn’t get it all,” Paolo mutters.
She repeats the list for him. “Also, any pain killer or muscle relaxant would be good, because it’s going to hurt like hell for a good while.”
“Got it,” Paolo says.
I’m feeling better about my decision to involve Desiree by the minute. Her swift, incisive action is exactly how she won over my impossible-to-please ma when she worked for her. She’s excellent at what she does.
And so very nice on the eyes, too.
Not that I dragged her here for that.
She eyes the b****y towels again. “I don’t think we’ll need a blood transfusion.”
“If we do, you can take my blood,” I say quickly. I remember getting typed when we were kids and we Tacones were all the same—O positive.
“Or mine,” Paolo says. He’s nearly as pale as Gio.
“Is that it for medical supplies?” I ask.
“In the trunk of my car is a med kit. I’d like to have that, too.”
“Get her car somewhere safe,” I tell Paolo.
“On it,” Paolo mutters, leaving.
I don’t have a clue where he’s going to get all the s**t she needs, but I know he’ll figure it the f**k out, just like he somehow figured out how to find and bring Desiree. This is our brother’s life on the line.
- Writer
