Dad nodded. "You're a hero, Tomasso. About a dozen witnesses and three traffic cameras caught you ramming Frakes's vehicle. By the way, that was his name—the bomber and driver. Leonard Frakes."
"Mr. Frakes is in surgery," Dom added, "since your little stunt did a number on him. After that, the FBI will be taking him into custody."
I looked at the doctor, who pulled a face and left the room. "And the Seattle PD?"
"They're happy because they were the ones to get first arrest on the guy," Dom said, "although I think Fritz and Taguchi are having a coronary right now. You're a certified hero, and there's no way in hell they can even approach you, and that's going to hold up for a long time. After all, they still have to convict this guy, and that's going to start a whole new news cycle about your heroism."
I shook my head, stopping when a pounding pain started to bounce from temple to temple. I guess I did have a concussion after all. "And Luisa?"
"She's getting checked out for some minor bruising, but she’s fine," Dad said. "You, on the other hand, have a broken ankle and a dislocated shoulder. The shoulder wasn't much—the doctors said that they popped it back in soon after getting here, but the ankle . . . they're not sure, but you might need surgery."
I looked down at the lumpy air cast at the foot of my bed and realized that my ankle did look a little wonky. Something about the angle, or perhaps the way it turned or something. "I don't feel any pain. What does our favorite grumpy family doctor have to say about it?" I asked, and Dom was the one to laugh.
"We'll check. We've been a little busy running the other loose ends down."
At the mention of loose ends, my smile disappeared, and I looked down. "Guess I screwed up, didn't I? I'm sorry."
Dad glanced at Dominic, who nodded and left the room. Alone, just the two of us, I was surprised when he patted me on my good shoulder. “You did good. You did our family proud today."
I straightened up, smiling, and he continued. “You rest. I'll keep these vultures in the press taken care of. Most of them owe me favors anyway. Dominic can take care of the law. They'll want a statement, of course, but we can delay that a few days. The cops don't care too much—they have Frakes, and they’ve got plenty on him. And Luisa apologized for not telling you she was going shopping, and that her stress was too much for her to deal with."
I nodded, reminding myself to talk to her about that later.
He patted me on the shoulder again, then looked out at the hallway. "Okay. I'll let you rest, and go handle things. I should give Luisa's father a call. He'll be happy to know that the person responsible was caught.”
Dad left, and I looked out the window of my room for a little bit. I was sleepy, and I let my eyes droop shut for a while, only to be woken up when a nurse came in. "Mr. Bertoli? Try not to fall asleep—doctor's orders. At least, not for another four or five hours."
"Well, you could have given me something less sleep-inducing than whatever the hell it is you pumped into me," I grumped, exhausted. My body was already all screwed up because of the swings in sleep and work, and now I had trauma and drugs pumping through my body. I wasn't suffering from concussion issues—I was fucking tired. "What time is it, anyway?"
"Four thirty," the nurse said. "And if you need, I can turn on some television. It's not much, but it might help keep you awake. Dinner comes around in a half-hour, but you're on a liquid-only diet today. Hospital concussion protocol."
There was a polite knock at the door, and I turned to see Luisa, a bandage on her cheek and her wrist wrapped in an ACE bandage, but still looking better than anything else I'd seen so far. "May I come in?"
The nurse gave her an approving nod and left, closing the door behind her. Luisa walked closer and stood next to my bed. We looked at each other for a minute, trying to find the words to break through everything we both wanted to say. I cleared my throat, and she scratched underneath her bandage, then finally, she looked at the blanket over my lower body.
"How's the leg?" she asked, looking down. She reached out hesitantly before laying her uninjured hand on my thigh, above the bulge of my splint.
I cleared my throat again and put my hand over hers. "I might need surgery, they said. If anything, I'll be wearing a cast for a while. I don't feel much yet, at least. How's your wrist? They didn’t tell me about that.”
She raised her arm up and showed it to me. “It’s nothing—just sprained. I’m supposed to wear this for a few days, but I think it’s just for show.”
"That’s good," I said. "I'm glad you didn't get hurt."
Luisa smiled, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "You were very noble today. Stupid, brave, wonderful, and crazy too. But noble for sure."
She took my right hand and stroked it with her thumb, looking at me as she thought about what to say next. I knew what I had to say first, though. "Luisa, I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too," she replied softly. "I shouldn’t have blown up at you today."
I shook my head, pleased that my headache didn't return. "You had every reason to. I treated you like shit last night. After we . . . well, you know."
"I do," Luisa said. “And since you said it, yes, I did have every reason to,” she said as she winked at me. “But I've been a pretty big bitch for most of the time I've been in Seattle."
"I haven't made it easy for you," I said. "I should’ve been more understanding. Just . . . there's a reason I haven’t been in a serious relationship for a while now.”
"What was her name?" Luisa said with a sad smile, reading my mind. "Someone broke your heart, didn't they?"
I nodded. "Her name was Samantha, although everyone called her Sam. We were in the same freshman math class in college, one of those classes that everyone has to take based on your high school records. She was smart and pretty, and while I was pretty idealistic at the time, trying to turn over a new leaf and all, I could tell she liked me too. One night, after a long study session, one thing led to another and, well . . .”
"You two ended up in bed together," Luisa said with just a hint of jealousy in her voice.
I nodded, thinking back. "Afterward, we agreed to see where things went, and we kept seeing each other for the rest of the semester. But then, over summer break, things went bad."
"What happened?" Luisa asked, her voice soft and concerned.
“Sam’s father was a bit overprotective. He looked into my family, and of course, he figured out who I was. Long story short, he forbade her from seeing me again. So when the next semester started and I showed up at her dorm room to see how things went . . . it didn't go well."
Luisa nodded. "And thus, you became a player."
“Um, I guess you could call it that," I said softly.
"Then you met a Brazilian girl whose family would never approve of her being with an American," she commented, looking out the window. "For me, his name was Travis. I thought I was in love with him too, or I suppose I was. He didn’t feel the same way—he was one of my professors, had tenure even. He and I got together, and even after he told me he had a wife and swore to me that they were separating, I fell for it. Of course, I was an idiot, and later, I found out he'd been playing me for a fool. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time he’d done that to a student. My family found out, and that started the feelings, though they were already there to a degree."
We looked at each other, the gap between us narrowing but still so wide, our lives now being in the way. Luisa blinked and smiled. "So last night?"
"Was more than I let on," I said softly, reaching up and placing my hand on her arm. “You're probably the last woman I should be getting involved with. We seem to clash with one another, but then again, it could be because of the attraction between us.”
“Well, if it means anything to you . . . last night was something for me too. It may have been a lot of sexual frustration built up, but it was something I hope wasn’t just one night.”
She smiled, and I smiled back. "So what now? I'm going to be stuck here, and you're probably going to
be back in Brazil before I'm let go."
Luisa shook her head. "I talked with my father, and I told him that I was the reason you’re injured. I convinced him that I needed to stay until you’re back on your feet."
I could see the hope flaring in her eyes, and I nodded. "Okay," I said softly. "But if I act like an asshole again, you understand, right?"
"I understand. If you can understand when I get bitchy."
I chuckled and patted her hand. “Hey, I’m starting to get used to it.”
Luisa growled softly and patted my cheek. “Careful. I'd hate to hurt your good shoulder.”
Chapter 10
Luisa
I felt flutters in my stomach as the blue SUV pulled up in front of the Bertoli mansion. Unfortunately for me, the only SUV owned by the Bertolis was a dark blue Chevy Tahoe, the irony of which had escaped nobody over the days since Leonard Frakes had tried to run me off the road.
I'd spent the entire last five days holding to the promise that I'd made to my father and to Tomasso, going to the hospital every day starting at noon to help him through the worst part of the day. The first day, I brought him a book, Seveneves. It was supposed to be good and was one of the books that hadn't looked read in his room. "For the hours I'm not here."
"Thanks," Tomasso replied, thumbing through it. "It was a coming home present from Adriana. In her note, she said after all that cut and dry business study, I needed to let my fantastical side out more."
We spent most of the time just talking, sharing memories about growing up in criminal families. "Like I said, in Brazil, the line between the criminal and what is merely seen as good business is often very thin," I remarked during one of the periods the nurses weren't in the room. Don Bertoli had paid well for a private room, and the staff knew not to interrupt us unless it was necessary. "When you come from a country where even the President is a criminal, and the judges are criminals, that line is very hazy indeed."
Tomasso chuckled. "You and my father should have this discussion. He feels much the same way you do. Me? I do see a clear line between right and wrong, and I plan on following that for my life. If that line is at odds with the law, so be it."
The next day, we'd talked about my family. "Unfortunately, my father is a notorious womanizer," I admitted. "It's why I'm so tall, while my sisters are short, and none of my brothers look alike. It's more accepted in Brazil, I think, but growing up, at least three women I called my aunt were actually mothers to my siblings. My mother met my father when she was a member of the Junior Olympic basketball team back in the nineties. He was in his twenties and she was still in her teens. It was a whirlwind romance, but it's from her that I get my height. And the blonde hair, which is totally natural."
"I never suspected differently," Tomasso said. "Not that I can check if the carpet matches the curtains, with that wax job and all."
I blushed, remembering the heat of our romp. "Well, maybe another time. But Mother may have put up with my father's ways, but she didn't like it. The fourth time it happened, she left, and I stayed with my father in Porto Alegre. My mother got an apartment in Rio, and I would sometimes visit her during breaks from school. She got some boyfriends, not that my father cared. They never officially divorced. They are both Catholics, although the fact that they are both adulterous as hell is something I'm not so sure the archbishop would approve of either."
"So how does that make you feel? I mean, a lot of people would say that it would leave you with some psychological issues," Tomasso joked, but with concern in his voice. "Not that we don't both have enough issues already.”
"I've noticed. But yes, I'd say it has hurt my trust issues with men. That man I told you about, Travis, was the first time I said I was in love."
We fell silent, and Tomasso chewed his cookie. "We're pretty fucked up, you know that?"
"We are."
Now, the evening after Tomasso's surgery, I was waiting for him in the driveway, watching as his friend, Jake, got out of the driver's side. His father had left the city for a meeting in Portland after checking in on his son, leaving Pietro Marconi in charge of Seattle while he was gone. Margaret Bertoli would come back the next day, and by the end of the week, his cousin and her fiancée would be back as well. I was actually looking forward to meeting Adriana Bertoli after spending so much time with her mother. I'd heard so much.
"Do you need any help, Jake?"
The blond surfer-boy shook his head. I'd only talked with him or his father a few times in the time I'd been in Seattle, but they did seem like totally different personality types. "Nah, just gotta help the prince here with his bag. He's on crutches, and doing pretty good about it. They didn't even put him all the way under, so other than a case of numb toes, he's one hundred percent."
The passenger door opened, and Tomasso got out, his foot in a new black and foam boot. "Do you need help?"
He shook his head. "No, but it's good to see you. Actually, can you get the door? Steps and these crutches I can handle. The door too? Nah, I'll pass."
I held the door for him while he carefully made his way inside, Jake following behind us. Jake took his bags upstairs while we went toward the downstairs study in the family wing. Tomasso was rock-solid as he made his way to a leather club chair and pivoted around, sitting down and propping his leg up. "So what do you think?"
I looked at the brace and nodded. "It is much more high-tech than the air splint, that's for sure. Still immobilized though?"
He nodded. "They put in two pins and reattached some tendons that got ripped up pretty good. They claim that the surgery is going to reduce the amount of time until I can put weight on it. The docs said I can start crutch walking in two weeks, and then in the brace alone in about a month. That's when the rehab starts, which is going to be the real bitch of the whole thing. As much as this thing hurts, I'm going to be driving automatic and foregoing the stick shift for a while."
"Does your family even own a car with automatic transmission?" I joked in reply. I went over to the small wet bar and poured him a scotch and soda, stirring it before putting it on the rocks. "Here. Better than the Tylenol I’m sure they sent you home with."
"Actually, they gave me a scrip for Oxycontin," Tomasso said, "but I'm not planning on taking any. I've seen too many Mafia men get a monkey on their back and not be able to get that fucker off. A drink every now and then, sure. But I'm not going to get drunk, and I'm not going to take pain pills like that. If I have to, I'll go study some new age biofeedback shit or something."
I chuckled and poured myself a glass of club soda before sitting down. "You know, I actually missed our little chat today. You may be a terrible driver, but you're a helpful amateur therapist. I've never felt better about my background and family than after the past few days. Thank you."
"It's easy to feel better about things when you meet someone even crazier than you are," Tomasso said with a laugh before growing serious. "Which is why I need your help."
"What for?" I asked, thinking perhaps he needed a snack or a pillow or something like that. "Hungry?"
Tomasso shook his head and pointed to the door. "Can you close that, please?" I did and came back, taking my seat. "Thanks. Luisa, I need your help finding out who tried to sell you out to Frakes."
"What do you mean?" I asked, slightly confused.
“He never got your name, and I'm not a famous face in town. Famous name, sure, in the right circles, but even then, my father is more famous than I am. So how in the hell did Frakes know that you were out on the road, in a Bertoli-owned vehicle, at the time he did? I've been thinking about it."
I nodded, his words sparking my interest. If the leak had been the police, then knowing I was staying with the Bertolis was one thing. But the driveway is far from the street, and the view is blocked. Only someone who saw me get in the vehicle would have known it was me. "You suspect someone on the inside."
He nodded. "I do. Someone who was here at the time you left that morning contacted Frakes and told him to
follow that car. Hell, it's not even yours—it was Angelo's! By the way, don't worry about that. I spoke with Angelo over the phone, and he said he wanted a new one anyway when he gets back for winter break."
"Gee, thanks," I joked, then sobered. "Why not approach your father about this? Or Pietro?"
Tomasso sighed and looked down. "Because Pietro was one of the men here that morning. And while my father wasn't, that doesn't mean that he couldn’t have ordered Pietro to sell you out. I wouldn't know why. It doesn't make business sense, but I can't rule either of them out either. I can trust two people with this idea. You . . . and me."
I wasn't as shocked as you may think. After all, crime families are just that, criminal. We betray the law on a regular basis, and while honor is a major point and a part of the very glue that holds us together, that doesn't mean that you turn your back on anyone without knowing what they had in their hands at the time. “So you want to find this person. Why?"
Tomasso thought before answering. "Because my only thought once that van side-swiped you and until I saw you standing in the doorway of my room at the hospital . . . the only thought I really had was if you were okay. Someone tried to hurt you, and they tried to make me look like an incompetent idiot. That doesn't sit well with me."
It wasn't Shakespeare, but there was a sense of romance to what he said. I stood up and went over to his chair, leaning down and kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll be happy to help," I whispered, stroking his face. "But you promise me something."
"What?" he whispered back, his face open and honest.
“That you don’t risk your life over it.”
Chapter 11
Tomasso
I woke up the next morning in pain. I wish I could say it was the fiery pain like I'd felt in my neck where Luisa had unknowingly scratched me the night we had sex, or even the dull, thudding pain of a hangover. Both of those I was familiar with, and I knew how to do something about them. I could make the pain go away.
Reckless (Bertoli Crime Family #2) Page 8