by Bethany-Kris
How would he react if someone came out and said she was … was … gone?
Oh God, he couldn’t breathe again.
Ivan’s hushed voice brought him out of the panic attack. “Tell me what we know.”
“What?”
“Come on, Anton. We’ve seen this kind of crap before. Tell me what we know.”
The lump in his throat ached. “Superficial wounds. A possible head injury. Bad cut above her eye. A lot of fucking blood.”
He’d seen more, caused a lot of others to bleed, but he didn’t ever want to see hers.
“What else?”
“Heartbeat went crazy in the ambulance and then her blood pressure suddenly dropped.”
“What’d they give her?”
“Huh?”
“Didn’t they say?”
“Probably.”
“You weren’t paying attention?”
Anton shook his head. “I couldn’t, not well enough. She was … she was … fuck.”
“Mr. Avdonin?” The sound of his last name caused Anton’s head to jerk up. A tired nurse with a clipboard waved a single gloved hand with a faint smile. “Hi. I just received confirmation from the family that you are Miss Carducci’s fiancé and they’ve given me permission to divulge her current state, so we can speak now, if you’re ready.”
Anton’s mouth went dry. “Okay. Yes, sure. Here is fine.”
The nurse gave a short nod before she went over the charts in her hand. Anton barely heard anything over the thrum of his heart and the anger that surged through his soul.
Several lacerations and wounds, and contrary to what the bulls had thought, Rocco didn’t take all of the hit, as Viviana had also sustained a few minor burns on her left arm. The dog bite where Rocco had taken her down before the blast was minor compared to everything else. Only one transfusion of blood had been needed, her heart was stabilized, and the lung that nearly collapsed was doing fine. They were going to keep her sedated for a while longer until all the wounds were cleaned and they were positive the glass shards were removed. No unnecessary pain that way. If she woke up and showed no visible signs of head trauma, she could be out within a couple of days with the understanding she needed vigilant care for her wounds.
Despite all the good news, there was one more thing he wanted to know about.
Again, Anton felt like the pressure in his chest was making it hard to breathe.
“What about … her blood work?”
One would have been done, he knew.
“I don’t understand what you mean specifically.”
He was all too aware of Ivan sitting beside him.
“Did anything show up in her blood work pregnancy-wise?”
Ivan coughed and sat back in his chair. Anton ignored the surprise that flitted through his best friend’s eyes as the man met his gaze. What did he expect him to say?
“I’m sorry, that’s related directly to the patient and not her current state of injury due to the accident. Confidentiality laws state—”
“Yeah, we know the law,” Ivan interrupted shortly. “When can he see her?”
“Once she’s set up in her private room and they’re ready to wake her up, it’ll be great if Mr. Avdonin can be in there. Someone she’ll recognize. So far, everything is going remarkably well. She’s a very strong, lucky young woman.”
Without another word, the nurse was gone.
Anton leaned back into his chair with a heavy sigh.
“She’s pregnant?”
“We don’t know. It’s just a possibility.”
“You work fast,” Ivan mused quietly.
“I didn’t intend to.”
“That’s how it usually happens.”
Despite the seriousness of everything, Anton found himself chuckling. Unfortunately, even the sound of it was cold. A slow rage was beginning to build in his blood, turning him raw and red from the inside out. A strange calm seemed to overtake his previous panic, settling deep in his gut like a poison ready to kill.
And he found that he was ready for exactly that.
“If she is, are you sure—”
“Do not finish that question, Ivan. I’m warning you. You’re mighty fucking lucky you even got that much out before you sported a newly broken jaw.”
“Well …” The lawyer coughed, looking about as uncomfortable as he could possibly get. “It’s just that bodyguard of hers. You told me, so I have to ask. As your friend, I have to. Anton, that wasn’t very long before you, okay?”
It’d be a damned lie if Anton didn’t admit he had considered that for a brief moment when Viviana said her being pregnant was a possibility. It also took him thirty seconds to do the math when she said four weeks late for her shot and a couple of days late for her cycle. He also knew she’d had it last month, considering he had to go out at the crack of dawn to pick up the stuff she needed. Which in and of itself was embarrassing for her and him enough. That would be the last goddamn time he ever picked out tampons. There were some things men shouldn’t have to be subjected to and that was one of them.
“I’m able to count just like you can. Your fancy schools didn’t do anything more for your common sense than a lack of higher education did for mine.”
“Ouch. That higher education keeps you out of jail, asshole.”
“S’mine if she is,” Anton mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face and ignoring Ivan’s comment. “I know it is.”
“Good enough for me.”
Anton stood, turning up the cuffs of his dress shirt until they rolled around his elbows on either side. The one side of his shirt was soaked a morbid reddish brown. A sting started to hum in his neck and arm where he himself was injured.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh?” Ivan glanced up.
“We’ve got some Cosa Nostra to speak to.”
• • •
Lucille Carducci wouldn’t meet Anton’s gaze.
“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve coming here,” he ground out.
The man at her side leaned into the wall, crossing his arms and keeping his mouth shut. That was a better choice for his health, in Anton’s honest opinion. He wasn’t above laying a beat down on somebody inside a hospital. It just meant they were that much closer to getting help when he was done.
“After what your husband did, you’d think you’d know better.”
Lucille looked up through her wet mascara lashes, tears streaking down her cheeks. “That, Mr. Avdonin, is exactly why I’m here.” Ivan was ten feet away, keeping watch for intruders while they spoke in a private hallway that had dimmed lights and practically no activity at all. “After all, the feds will be around, no doubt. They very well might stop to wonder why his wife is here if he is the one involved, and in the morning …”
“In the morning, what?”
“Perhaps they won’t look to you when I’m at the hospital again, yes?”
Air cut through his teeth like a hiss. “If you knew—”
“I didn’t,” she rushed to say. “Neither of us did.”
The man—Conrad—who had been keeping quiet finally spoke up, but he kept his gaze averted to the wall behind Anton. “Had we known, we would have brought it to your attention. Sonny has been making a lot of decisions like that lately without giving anyone notice. Sonny doesn’t trust a soul anymore. I overheard some of your boys talking.”
“And?” Anton asked.
“By the sounds of it, this was probably somebody’s in into the family, and it screams of amateur work.”
Anton had to agree. “The bomb wasn’t packed right for the blast to get maximum impact. Whatever relay they had on the timer fucked up because my dog had more than enough time to take her down to the ground before it blew. Her bull only got a few scrapes and bumps. Amateur is saying it lightly. We were lucky her car’s gas tank was just about running on empty or else it might have been much worse.”
“Sonny offered the job to somebody young, likely.” There was clear revulsion coloring Conrad
’s tone. “Some of the younger boys who want their button mentioned Sonny was looking for a pipe maker. Any idiot can Google that shit, but it takes someone with a little bit of experience to get it right.”
“Which bothers you the most—that it was someone young, or that it happened at all?” Ivan asked from behind them. “Because let me tell you, I know which one pisses me off more.”
“We certainly don’t think Viviana deserves to die because Sonny has a mistake to fix. His work is always sloppy.”
Anton was confused. “What mistake? If this is about the paternity again, that’s a pointless, dead horse he’s beating. She already knows and it doesn’t make much of a difference now. The Bratva who know aren’t making any fuss and they won’t while I’m alive. Fucking pointless,” he repeated.
“No, not that.”
“Then what?”
The words were all but breathed into the air as Conrad said, “Roman’s death.”
Ice slipped over Anton’s heart as the cold grip of reality climbed his spine. “Explain.”
“It’s only an assumption,” Lucille interjected gently. “We don’t know for sure.”
“Not what I said,” Anton all but snarled, making the woman flinch. “Explain!”
“Anton,” Ivan warned. “Lower your voice before somebody comes down here.”
“Someone needs to explain this assumption, or I’m done with this chitchat.”
“He’s a shitty boss.” Conrad finally regarded Anton with an indifferent gaze. “I’ve worked alongside him and his brother ever since we were teenagers in this business. There was a reason his father had Roman ready and willing to take over as the head of the family when he was gone. Sonny can’t do it because he’s too fucking greedy; his choices lack intelligence; things slip between cracks too often; he’s got a mighty temper …”
It was only then that Anton noticed the yellowish bruises that barely peeked out above Lucille’s high collared blouse. It didn’t matter how much he hated her—all of Viviana’s family, really—no woman should be touched by her husband in that way.
“It’s not so far of a stretch that he might have screwed up something with Roman, too.”
“Like what?” Anton muttered.
Lucille heaved a sigh. “Viviana was staying at my home the night Roman was suspected to have been killed. Her mother and brother were out somewhere, but he had them staying with us for safety reasons. Vine was calling her father just as she was leaving my house to return home. She’d forgotten something she needed for the next day. I can’t remember what it was. It wasn’t five minutes later that she was back in the house, white as a sheet. Wouldn’t answer a thing when asked.”
“Anton, you okay?”
Anton ignored his lawyer. The moral compass he tried so hard to keep a firm grip on was suddenly spinning with no desire to stop in sight.
“Are you telling me she might have been on the phone when—” Pulling his lips into a sneer, the words cut off. Anton wouldn’t say it out loud for his own peace of mind. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Conrad shrugged. “It’s a good possibility. The paternity was nothing more than a reason for him to get Roman gone. Tony and Christina were just fodder to make sure no one talked. Viviana, on the other hand, was a whole different ballgame. Take her out, and he risked having the wrath of the Bratva coming down on him. He very well might have stuttered in that choice. And then when he had her away in Toronto and you weren’t making a move to take her, maybe he figured you didn’t want to anymore. If you were letting it go, then he was fine to give an order for her to be gone. That bodyguard of hers was begging for an in, anyway.”
“That would have been a very bad choice,” Anton said. “A terrible one, actually.”
“If I’d known what he had done … I never would have told him about Viviana calling Roman and coming back into the house like she did that night,” Lucille whispered, her ashamed gaze turning away.
Conrad’s arm draped over the woman’s shoulders, his fingers squeezing with the compassionate touch of what Anton considered to be a lover’s. When the man’s eyes turned softer, Anton didn’t doubt they were involved for a minute.
“It’s all right, Lucy. Not your fault,” Conrad murmured.
“I wish we would ha—”
“But you didn’t.” Fingernails bit into Anton’s palms again. The only thing he wanted to do was end the person responsible for everything that had happened. “You haven’t done a thing for her since her family was killed. She’s been alone. No fucking thanks to you, she’s a hell of a lot better off now. I’m going to leave this hospital, and I expect you to as well. But before you go, make sure the front desk knows Ivan is her lawyer and the only one with control of who enters and leaves her room. Is that understood?”
“Not you?” Lucille asked, appearing confused.
“No, I have things to do. After all, you said it first. When you’re called back to a hospital tomorrow, perhaps the feds won’t look to me.”
• • •
The sky was quickly darkening. It was the only real indication for the Bratva boss as to how much time had passed him by. He was ignoring the green glow of the digital clock on the dashboard. As it was, he’d already been gone far too long.
Anton glanced out of the SUV’s tinted window. Constantly on alert. He checked and rechecked behind, around, and in front of their vehicle more times than he could count. Sure, he’d lost whoever was trailing him before he even left the hospital’s underground garage thanks to a switch of clothes and a well-placed fedora, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on edge.
“What do you think?” Bo asked quietly. Anton’s youngest brigadier checked his own mirror.
Because Anton couldn’t risk being seen at his club, he called Bo to pick up his weapon of choice. The particular set of scopes he’d been looking for that the man had previously delivered to him as a birthday gift were going to come in handy sooner than he thought.
Anton’s hand came to rest on the steering wheel lazily. The pain simmering up his arm only served to fuel his low lying rage. The cuts crisscrossing his neck were nothing compared to the wound on his shoulder. One of the bulls had hastily dropped superglue along the jagged tear before wrapping it up with some gauze. It was sealed tight. Still, the injury seemed to lick with an excruciating burn every time he moved, so that needed to be looked at soon.
An infection was nothing more than a bitch he didn’t need.
“Boss?”
Anton ticked his chin up in the direction of the apartment building.
“Right there. One of his mistresses, I guess. Ivan’s been trying for days to find out where the bastard was staying, but I got it from his wife like it was nothing. Woman wants him gone; she just won’t outright say it. I think she’s screwing around with the cousin, actually. Sonny’s got his head shoved so far in the sand it’s crazy. Everything he touches turns to shit. He’s a walking, fucking disease.”
Bo cleared his throat, taking a heavy drag from the cigarette dangling between his fingers. “You’re taking this remarkably well. If it was Steph …” The younger man trailed off as he exhaled the smoke into the SUV’s cab.
Anton disagreed. He wasn’t taking it well at all. Whatever care or concern he might have had left for anyone in the direct vicinity of Sonny Carducci was in no way his problem when the scene went down. The quiet, stillness of his own person was just a by-product of his own anger and anxiety, one he learned to control with near silence and little movements.
Ethics? Gone.
Lungs? Breathing.
Heart? Aching.
Viviana? Alive.
Anton felt robotic. As if he was just moving through the motions for the time being because that’s what he had to do. He just fucking had to. Despite the city moving around them with a gentle, humming flow, sounds didn’t register. The only thing he heard was rushing blood in his ringing eardrums.
Stony.
Calculating.
Seething.
Anton was pissed.
And there wasn’t anything quite like a Russian boss with a vendetta.
“You could say that,” he finally replied indifferently.
Red hot and ice cold.
The man inside that building had damn near taken away Anton’s entire life with a horribly placed, substandard bomb. The damned thing could have been a how-not-to-do manual for any pipe maker. That wasn’t to say it hadn’t gotten his point across, but the Bratva prince had a much better one coming. It was sure to turn a few heads and make headlines.
When it came to Viviana, lucky was a downright understatement. Had she been just inches closer to the blast, had Rocco not taken her down like he did, had the medics not gotten her heartbeat to regulate—there were too many variables that slipped into place for her.
Maybe Anton should start going to the temple like his mother kept bothering him about. Considering some God was up there looking out for one of them. It was probably Viviana. The girl was a goddamn angel while he was nothing more than a well-dressed sinner.
“What’d they say about Rocco?”
Anton flinched at the question. His tongue peeked out to wet his lips as he considered the phone call he’d received a little over a half an hour ago.
“Operation went okay, he made it out which was more than they thought he’d do. Covered with seventy percent burns. Three broken ribs. The blast likely ruined his scenting ability, or most of it. Pup’s going to be in a lot of pain for a long time.”
There was a choice he had to make … one that damn near killed him. Put Rocco down or see how he fared in the next few months. It’d be rehab, constant pain medication, and skin grafts. Costly, but that was the least of his master’s worry.
“I’m going to have him put down in the morning,” Anton managed to say, ignoring the thickness that built in his tone. “They’re keeping him sedated so he doesn’t wake up. Vine isn’t going to be happy about it, but I can’t let that dog suffer. There’s no respect in that.”
“And Vine?”
Anton breathed, letting the pain from the action soak him from head to toe. He hadn’t spoken to his lover on the phone, but from Ivan’s account, she was doing okay. After she’d calmed down about him not being there, of course. And when he asked again about the blood work, he hadn’t gotten a response because his lawyer was too much of a fucking pussy to ask.