by Frankie Love
Without thinking, I tell him, “You do not disrespect my wife.” I see something odd in his reaction. In a flash, I’m determined to let her stay for the meet. Maybe she’s right. Perhaps she can act as my consigliere. At least for now.
Drago scowls when I take them both into the study.
I sit behind the big desk. Kiera pulls a chair up next to me.
Drago sits across the desk and he starts straight in with a list of demands. He says they’re from Lucas Moretti. It all sounds a lot more like Tony to me. But, whatever.
As soon as he pauses, Kiera says, “You’re the Morettis’ chief enforcer, aren’t you?”
Drago narrows his eyes and bares his teeth.
Kiera cocks her head to one side. “You’re here on your own? And you don’t see what’s happened here?”
Drago scowls.
Like she’s talking to a child, Kiera tells him, “There’s nobody with you. You drove yourself, and you were disarmed when you came through the gate. Right? Now you’re alone in the middle of our compound.”
She lowers her voice. “You’ve been sent as a gift. We could take you downstairs. When you came back up, you’d be in pieces.”
Drago’s jaws clench.
Kiera’s voice is soft. “You’re here as a peace offering, Drago. They gave you up.”
Drago’s eyes blaze. “What the fuck do you know?”
The tension in the air is hot and it almost vibrates. She impresses the hell out of me by leaving the silence and not jumping in to fill it.
Even I’m buzzing to say something. But I don’t. She knows what she’s doing and I understand it, too.
Drago is twisting in the wind. Betrayed by his own side, and he’s only just realizing it.
I wait until his face hardens. Then I tell him, “Kiera obviously knows a lot more than you do, Drago.” I lean forward. “But I’ve warned you. Talk to her like that again, and I’ll take up the Morettis’ offer and have my revenge on you.”
She shakes her head and asks him quietly, “Don’t you Italians read Machiavelli?”
The pain in my side stabs again.
She notices me flinch. Drago sees it, too.
I groan. She stands with a hand on my shoulder.
The sharp jab in my abdomen is crippling.
She tells me, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No,” I tell her. “Maybe call an ambulance, though.”
“No.” She’s firm. “I’ll drive you. It will be faster.”
“It could be nothing.”
“Whatever it is, John, it’s not nothing.”
She turns to Drago and says, quickly, “Go back to the Morettis. Tell them John appreciates their position. He’ll give their demands the proper response at the proper time.” She holds his gaze as she says, “It will be your first test.”
He growls like an animal in pain. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Her eyes burn. “We spared you, Drago. You belong to us now.”
He bites his lip. Then his voice softens and he looks at me. “Do you want help?”
She shakes her head, encouraging me to stand. “No, Drago. Stay quiet about this. It happened after you left. You know nothing about it.” He nods. Meek. I’ve never seen him like that.
I’m fighting not to fold in half. She hurries me to the door as she tells him, “Take back the message, and don’t say a thing to them about any of this. Keep your eyes and ears open, and keep your counsel.”
Drago asks, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
Kiera has her arm around me, and she guides me out. “I know what he needs.”
Drago’s head hangs as he leaves.
Kiera calls after him, “Drago. Don’t forget what we did for you here.”
He says, “I won’t forget you, Mrs. O’Malley.”
“Not me, Drago. Us. The family. It’s the O’Malleys you owe a debt to.”
I’m close to doubling with pain, but my heart swells when I hear her tell him, “You had better not forget it.”
Chapter Nine
Kiera
John’s driver offers to take us, but I tell him no.
He pleads. “I’m his bodyguard,” he says, “I have to come with you.”
“Then do what you can to keep up.” He’s got no chance.
I take Peter’s car. It’s the fastest thing in the garage. I call ahead to the hospital, then, shifting gears and accelerating onto the highway, I pass my phone to John.
“Send a text to your dad and your brothers.” I tell him. “Let them know we’re going to the emergency room. It’s under control and I’ll call them as soon as we have a diagnosis.”
Doing that will keep him occupied while I drive.
At the hospital, an emergency team is waiting for us under the awning.
John lies on a gurney, semi-conscious from the pain. He looks so vulnerable. My stomach quakes with tension.
The stocky, dark-haired doctor listens carefully. I make a clear and detailed description of John’s symptoms as I know them.
“You did well to bring him in so fast.” He’s pressing John’s abdomen, feeling with his fingers as he talks to me. “Did the symptoms start this morning?”
“No. He had pain last night. It may have started sooner.”
“I’m taking him straight in.”
“Let me come with him.”
“No.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“I hope so. Ask me later.”
John’s face twists as an orderly rushes him away on the gurney. Watching the team hurry down the bright, sterile hallway makes me hurt more than I can bear. I could collapse right here and now.
Paul and Peter arrive together. Then Mary. She hurries over to me.
I raise my palms, turn my head to one side. She flings her arms around me anyway. I can’t decide if she just doesn’t read signals, or if she needs to act like she knows best. My body stiffens.
Still, I have to look her in the eye and tell her, “Mary, I need space.”
“Of course you do,” she says, still holding on. She starts to pull me. To steer me.
I hold her waist as gently as I can, and I look in her eye. “I need air.”
Finally she backs off.
Liam strides into the waiting area. There’s no expression on his face, only strength. His eyes are gentle, though. He and John are so much alike.
He stands near me. Big, strong and easily in command.
First he says, “He’s in good hands.” Then he asks me, “Are you okay?”
I nod and there’s a sparkle in his eye as he says, “You did well, stealing that show-off car of Peter’s. I’m impressed that you could handle it.”
I want to tell him about the pursuit and cross-country training I’ve had, but I can’t easily speak. Liam understands.
Softly, he asks me, “Did they say what it is?”
I shake my head, but I manage to say, “It looks like an appendicitis.”
His eyes shine into my face. “By God, he got a piece of luck when we found you, didn’t he?”
The wait feels like hours. I check the time on my watch. And my phone. And the clock on the wall. About every ninety seconds.
We’re in the waiting area for an hour and eighteen minutes before I see the dark-haired doctor shove through the double doors. I can’t read his face. I try not to run to him. But I can’t stop myself. He holds up both palms and shows me a trace of a smile.
“Appendicitis. We got it just in time.” He looks into my face. “He’s lucky to have you.”
He tells me, “We were able to perform laparoscopic surgery, so he may be fit in a week, but err on the side of caution. No strenuous activity. No lifting, running, stretching at all for three days at least. I’ll give him a course of pain meds.”
He tells me what John will need to do and all that he’ll be prescribed. I’m trying to listen, but the relief washes through me like ocean waves.
When he sees the
blanched look on my face, he asks, “Should I prescribe something for you?”
“Just my husband, doctor. When I can get a few large doses of him, I’ll be fine.”
They let me take him home.
Every member of the whole immediate O’Malley family has urgent reasons to be at his bedside. The power of their bonds and affection amazes me. But I’m not going to have a wall of them between me and my husband. Not today. And not at all if I can help it.
Liam, as well as all John’s brothers and sisters, are in my hallway. I’m on the second stair, with my arms outstretched to hold both of the rails, blocking the way.
“He’s going to be fine,” I tell them all. “You can all come and see him, but not for a while. He needs complete rest for the next twenty-four hours.”
Liam catches my eye. It’s obvious he can see I’m making that up. I know he can see why, though.
“John couldn’t be in better care,” he announces. “This little angel certainly saved his life, so she’s the boss.” And he speaks clearly to me. “If you need anything, you’ll call.”
I can see we’re going to get along.
Firmly, over all of their heads, I tell him, “Definitely. Thank you, Liam. Thank you all. I’ll let John know you’re all thinking of him and sending love.”
In the evening, he’s sitting up in bed.
“What Dad told me is true,” he says, looking up at me. “I’m really lucky to have you.”
And he starts to get up.
I put a hand on his chest.
“Oh,” he smiles, “are you coming to join me?”
“Soon,” I tell him, though the urge is almost too much to resist. “Not tonight, though.”
Chapter Ten
John
I sleep like a rock. In the morning, Kiera is up, showered and dressed. Her skin glows softly in the morning sun. She stands by the bedside with pills and water.
“I don’t want pain meds. What do I need them for?” I feel like I’ve been kicked pretty hard and very precisely in the right side of my groin, and my shoulder hurts. But I’ve had worse. Half an hour on the machines in the gym and I’ll be fine. “And I don’t want to spend days lying on my fucking back, looking at the ceiling.”
“You can spend the morning on your back. This afternoon you can sit out on the deck.”
“Or I could come downstairs.”
“Not today, John. You had a major operation…”
“And it was a success. Now I’m fixed and I can get back to work.” I’m trying to keep my voice light. I feel bloated and weak, though, and it’s making me frustrated. “Give me my phone. I need to check in with Paul and Peter.”
“No, you don’t.” She smiles like an angel. “I talked to them. They’ve got everything well under control.”
“Who says? Those two?”
“No, John. Your father says.”
“Let me talk to him.”
Her hand is cool on my forehead. Like a schoolboy seeing a hint of a day off school, my body wants to slide deeper under the covers. But I know that’s just foolish weakness. Her smile brightens me inside, though. “Rest, John. Just for today. Drink lots of water and I’ll bring you whatever you want to eat and drink.”
“Only today?”
“Tomorrow you can go downstairs.”
“And I can see the family.”
“You can see Liam.”
“Kiera, this is fucking awful.”
“No, John. What you went through yesterday was fucking awful. This is just a few days of rest. Don’t make them miserable for both of us.”
“What the fuck am I going to do, though? Stare at the fucking walls? Watch Real Housewives of Po-Dunk, Ohio?”
“I’ve thought about that. You remember I was headed to the library in the main house for some books?”
“I can’t concentrate enough to read.”
“I didn’t think you could.”
“So, what?”
“So I’m going to read to you.”
“Oh, some slushy romance stories? Just what I fucking need. God damn, I can’t stand this.”
“Yeah, John. You married such an idiot, I’m going to read you Bridget Jones’ Diary, then Pride and Prejudice. After that I thought you could snuggle in for Jane Eyre, then Gone With The Wind. Maybe Rebecca and The Sheikh afterward.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“You need to drink more water. But I’ll fix you whatever you like for breakfast, as long as you don’t want too much spice.” She touches my hand and kisses my forehead. What a fucking wonderful mother she is going to be. Firm and tough, but tender and sweet at the same time. And full of so much love. She’s probably right about today. Well, this morning at least.
She smiles. “While I get breakfast, take a look at this,” she says and she puts a book beside me on the bed.
It’s a very thin paperback book.
The title is The Art of War.
Picking it up, I say, “I can read this before you’ve fixed breakfast.”
Her eyes sparkle. “I think you know most of it already. But it helps to have it all pulled together in one place.”
“You’ve read this?”
There’s a devious light in her smile. “Like you said, it’s short.”
She knows she’s piqued my curiosity. “It’s interesting to think that what Sun Tzu figured out two and a half thousand years ago still holds true today.”
“People still read this, right? I’ve heard about it.”
“Smart people do, John. Smart people like you.”
She poached eggs the way that I love them and she brings them with buttermilk waffles and maple syrup.
When she sets the tray with coffee and juice in front of me, I look up. “No bacon?”
“Not today or tomorrow. Not too much coffee, either.” I pout about that and she adds, “Is it so bad if you have to be my baby for a couple of days?”
“God, I want you, Kiera.”
“Eat your waffles.” She can see how her smile is affecting me because she struggles to straighten it out.
I tell her, “Come here.”
“I asked the surgeon. He told me no sex. Not for forty-eight hours.”
“There are different ways we can do it.”
“I asked him specifically. He said no orgasms for you. None at all.”
“How many details of our sex life did you discuss with him?”
“All the things you’re thinking about now?” Her eyes flash. “I asked him about all of them. We drew diagrams.”
She sees the look in my eye. “I’m just teasing. He asked how long we’ve been married. I said, ‘Why?’ and he told me he could see how much I loved you. He was pretty charmed. He told me if I wanted to keep you—those were his words—no orgasms for you. Not today or tomorrow morning.”
“What time tomorrow do I get to cum?”
“Five-seventeen.”
I tell her, “You can have as many orgasms as you like today, though.”
“John, if I could, I would have gone through the operation for you. I’m certainly not going to have any fun when you can’t. Whatever happens, we’re in it together.” She grips my hand.
“I could watch.”
“And not get off yourself? Even if I thought that stood a snowball’s chance in hell of working, I wouldn’t risk it, John.”
While I’m eating, I say, “This book says, ‘All warfare is based on deception.’”
“It’s a pretty smart book, right?”
I read out, “‘When you are ready, you must seem unprepared. When you are weak is when you project the maximum strength. When you are strong, you should appear to be frail and at the point of surrender. When you are near, you should always seem far away. When you are ready to attack, your enemy should see you in chaos and disarray.’”
There was another passage I saw while she was preparing breakfast. I find it and read it to her. “‘Supreme excellence is breaking the enemy’s re
sistance without fighting.’ That’s what you did with Drago, right?”
She smiles. “I tried. There’s not much to keep him to it.”
“The sense of honor. It’s strong with those guys. Maybe almost as much as it is with us.”
“You know what I noticed in Boston? When it’s something that involves your own side, everybody is bound solid by their honor. If it’s about the opposition, there’s always a lot more flexibility. Goes both ways, too.”
I’m looking into her innocent eyes. “You really have seen a lot of this.”
I’m amazed to find such wisdom in my innocent little wife. At the same time, I feel anger simmering that she’s had the experiences that showed her all of that.
The next morning, she lets me sit on the deck with the stack of books she’s managed to get me interested in.
I won’t let on to her, but I still feel rough. Just getting up, showering and putting on clothes hurts. Almost every movement makes something twang or burn. Not a lot. Just enough.
Kiera made me take the pain meds yesterday. And drink gallons of water. Even though she said I could eat ‘more or less’ what I wanted, all the food she brings me is plain, simple and wholesome.
Breakfast today was southern ham, scrambled eggs and warm yellow brioche bread. One cup of coffee.
I complained that I can’t function on a single dose of coffee.
“Good thing you don’t need to do anything but rest and get well, then,” she’d answered.
Her smile soothes me, but I’m still restless.
True to her word, she allows Dad to visit. She’s gotten to him and they’re in league together. He won’t tell me a thing about what’s been happening in any of the businesses. Everything I ask him about he says is ‘fine’ or ‘good, actually.’ Then he moves quickly on to tell me all the people sending me well wishes for a speedy recovery.
Then when I invite him to stay for lunch, he says, “No, John. You need to rest. I’ve tired you out too much already.”
