The nurse, not one he recognized, lifted her eyebrows. “O-kay.”
“He's a patient. Lorenzo Giancana. They called, said he regained consciousness.”
“You must be...” she looked down at a chart, back up again, “Dante Giancana.”
“That's me.”
“Room 712.” The phone rang again and she reached out to pick it up. “Knock before you go in. Doctor's with him now.”
“Thanks,” he called back over his shoulder, in a hurry now to actually lay eyes on his brother. With his heart pounding he knocked, but didn't wait for an answer before he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Mr. Giancana.” A vaguely familiar face - the Doctor he'd spoken to when Enzo had his heart attack, he realized - smiled at him, then back down at Enzo. “It would appear that you were right. Apparently your brother really is too damned stubborn to quit.”
Dante choked out a strangled laugh, dropping down into a chair before his knees could give out. He locked his fingers behind his neck, leaned forward for a moment with his head between his legs to catch his breath. Between the bullshit with Harley and worrying about Enzo, it was like he’d been walking an emotional tightrope.
By the time he lifted his head again he felt more even-keeled, if not back to normal. When he got a good look at Enzo, though, he was glad he was sitting down. The kid was white as a sheet, with huge dark circles under his eyes and a neatly stapled, ugly red incision that ran from his temple back into his hair.
But when Enzo’s eyes fluttered open they were that same bright, clear blue and Dante found he could breathe again. “Hey,” Enzo whispered through cracked, dry lips, his voice weak, thready. He managed to lift his hand - more curled closed than fisted - an inch or two off the bed, and Dante lightly bumped his fist against it.
“Hey.” Dante grabbed a chair, pulled it up next to the bed. “How you feeling?”
“Thirsty.” Enzo moved his mouth a little, grimaced.
Dante picked up the styrofoam cup on the tray next to the bed, lifted his eyebrows at the doctor. When she nodded, he angled the straw between Enzo’s cracked lips. “Just a sip,” she cautioned.
Dante set the cup aside, leaned in close. “Do you remember what happened?”
Enzo closed his eyes for a second. “I remember... Roxi’s.”
“That’s right.” Dante nodded. “You went to Roxi’s Friday night. What else do you remember?”
“I remember Sophie... brought me drink.” Enzo licked his lips again. “Sophie.” The monitor indicated an acceleration of his heart beat. Dante glanced at the doctor, but she didn’t seem worried, so he made a conscience decision not to panic.
“Sophie’s fine. She’s worried sick about you, but she’s fine. I’ll call, let her know you’re awake.”
Enzo nodded, just the slightest tilt of his chin, and his eyes fluttered closed. Dante waited a moment, then put a hand on Enzo’s forearm. “What else, Enzo? Do you remember leaving Roxi’s?”
Enzo didn’t open his eyes, but he mumbled, “Roxi’s. Just... remember Roxi’s. And Sophie.”
“It’s not unusual for a trauma victim like your brother to experience memory loss,” the doctor explained. “There’s a good chance he may never recall the details of that night.”
“Shit.” Dante dragged a hand over his face, his jaw.
“Some might consider that a blessing, Mr. Giancana.” The doctor lifted her eyebrows.
“Not if they’re trying to figure out what happened.”
“Yes, I can certainly see where that might make things more difficult.” She turned to leave, paused at the door to say, “Don’t stay too long, Mr. Giancana. He still needs his rest.”
Dante said, “Okay,” but he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave. He was still sitting there five minutes later when the door slowly opened again and Leo poked his head in.
“How’s he doing?” Dante wouldn’t have believed it was possible, but Leo looked even worse today than yesterday.
Dante glanced back at Enzo before he stepped out into the hall, shut the door behind him. “Would you believe he doesn’t remember what happened?”
Leo blinked, stunned. Shook his head. “What?”
“He doesn’t remember anything after Roxi’s. Doesn’t even remember leaving there. Doctor says he may never remember.”
“Holy shit.” Leo was quiet for a moment. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.” When Dante opened his mouth to argue Leo lifted a hand. “Hear me out.” He glanced up and down the hall, lowered his voice. “It’s not public knowledge yet, but Bobby Vega’s been ruled a suicide. They just started auditing his reports, but they’re already finding discrepancies. Unaccounted for evidence, the whole nine yards. It’s probably been going on for a while.”
Dante leaned back against the wall, folded his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”
“So maybe Enzo caught on to what Bobby was doing. The kid was gonna turn him in.” Leo shook his head. “I mean, you know that’s what he’d do. But before he could, Bobby decided to get rid of him and deflect suspicion from himself at the same time. It makes sense.”
“So why did Bobby off himself?”
“Because it didn’t work.” Leo was on a roll now, talking faster and gesturing with his hands. “And since Enzo wasn’t dead, Bobby knew it was just a matter of time before he went down for it.”
“Maybe,” Dante conceded.
“I’m telling you, with Bobby dead the department is not gonna look any deeper. You think they want to take a chance on everything he’s been in on coming back on appeal? They’re gonna want to move on.”
“Yeah, well,” Dante snorted, “Harley’s not going to want to move on. Not until she makes her bones with this story.”
“Right.” Leo frowned, eyebrows tugged together, shoulders down. “The reporter.”
“Don’t feel bad.” Dante patted Leo on the shoulder. “It was a good plan while it lasted.”
They stood in the hall for a few minutes, backs against the wall, before Leo left for the precinct and Dante went back inside. Lorenzo was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a steady, reassuring cadence, so Dante moved the chair next to the bed and sat down. He stretched his legs out, crossed them at the ankles. Dropped his chin onto his chest.
Dante had just nodded off when Enzo moved, rustling the sheets a little in the process. “Hey.” He leaned forward, put his hand on his brother’s arm. “How you feeling?”
“Like I was hit... by a bus.”
Dante laughed, dragged a hand down over his face. “Yeah, well, you kinda look like it, too.”
“How long you been here?” Enzo breathed.
“Since you woke up, so,” Dante lifted his shoulders, “couple of hours.”
“You should... go home. Sleep.”
“I know.” Dante nodded agreeably, but he didn’t intend to go anywhere yet. “I will. Soon.”
Enzo’s eyes drifted closed, stayed that way for a few moments before he opened them again. When he did, Dante pulled the chair even closer and said, “Listen, I know you’re tired, but I need you to try to stay awake for a second.”
“‘Kay.”
“Do you remember anything else about being shot?”
Enzo moved his mouth infinitesimally. No.
“Tell me about Hector, Enzo.” When Enzo didn’t answer, Dante tried again. “Did Bobby take Hector’s money?” He reached out, gently shook Enzo’s arm. “Enzo, I need to know if Bobby took Hector’s money.”
“Told... Leo.”
“Told Leo what, Enzo?” Dante was tired, they both were, but he needed to make sure he got this right.
“Told Leo... Bobby took money.”
Exhausted from the effort, Enzo drifted off again and Dante leaned back in his chair, blew out a heavy breath. Fuck. This made absolutely no sense. If Leo knew Bobby was crooked, he would have said something. Wouldn’t he?
Wouldn't he?
Chapter 24
Harley wanted to be angry
. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs without giving a thought to her sleeping neighbors, to throw plates against the wall without the danger of shards of china working their way down into the rug even being a blip on her radar. Anger would be cathartic, it would bring peace, clarity. So yes, anger was the goal.
But first she had to stop crying.
She unrolled a strip of toilet paper and ripped it off. Swiped under her eyes, blew her nose loudly. Set the roll right next to her on the sofa, because she was nowhere near done with it.
He’d basically called her a whore. A whore. And she most certainly did not sleep with him for a story. Of course looking back now, she had no idea why she slept with him - the no good, pig-headed, egotistical ass - but it certainly wasn’t for the goddamn story.
And that bit about her technique needing work? Totally unnecessary. He’d crossed a line with that one. Jerk.
When the doorbell rang she jumped up to answer it - not, for the record, because she thought it might be him - flung the door open wide. “Leo?” She glanced at him, glanced at the empty hallway behind him, then back again. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure, I guess.” She moved aside to let him in, closed the door. “What happened? Is Lorenzo okay?” She refused to ask about Dante, her pride simply wouldn’t allow it.
“Yeah.” Leo nodded, and that little movement sent flakes of dandruff snowing down on his shoulders. It was all she could do not to reach out and brush them away. “He’s awake and talking. Looks like he’s gonna be okay.”
“What a relief.” She pressed her palm to her heart, took a couple steps towards the sofa. Said, “Come sit down,” back over her shoulder. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No. No, I’m good.” He smiled, waited for her to sit down before he took a seat at the other end of the sofa, obviously being careful not to crowd her. His mannerisms were old-fashioned, almost chivalrous.
“What can I do for you?” More curious than concerned, she tilted her head to look at him.
“I wanted to talk to you about your story.” He smoothed a hand over his tie, frowned.
Harley muttered, “That no good son of a...” under her breath, narrowed her eyes. Dante had sent Leo to try to get her to kill the story, that spineless asshole. She gritted her teeth, kicked it up an octave. “You can tell whoever might be interested that I am gonna write that story and it’s gonna be front page,” she pointed her finger, jabbed it into the air to emphasize her point, “and above the fold, and with any luck at all it’ll be picked up by the Associated Press and then it’ll be front page above the fold all over the fricking country.” Totally unlikely, but man, saying it felt good.
Leo rubbed his temple, sighed. “I was afraid you would say that.”
“Say what?” She shook her head, more confused than ever.
“Believe me,” he said, sounding painfully sincere, and more than a little sad, “no one feels worse about this thing than I do.”
“Wait.” Harley lifted a hand. “What thing?”
“The story you insist on writing.” He said it like it was something dirty you would scrape off the bottom of your shoe. “We could have just moved on, you know. We really could have. Richie doesn’t know enough to be an issue, so with Bobby gone and Enzo not able to remember, it could have just... gone away.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered, because she got it, she finally got it. “It was you. You set Enzo up, and you killed Bobby Vega.”
“I had to get rid of Bobby.” Get rid of, not kill. It was probably easier for him to live with himself that way. “I didn’t have any choice. He was a liability.” The noise he made fell somewhere between laughter and disgust. “In order for this,” he paused to nonchalantly unholster his gun, “to work, you have to be patient, discrete. Bobby Vega couldn’t manage either.”
“Did you see his house? Seriously?” Leo shook his head. “Like nobody was going to wonder how a cop could afford that place. And he could not keep his mouth shut to save his soul. The only reason Richie Fedor got involved was because Bobby got drunk and spilled the beans.” Leo sighed. “Thank God he had the sense not to tell Richie my name.”
“Or what?” Harley asked. “Would Richie have had to go, too?”
“It’s so easy for you to sit back and... and judge me. But you weren’t there.” He had a surly expression on his face. “You don’t know.”
“And Enzo? Did you have to shoot Enzo, too?” If she wanted to walk away from this, she needed to keep her mouth shut, part of her knew that. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the part that was calling the shots.
“I tried to reason with him,” he told her quietly. “To explain.” She could just imagine how well that had gone over. “I never wanted anything to happen to that boy. I love him like he was my own flesh and blood.” His eyes filled with tears, and for a moment she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “But he wouldn't listen.”
When someone knocked on the apartment door they both jumped. “Quiet,” Leo ordered, jabbing the gun into her side to remind her.
“Okay,” she mouthed.
More pounding, louder this time. “I know you’re in there, Leo.” It was Dante’s voice, and suddenly she could breathe again.
“Tell him I’m not here,” Leo hissed. “Tell him you’re alone.”
“He won’t-”
“Tell. Him.” He jabbed her with the gun again, this time hard enough to make her gasp.
“He’s not here,” Harley choked out. “I’m alone.”
“Bullshit,” Dante snarled, pounded again. “Your phone has GPS, Leo. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”
Leo was quiet for a moment, then he waved his gun, gesturing towards the door. “Go ahead, let him in.”
Harley walked over, opened the door. “Are you alright?” Dante asked quietly.
She nodded, whispered, “Yes.”
He put a hand on her arm, maneuvered himself between her and the gun. “I want you to go and-”
“NO,” Leo roared, pointing the gun in their direction. “She’s not going anywhere. She stays. You hear me? She. Stays.”
“Okay, okay.” Dante lifted both hands in submission. “But you gotta put the gun down, Leo.”
Leo lowered the gun, held it loosely at his side. “How did you know,” he asked Dante.
“Enzo remembered telling you about Bobby stealing Hector’s money.” Dante glanced back to be sure Harley was still behind him before he said, “I wanted to talk to you. I wanted there to be some sort of... explanation. But when I coerced somebody in IT into pulling up your location and you were here...” Dante shrugged his shoulders.
Leo dragged his empty hand over his face, shook his head. Mumbled, “Shit.” His shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Why, Leo.” Dante kept himself between Harley and the gun, but his attention was zeroed in on Leo. “Just tell me why. You owe me that.”
“Because it wasn’t fair,” he explained quietly. “It wasn’t fair that we risked our lives for next to nothing and they lived like kings.”
“So you arrest them. You put them away so deep they don’t even remember what the sun felt like on their faces, you don’t steal their fucking money.”
Leo walked over and dropped down onto the sofa, the hand with the gun in it at his side. “Everything’s always been black and white for you, even when you were a boy. But it’s not, Dante. The world’s gray. I could never make you understand that. Patrick did, but not you.” Leo sighed heavily, shook his head.
“Patrick?”
“I tried to help him, too.” Leo’s voice took on a pleading, desperate tone. “But he wouldn’t wait. How was I supposed to know he wouldn’t wait?”
“You helped him steal the drugs.” Dante looked shellshocked. “And then you let them blame me for it.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dante growled, and Harley wasn’t sure if he was cursing Leo, or himself. Ei
ther way, her heart broke for him. “Tell me the truth, Leo. Did you shoot Enzo?”
Leo broke down in tears. “Bobby did it.”
“But you were there,” Dante whispered, and Harley could tell he already knew the answer.
“I was there,” Leo admitted. “He was meeting me. That’s why he left Roxi’s that night.” He let out a shallow breath, as if finally saying the words was some sort of relief. “Because I asked him to meet me.”
Dante was quiet for a few moments before he asked, “So what now? Are you gonna kill me, too? And Harley?”
“No.” Leo shook his head. “No, I’m done.” He lifted the gun to his temple.
“Don’t do this, Leo.” Tears rolled down Dante’s face and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
“You’ll tell Rose I love her, won’t you? That I’ve always loved her?” Leo smiled wistfully. “And take care of your brother.”
Then he pulled the trigger.
Chapter 25
“Shit.” Dante tossed the paper onto the foot of the bed on his way to the window, just as Enzo shuffled into the room, his shoulders stooped like an old man’s as he painstakingly rolled his IV pole back into place at the other end. He kept one eye on Dante as he started to climb up into it, the familiar, stubborn set of his brother’s jaw all but daring Dante to try to help.
It wasn’t the first time they’d butted heads over Enzo’s tendency to overdo during the last week and a half, probably wouldn’t be the last. And to be fair, Lorenzo’s argument was sound. He needed to heal, healing meant moving, so by God, he was going to move. Never mind that the first time he’d attempted to get up into that bed on his own, he’d looked more like he was climbing Mt. Everest than a piece of furniture.
“Four this time,” Enzo said when he finally got his legs under the sheets, referring to the laps he’d made around the hospital floor.
“They’ll be sending you home before you know it,” Dante said absently. The view consisted of a tar paper-covered flat roof and several industrial-sized air conditioning units, but he turned to look out the window anyway, stuffed his hands into his pockets.
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