Rushed(78)

She mumbled something incoherently in Portuguese, and even though I know Spanish and Italian, which are cousin languages to Portuguese, I couldn't make out the words. Looking around, I knew that whatever caused the explosion, it wasn't the place that a Bertoli or a woman who was part of a Brazilian crime family should be found when the police arrived.

Picking Luisa up in my arms, I carried her to my car and carefully placed her in the passenger seat. I ran around and got into the driver's seat, cranking my engine and hauling ass. I tried not to speed once we were more than a few blocks away, and I intentionally slowed down to avoid notice from the cops. It was bad enough that I was certain that I was on security cameras and that I was driving a black Alfa-Romeo 4c. Those things don't exactly blend in like a Ford Fiesta or a Toyota Prius.

My hearing slowly returned as I drove home, and I realized about halfway there that my phone was ringing. I pulled over into a gas station and pulled out my phone, seeing that the call was from Pietro. "Pietro?"

"There was an explosion at the civic center. Your father wanted to know if you’re okay.” As typical for Pietro, he was all business, though there was still a touch of concern in his voice.

I wiped at the cut on my head and saw that while there was some blood, I'd more or less gotten off scott-free. "I'm fine, but Luisa was knocked out. We were near the door when the blast occurred. We’re on our way home now.”

There was a muffled conversation on the other end of the line, and I heard the phone being passed over to someone. "Tomasso?"

"Dad," I replied, smiling at the worry in my father's voice. "I'm fine. But I'm bringing Luisa back to the house. She took a hit to the head. She's going to need stitches, most likely."

“I’ll have a doctor ready when you get here. Are you sure you’re okay, Tomasso?”

“We can have the doctor take a look at my ear, but it’s nothing serious. It’s ringing some, but I'm okay, Dad. I'll be home in fifteen minutes."

The whole time, Luisa groaned and muttered under her breath, and I reached over, taking her hand. "You'll be okay,” I promised, then repeated myself in Spanish. "I'll take care of you."

Dad was true to his word. Our doctor met me in the driveway of the house as soon as I pulled up, along with Pietro and Roberto, one of Dad's other younger enforcers. "Take her to the gym,” the doctor said to Pietro. "Lay her on the massage table. I can treat her there."

Pietro and Roberto carried Luisa between them while the doctor looked me over. “Not even back in town a month and already getting yourself hurt. Let me take a look."

I bent my head, and he dabbed at the cut on my forehead with an alcohol wipe. “It looks like you might have a little more character to that baby face of yours," the doctor, who had always been irascible with me in a sort of grumpy geezer sort of way, said. “Whatever hit you, it went all the way to the bone. It’s deep, but just a bandage will do."

"I got lucky," I said, wincing when the doctor applied a liquid onto the cut. It smelled bad, and not in the alcohol sense either—it was something else. "What the hell is that?”

"Surgical adhesive. Stings like hell, but it'll keep the wound closed. I think you can put your own Band-Aid on the cut. Now let me see how the young lady is doing.”

I watched the doctor hurry inside, and I saw Dad come out. His face was written with concern, and I shook my head. "I'm fine."

He nodded and clapped me on the shoulder. "And the ear?"

"Doc can check that out later. Come on, let’s see what he says about Luisa."

He shook his head and pointed to his office. "Right now, we’re going to try to find out who’s responsible with for this. Miss Mendosa is being looked after—there’s nothing we can do but get in the way.”

I swallowed my reply, knowing he was right. "Okay."

The first thing I did when we got to Dad's office was start telling him the story of walking back to the convention center from the coffee shop, stopping and repeating myself carefully when I started to ramble around the time of the explosion itself. "So this man—you didn’t get a good look at him?" He asked.

"I didn't, but Luisa probably did," I replied. "They were practically nose to nose there for a few moments. I tumbled when he hit me, so by the time I was back up, he was already running away. I didn't chase him because she was still down. Then the bomb went off, and things got a little crazy.”

He nodded knowingly, then went over to his liquor cabinet and poured me a finger of scotch whiskey into a crystal tumbler. "Here. Sip slowly. I know the doctor won’t approve, but sometimes, men of science and men of reality have different points of view."

I took it thankfully, sipping slowly. As the scotch burned its way down my throat, I focused on not coughing, letting my nerves settle down. "When I could think again, I checked on Luisa and decided I had to get us both out of there. Bertolis and explosions aren’t the sort of thing that we need to have in the same sentence."

Dad nodded and poured his own, taking a seat behind his desk. "I agree. You did well. It was the smart thing to do."

"I should have done more," I said disapprovingly. "I'm not just one of your men. I'm also your son."