The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(2)

They had a breach to heal. I took a bullet for one of their own. They considered me family once, and when a Bianchi considers you family and a rift forms and they want to patch it, they’ll go all out to do it. Hence the Bianchi visits I’d faked sleeping through.

But I took their shit for years. I did it because I loved them. I did it because I loved Vinnie Junior. I did it because they lost a son and a brother and they had to pile their pain on somebody, and seeing as I loved them, I let that be me.

Then I took a bullet for them.

Enough.

I also had Sal. Sal would do anything for me. His business killed my man; he owed me and he was the kind of man who felt markers like that never went fulfilled.

He was also a Mafia crime boss. So, as much as I loved him, I didn’t want to go there.

I also had friends. I used to have more—prior to my dead boyfriend deciding on a career path that meant he became a made man in the mob—but I still had a few.

I wasn’t going to go there either. I didn’t pretend to sleep when they stopped by, but even before I had the spectacular idea to stick my nose in a situation that got me shot, I was making moves to get on with my life. I’d been treading water in Chicago for too long: seven years after Vinnie died. It was time to be done with it. Start over. I was thirty-four years old. I’d wasted seven years. I shouldn’t waste any more.

Who I could not call was any of my own flesh and blood. I loved them. I really did. But the drama they brought with them wasn’t worth it. I’d been shot. People lived their whole lives not only never getting shot, but also not getting shot at.

My family still could out-drama a gunshot wound. This would be no challenge to them.

So I didn’t need that either.

“Sure,” I answered Cindy as she wheeled me down the hall.

“You got painkiller scripts in there,” she told me, heading toward the elevators. “Now, you know I saw what happened to you on the TV. You went all out, bein’ a hero, helpin’ to save that woman from that psycho guy. You use those pills when you need them, stop when you don’t. Be a shame you went from hero to junkie.”

Cindy spoke truth.

Cindy was also an African American nurse who worked in that suburban hospital just outside Chicago, but she used to work at a hospital deep in the city. Over the last week and a half, I’d learned that Cindy had seen a lot and most of it was not good.

I’d also learned that Cindy didn’t beat around the bush.

“I’ll do my best not to become a junkie,” I assured her as she hit the elevator button.

“Follow the doctor’s orders. Read ’em good,” she ordered. “Get your booty out of bed and get around. But don’t overdo it. You hear?” she finished as the elevator binged.

“I hear,” I muttered.

She wheeled me in the elevator and expertly wheeled me around to face forward.

“This has not been real fun,” I told the doors but did it speaking to Cindy. “But I’m gonna miss you and the girls.”

Weirdly, this was true. It was likely I’d never forget getting shot or the ensuing weeks where I had to battle the pain, struggle to recover, and do this with a Bianchi onslaught in full swing. But the nurses in that hospital were the best. I couldn’t say this with any authority. I’d never had a hospital stay before. But they were so good, I couldn’t imagine better.

“Yeah, we’re gonna miss you too,” she replied. “Mostly we’ll miss tryin’ to figure out what is up with you doin’ the Sleepin’ Beauty act when that boy comes callin’.”

Apparently they were also attentive. And to more than just my health.

I pressed my lips together.

“What is up with that?” Cindy prompted.

“Uh…” I non-responded as the elevator doors binged again and started to open.

“That boy came every day to see me,” she started as she began to push me out of the elevators, “I’d be on the phone with my stylist like a shot. I’d have my hair done. My nails done. My toenails done. And I’d be in a negligee.”

I tamped down visions of me in a negligee reclining in a hospital bed, which were too ridiculous to fathom, even for me (and there was very little too ridiculous to fathom about me), and I thought about Gina.

Gina had brought me some new nightgowns and a robe to wear during my hospital stay. They were pretty in a cute way that was very Gina and so not me.

I was about flash and impact all the time. I could put on the glitz just going down to the lobby to get my mail.

But when it came to bed wear, the less material the better. And if there was material, I liked it to leave as little to the imagination as possible (yes, even if I was sleeping just with me).

As cute as the ones Gina brought were, they were also appropriate for a hospital stay, thus no flash, no impact, and lots of material.

I’d opted to wear hospital gowns.

They were ugly, shapeless, and no one could get ideas about a woman in a hospital gown.

And I had a feeling Benny was getting ideas.

Cindy started wheeling me toward the exit doors and she did this still talking.

“So the girls, we’ve been talkin’ about that since he brought you in covered in your blood. Now, I didn’t see that part, but it’s made the rounds big time. Hot guy. Hot girl. GSW. Blood. Drama. Resulting television crews. That happens.”