Page 22 of Tesoro: Mayhem Makers

The room is too inviting to ignore, and my feet move of their own accord as I find a chair beside the fireplace. Staring into the flames, I allow myself to fade away from the situation, back to a conversation I had with my nona.

“Angels come in all forms, Katie. Our job isn't to judge them, but to help when they need us.”

Nona had such faith in me, encouraging me to follow my dreams and be the person she knew I could be. Would she still be proud if she knew where I was and what I was faced with doing? Would she choose doing what is right, even if it meant certain death?

Raising the cup to my lips, I jump as Frankie’s voice booms behind me.

“Doc, you need to come quick.”

Chapter

Sixteen

DANTE

I watch helplessly as Kate flees the room, my fingers still tingling from touching her knee. Tipping my head back, I let out an exaggerated breath. This isn’t me, I don’t lust after any woman, not since Bella.

The vibrating phone in my pocket prevents me from a trip down Depressive Lane. Glancing at the screen, I’m not surprised to see our uncle's name on the screen.

“Zio?” I answer in a low voice, taking several steps away from Angelo’s bed.

“Dante, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie, “Doc is checking over Angelo is all.” Another lie, this one guaranteeing my seat on the train to Hell.

“How are you holding up, son?”

Reaching into my pocket, I grip the beads of my rosary. An automatic reaction when I speak with my uncle given he is also our priest.. “I could use a stiff drink.” An honest answer to counteract the lie.

“Some time in confession I would imagine, as well.”

He wasn’t wrong, I was hard pressed to recall the last time I’d stepped foot into the confession box. There was a time, when I attended mass regularly, confessing every sin I’d committed. Iwanted different things back then. Now, I feel as if I'm waiting for my turn to die.

“When I get back to Boston, you have my word.”

“I’m holding you to it, Dante.”

Moving to end the call, a scraping sound behind me pulls my attention to Angelo’s bed. My heart quickens when I notice his face is drenched with sweat and skin so pale it's nearly translucent.

“Frankie!” I shout, rushing to Angelo’s side. “Get Kate in here.” Fear grips me as I touch his face, skin burning up as if he is on fire from within. Checking the wound on his chest, the skin there is red, almost purple and swollen as if a golf ball is trapped underneath.

“What is…” I hear Kate drift off, followed by the sound of her shoes hitting the hardwood floor.

I watch as she feels his skin, lifting Angelo’s eyelids and checking the inside of his mouth.

“Those idiots.”

Lifting my attention to her face, I find the area between her brows wrinkled in what I suspect is anger.

“What idiots? What the fuck is happening?” I demand as I follow her gaze to the wound on his chest.

“He’s septic,” she growls between clenched teeth. Pressing her fingertip into the angry flesh. “Motherfucking…” Kate’s oath shocks me, stirring something deep inside my chest. I find myself appreciating the soft look of her skin and the way the ringlets of her hair bounce around her shoulders. I’m lost to the essence of her, so much so I fail to notice when she pushes on a weak area in the suture line, releasing the putrid drainage, which lands in the center of my shirt-covered chest.

“Shit.” Jumping back, I look from the green-colored splatter on my black shirt to her amused smirk.

“Oh, good Lord, it isn’t like you haven't had bodily fluids on you before.”

Reaching up, I begin unbuttoning my shirt, careful to avoid the green shit in the center. “You’re right, Tesoro, however, they’ve never come from my brother.” Tossing my destroyed shirt to the corner. Lifting my gaze, I find Kate staring at my chest, her green eyes fixed on the tattoo of the praying hands over my heart.

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