Page 19 of Blood Money

“People live for many years in heart failure…ifthey follow their doctor’s advice,” I stressed. Lordy, I wanted to shake some sense into her.

“How’s it living if I can’t do anything I enjoy?”

I rolled my eyes at the surly woman I loved more than anything. “There’s still plenty you can do that you enjoy.”

“Did Spinelli pick up his cake?” she asked me, conveniently changing the subject.

I sighed as I shot her a worried frown. “Yes, he did. But Nonna, I need to talk to you about that. You accidentally put an envelope of money in with the cake.”

Her eyes went wide, and she froze. The monitors started beeping faster, and I looked up at them right as the nurse came in.

“Mrs. Romano, is everything okay?” The nurse was talking to my grandmother, but she gave me a judgmental stare—as if I was causing an issue.

“I’m fine,” Nonna assured her, though her heart rate was still up.

The nurse took her blood pressure, checked her pulse manually, then fiddled with some things. When that didn’t seem to satisfy her, she told us she’d be back shortly. About fifteen minutes later, she returned and went to the computer on the wall, where she typed for a minute. She scanned my grandma and the small bottle, then drew the medication into a syringe. “Your doctor wants you to have a small dose of metoprolol because your blood pressure is quite elevated, and your heart rate isn’t coming down. Okay?”

“Whatever,” Nonna replied belligerently.

Stubborn woman. She must be one of the worst patients.

After a few minutes, the nurse seemed satisfied, and she turned to leave. “Please don’t upset her,” she softly murmured. “She doesn’t need to be getting worked up right now. I’ll be back later to check on her.”

I nodded. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and discussed the money with her later. The last thing I wanted to do was upset my grandmother while she was in the hospital for her heart issues. The nurse left, and I pressed a kiss to Nonna’s hand. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked her.

She turned the hand I’d kissed so she could cup my cheek. “I’m fine. But please tell me you didn’t take that money out of the box.”

My hesitation must’ve answered her question, because she covered her mouth and closed her eyes.

When that damn monitor flashed her heart rate, I panicked. “Nonna, you need to take a deep breath. They’re gonna kick me out if you keep getting upset. Please take a deep breath,” I begged as I squeezed her hand. In that moment, I was so damn confused. Why was she getting so worked up that I’d saved her from giving away a thousand dollars?

“Oh my God, you don’t know what you’ve done,” she finally murmured once the machine stopped flashing and beeping. I breathed a sigh of relief when the nurse didn’t come barreling in.

“Then tell me so I understand. What did I do that was so wrong? I thought I was helping you.” None of this was making sense.

“That money goes to La Cosa Nostra,” she whispered.

“What?” I cried. “For what?”

My heart was pounding, and though I knew what she was going to say, I prayed I was wrong. Each second that ticked by seemed an eternity as I waited, every sound amplified.

“It’s the bakery’s monthly protection money,” she admitted, and my heart dropped into my stomach.

“No.” I shook my head in disbelief. “That can’t be true. Please tell me that’s not true.”

Unable to meet my gaze, she closed her eyes, and the floor seemed to fall out from under me.

He wouldn’t do this. Despite breaking my heart, he couldn’t truly be so cold. Could he?

The next day, I went back to Nonna’s apartment to shower. After the episode last night, her doctor wanted her to stay another couple of days so they could tweak her medications. I figured I might as well get cleaned up so I could stay with her again. My parents would be here tomorrow, and then maybe I could go home to Michigan.

As I soaped up under the hot water, I ran the washcloth over my chest and down over my stomach. Glancing down, I traced a finger over the scar on my hip and the one on my thigh. They barely showed now, but my eyes welled at the sight. I wondered if it would ever stop being so incredibly painful.

I rushed through the rest of my shower, dried off, and dressed. Then I locked up the apartment and went down the outside stairs to the side alley.

I was digging my phone out of my purse when someone slammed into me and pushed me against the building. I started fighting and kicking, but when I started to scream, a hand slapped over my mouth, and the back of my head hit the rough bricks. I winced, tears forming in my eyes.

“If you wanna live to see another day, you better hold still and shut your mouth,” the guy growled. Eyes wide, I froze. It was the guy from last night—Spinelli. Well, if that was his real name. “Where’s my fuckin’ money?”

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