“He hosts them pretty often. Every other week or so.”
“Count me in—whether I’m invited or not.”
He smirked. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Once the shipment is ready, we’re doing a drop-off.”
“So, nothing?” I asked. “Then stop being a deadbeat and give me a hand.”
“Walked right into that, didn’t I?” He rolled up his sleeves and got to work, lifting a crate and carrying it to the back of the truck. We worked together for a while, and when we were back in the warehouse, I heard a loud crash behind me, as if glass had shattered everywhere.
I whipped back around and found the crate had smashed on the ground, wine bottles cracked and the Nero d’Avola splashed everywhere—and he had a massive shard of glass sticking out of his arm.
“What the fuck did you do?” I snapped. “Those aren’t even the right crates.”
He eyed the glass as he rotated his arm left and right. “Shit, that looks bad.”
“Yeah, you’ll definitely need stitches,” I said as I came closer. “Come on. I’ll drive you to the hospital.” I would have to haul ass to get there in a timely manner because it was clear on the other side of the island. Maybe there was an urgent care nearby.
He started to turn pale and stopped looking at the cut, which had begun to bleed profusely, even lost his balance slightly. “Get Frankie…”
“We need a doctor.” I grabbed him by the good arm and started to walk him out.
“She’s the doctor,” he said quickly. “Just get me to the main house.”
“She’s the doctor?”
“Well, she’s our doctor, but I think she’s a nurse.”
I didn’t have time to be impressed when I saw all the blood he was losing. “Come on.” I walked him outside and found a golf cart they used on the property. He got into the passenger seat, the glass still sticking out of his arm, and I rushed down the path to the main villa in the distance.
He continued to look pale, quiet as he sat there and breathed deeply.
“You’re in the Mafia, and you can’t stand the sight of blood?” I asked incredulously.
“Just my own.”
I made it to the villa and came to a stop. “Come on.” I helped him up the stairs and entered the house, stepping into the entryway, which had a table that held an enormous vase of fresh flowers. “Frankie!” I yelled as I pulled him into the kitchen, where some of the staff were washing and preparing tomatoes and garlic, probably to make sauce for dinner. They scattered away when Iguided him to the table and put him in a chair. “Frankie!” I’d never formally met the girl, but I screamed her name like we were well acquainted. “Got a patient for you.”
A moment later, hurried footsteps came around the corner, and she appeared in high-waisted jeans and a white top with poofy sleeves, a gold cross hanging around her neck and gold bangles on her right wrist. She took one look at Salvatore and sighed. “Cristo, what the hell happened?” She came to his side and examined his bloody arm, her palm and fingertips immediately soaked in Salvatore’s blood, but she didn’t even blink. She looked at one of the maids in the kitchen. “Suture kit and alcohol.”
“Yes, Signorina Mancini.”
Frankie grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside him. “Get me a towel.”
I assumed that order was for me, so I grabbed the first one I saw on the counter near the sink and handed it over.
She grabbed the shard and pulled it out in a single smooth motion, like she’d done this before.
Salvatore made the mistake of looking at the pool of blood that started to pour out. “Oh Jesus…” Then he started to sway.
“Hold him,” she ordered.
I grabbed on to his arm and shoulder and forced him upright when he passed out. His head tilted back over the edge of the chair.
She applied pressure to the wound, and then one of the maids brought the medical supplies she needed. Frankie kept one hand on the wound with enough pressure to turn her knuckles white while she ripped open the suture kit with her teeth. “Hold him for a second.”
