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I rip the stethoscope from Dr. Peterson’s hand and toss it on the floor. “I don't care. It's time to pack up your shit and go. Leave the syringe behind and I’ll give it to myself. I’ve seen it done enough times to know how.” The air is so thick, I can barely breathe. I tug at the collar of my shirt, wanting to rip the material from my body.
Taking a step back, he lifts his hands in the air. “Alright. Calm down. I'm going. I don't know what's going on but I don't get paid to have my equipment thrown around. It's not cheap.”
“I'll buy you five more just like it.” I point to the cracked medical device on the floor. “Next time bring a plastic one.”
He studies me for a few seconds before collecting all his belongings and shoving them back in his bag. “I'll be back in a week. If you have any issues—”
I wave my hand in the air, my throat too tight for words to travel past it. I swallow the thickness in my throat and take a deep breath. “I'll give you a call.”
“Alright then. I'll let your father know everything else looks good. You are taking your medication, correct?”
Swallowing the rancid taste in my mouth from the last few pills, I nod. “Yes. I have them here in my office.”
“Good. We'll reevaluate everything in another month. Take care of yourself, Enrico.”
“Thanks, Doc. I'm sorry about—”
He shakes his head. “Don't worry about it. It's not an easy thing you've experienced. I know you've gone against it many times but I really think you should see someone about the panic attacks.”
“What panic attacks?”
He forces a smile and pats me on the arm. “If you keep letting them take over, they'll end up winning.”
He exits the office before I'm finally able to open my mouth again to respond. I don't need to see anyone for a few episodes. It'll pass over time. He's right, what I went through was enough to shatter anyone's world. I can't afford to allow it to do more than shake mine a little.
A water bottle is shoved into my hand and when I look up, I’m met with Antonio's worried expression. “You sure you're okay, boss?”
No, I'm not. I won't tell him that though. Only what he needs to hear. Wrapping my fingers around the bottle, I nod. “Yes. I fucking hate doctors. Everyone here knows that.”
The cap untwists easily in my hands and I drain every drop in one go, crushing the empty bottle between my fingers. “What time am I supposed to meet my father outside?”
“You aren't. We'll be meeting him at the club. I'm taking you there myself. Zacharias ran into a little trouble at one of the warehouses that he had to address first. Fernando is there with him.”
“Sounds like a party I should be happy I wasn't invited to.” Except I can't stop the fury from coursing through my veins. My father didn't call me because he didn't think I could handle it. He kept tabs on how much food I had at lunch today and his questions were never ending when I took too long in the bathroom. Instead of being convincing when I told him I was fine, my hand shook as I wiped away the water dripping from my mouth. He kept looking at me the way a tiger does a wounded animal.
Clutching my fists, I open my laptop again and glance from the screen. Antonio is standing in front of the door waiting to be dismissed. If I was ready for him to leave, I would have told him already.
“Have the car ready for me in an hour then.”
Pressing his lips tightly together, he nods. “Yes, boss.”
“You can go back to doing whatever now,” I say, my eyes remaining on the search engine up on the computer screen.
He rushes away, closing the door behind him, and I search the name of the man chained up in the cellar. Not much information about him comes up but I find more than enough. He has a family and we know his address. I don't need anything else.
Grabbing my phone, I place a few calls and send one of my men over to his house to snap a few pictures of his wife and child leaving and entering the house. He needs to know we mean fucking business. Hopefully tomorrow when I show him the images I've gathered, he'll sing the way I need him too.
They were always so pretty when they did, their eyes filling with desperation and fear. It was my favorite part of the job. If I can retrieve information from the most stubborn, loyal men while breaking them in the process, I can do anything.
Loyalty never wins over fear. Not when it's for more than your own life. My phone vibrates and I want to toss it out the nearest window after reading the text from my father.
Father: Don't be late today.
Staring at the syringe resting on my desk, I grab it and bring it to my thigh. I shove off my pants before injecting myself with the medication that’s helping to push me closer to remission. Pulling up my pants, I stand from my chair to discard the needle in sharps container Doc has left on one of the shelves. My shoes scrape against the wood floor as I drag my feet to my closet. I change jackets, not wanting anyone to be able to smell the sickness on me. The cramps were extremely bad today, causing me to sweat in my clothes. I haven't thrown up since this afternoon so that’s at least one victory I can claim for the day. I no longer count being able to get out of bed. If I allow myself to stay too long on the days my body is weakest, then I'm a dead man whether I overexert myself or not.
Shoving my phone and a handful of peppermints in my pocket, I exit my office and lock the door behind me. Not like it makes a difference. Too many people already have the key. The club is packed tonight. I'm like a sardine trying to squeeze its way out of a damn can. I shove my way through all the dancing and chatting patrons, not caring when I cause a few to spill their drinks. Nothing irks me more than people gathering in the fucking walkway.
Antonio is waiting for me by the curb next to the car, leaning against the door and smoking a cigarette. “You ready to go?”
