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Milene blinks, still gaping at me, and it dawns on me. Shit. I’d been so damn angry about her not eating that I completely forgot. Milene’s gaze travels down my arms and the hands holding my crutches. Then, it moves lower until her eyes reach my left leg... where the pant leg of my sweats is tied in a knot just below the knee. It completely slipped my mind that I’ve never told her about my leg. As her eyes lift to meet mine, I steel myself for what I’ll see there because if I find even an ounce of pity, I’m going to smash the room.
She gets up off the bed and comes over to stand before me, her chin tilted up at a slight angle. “I’d love to see you try, Salvatore.” She raises her eyebrows and slams the door closed.
I stand there, staring at the door that almost hit me in the face, and feel the corner of my lips twitch slightly upward.
I walk back to the bed and sit down on the edge, trying to collect myself. It never crossed my mind that part of his leg might have been amputated.
Salvatore Ajello is always trending where gossip is concerned. Even though only a few members of our Family have met him, people love to talk. Probably because there is never enough info about him. He doesn’t visit public events, and there are no pictures of him anywhere. His underboss, Arturo, acts as the “face” of the New York crime family. When anyone needs to contact the New York Cosa Nostra, they call Arturo. Never the don.
If there was a recent accident resulting in such serious injury, someone would have heard about it. The rumor mill would have run rampant for months. So, it must have happened before he became the head of the New York Family.
“Jesus,” I mumble and bury my hands in my hair.
Losing a limb must be hell to deal with. I’ve met a few amputees during my studies and residency, and most of them had trouble adjusting to their new realities. Salvatore doesn’t seem to have a problem with that. What kind of nurse am I not to have suspected? I noticed his limp and that it had become a little more pronounced when we arrived at the penthouse, but I didn’t make the connection. He probably controls the way he walks when there are other people around. I assumed it had to be an old injury or something congenital. That is if I even thought that much about it.
He’s a really peculiar guy, my new husband. The way heacted so calm and unshaken that day when someone shot at us in the parking lot was truly frightening. I have a feeling not many things would shake him to his core. Except, apparently, me not wanting to eat.
I grip my phone at my side. I should call Bianca and tell her what’s happened. She’ll freak out. Distressing a woman who’s six months pregnant isn’t wise, but I’ll have to tell her. Tomorrow. I’ll call her tomorrow because I’m still processing this shit myself. As I scroll through my contacts list, wondering if I should call Andrea, another name comes across the screen, and I stop. Nonna Giulia. My late father’s aunt is always up-to-date with the latest gossip. Being a hundred and one years old, she knows everyone in Cosa Nostra. I press the call button.
“Milene, tesoro!” she chirps on the other side.
“Hey, Nonna. How are you?”
“Sunbathing in Cancun. You cannot believe the male hotties they have here.”
I snort. Nonna’s a little whacky. “Listen, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever met Salvatore Ajello? The don of the New York Family?”
“I know who Ajello is, tesoro. I’m still what you would call compos mentis.” She snickers. “Why do you ask?”
I sigh and give her a summary of the latest events in my life. When I’m done, there is a long pause on the other end of the line before she finally answers.
“Holy fuck, Milene,” she whispers.
I’ve never heard Nonna curse before. “So? Do you know him?”
“I knew his father. He was a capo. Salvatore took his place when his father was murdered. It was nine or ten years ago,”she says. “Something happened in New York a few years later, and the whole establishment ended up dead. The don, the underboss, five capos. Salvatore took over. I think that was six years ago.”
“You’ve never met him?”
“Once, but it was decades ago. There was a wedding and his father brought him along. Salvatore was eight, I think.”
I try to imagine Salvatore as a child but can’t make the leap. “How was he?” I ask.
“Strange,” Nonna says. “There was an accident toward the end of that day. One of the light fixtures broke free from the ceiling and fell onto a table, trapping a man beneath it. Women screamed. Blood was everywhere. People rushed around, trying to help the poor soul, but he was already dead. It was awful.”
“Dear God.”
“Salvatore was sitting at a table nearby, eating cake and observing the events, absolutely unaffected by what had happened. It was as if there wasn’t a man with a metal rod sticking out of his chest sitting not even fifteen feet away from him. At first, I thought the kid must have been in shock, but he stood up and casually walked toward the buffet table to take another piece of cake. He passed the bloody scene as though it didn’t bother him in the least,” she says. “There is somethingwrongwith him, Milene. Please, be careful.”
When I end the call, I spend some time mulling over what Nonna said. I’ve already noticed Salvatore is a bit odd, so she hasn’t told me anything new. What interests me more is the fact that he became a don at what? Twenty-eight? That’s unheard of.
The cat jumps down off the bed and rubs his flank againstmy legs. He’s probably hungry. I forgot to tell Ada to order cat food. For now, something from the fridge will have to do, and I’ll buy some cat food tomorrow. It would be a good idea for me to eat something, too, but my stomach has shrunk, and the idea of food seems unappealing. However, I’m pretty certain Salvatore wasn’t bluffing when he said he would force me to eat. Bastard.
I take the cat in my arms and head toward the door. “Let’s go and find something to eat, Kurt.”
The first word that comes to mind as I walk through the penthouse, is “enormous.” The space must be at least four thousand square feet, maybe more. Considering its location, this place must be worth millions. How loaded is Salvatore, I wonder. My family has money, and I became accustomed to owning expensive things quite early in life, but this is a whole new level of rich. I’m not much of an art expert, but the paintings lining the walls must have cost a fortune. Hopefully, the furniture isn’t as expensive since my cat loves to sharpen his nails on the upholstery without a care in the world.
The penthouse is divided into two sections. The first one, where my room is located, seems to be a private area with two bedrooms on each side of the wide hallway. Large white double doors separate it from the common area, where the kitchen, living and dining rooms are located. Everything is immaculately kept, and the open floor plan emphasizes the vastness of the space.
