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Of course, Angelo owns everything in this city. The cops. The mayor. The politicians.
He could just go to the hospital, and nobody would ask any questions.
The media, however, circle like vultures.
And that’s why he calls me.
The last time I helped Angelo was faking his own death. I was volunteering as an EMT, which was convenient, as we had an ambulance. Angelo is nothing if not a perfectionist for the finer details.
“Okay, my shift doesn’t finish for four more hours, but I’ll see if anyone can cover it.”
“Thank you.” There’s a pause, then, “I don’t mean to drag you into this each time.”
“It’s fine, Angelo. You’re family.”
I also never ask any questions I don’t want the answers to. I’m sure Fynn will tell me anyway.
“Gus will pick you up.”
“Okay.”
“Text me when you can get away.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Thank you, Sage.” The phone clicks off.
Though Angelo is now the Boston mafia don, after taking over from his Uncle Mario, he’s also the most feared man in this city.
To me, however, I know a different Angelo. Not many people get to see him as anything other than the tyrant they paint him out to be. He’s always been good to me. The look on his face when he saw me that night, I’ll never forget it.
I know that it’s not something you’d easily forget, even for a mafia don.
Angelo’s driver, Gus, picks me up at the hospital twenty minutes later when I’ve arranged to have my shift covered. I have no idea where we’re going, nor do I ask.
I’ve been helping the Medicis on and off but more and more over the last six months, and I know that Angelo doesn’t just call me because he expects it, but he knows he can trust me. Maybe I do it out of loyalty, because I owe him and Fynn more than I could ever repay them for taking care of me when Cam attacked me that night all those years ago.
The car pulls up outside a large, concrete building, and I can see the docks just beyond.
When Gus punches in a long security code, along with face ID, I know some serious shit goes on in here. Shit I probably don’t want to know about.
The first thing I see is Dante sitting in a chair, one entire side of his shirt covered in blood. Fynn is pacing up and down, his eyes growing wide when he sees me.
I saw him just the other week when I went over to the casino. Rocco had been involved in a mysterious explosion that made the news. One of their vehicles blew up right outside the auction house where Dante had just purchased some land. There’s never a dull moment in this family.
Rocco was closest to the blast and got lucky without any serious damage, just a mild concussion and some cuts and scrapes.
“What mess have you gotten into now?” I ask the pair of them.
Fynn immediately points to his twin. “It’s Dante,” he says, “therefore you’re kinda required to patch him up.”
I roll my eyes at Fynn, even if I know it’s true.
“You look lovely by the way.” He adds.
I snort, “Seriously?” I’m in my not-so-sexy scrubs and looking anything but lovely.
I walk towards Dante as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “What happened, Dante?” I ask instead.
