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Chapter Thirty-Nine
Amadeo
“Don’t you dare argue with me,” Heidi snapped from the back seat of the Lexus LS. She took hold of Vito’s arm and went to work inspecting it whether he liked it or not.
She’d already wrangled him into the car—a feat I would have paid good money to see on any other day—and the doctor was taking no shit from her patient.
She prodded at the wound—or whatever the hell it was doctors did—while Aurelio drove.
“I saw that,” she said when she caught Vito grumbling under his breath.
Aurelio laughed.
I was still seeing red. Blood. Heidi’s blood.
“The bullet nicked the subclavian artery,” Heidi said, and the tone of her voice made it clear this was no small matter.
Vito sat there stoically, having been thoroughly chastised by the woman sitting beside him, but there was no denying he was looking a little pale. Blood had saturated through his jacket and shirt sleeve before Heidi had yanked them off, and it was still pouring out at a pretty good pace.
“He needs a hospital,” she said, her eyes flitting toward me in the front passenger seat, then back again. She was wrapping the discarded shirt around his arm now, above the wound.
“No hospital, Doc,” Vito said, shaking his head adamantly.
She rolled her eyes. “No worries, we’ll just leave this tourniquet tied around your arm until you develop your own brand of fashion-forward gangrene,” she said. “Or, if you’re feeling particularly medieval, we can skip the hospital and fetch a saw. I hear amputation was all the rage back then, but I’m not sure it’d be the highlight of your day.”
My heart swelled with pride for this woman. No matter what she went through, there was no quelling her spirit.
Vito was right, though; the hospital wasn’t an option.
“You still have the supplies from the hospital,si?” I asked her.
She dug her teeth into her bottom lip and looked at me, but I looked away. I couldn’t look at her. I just fucking couldn’t.
“Yes,” she admitted begrudgingly.
“Do you have what you need to repair the artery?”
She shook her head. “I only have morphine. I have no means of sedating him. He’ll be awake.”
I looked at Vito, who nodded without hesitation.
“He’ll be fine,” I said, then pulled out my phone without waiting for her to reply.
“One of the guest suites needs to be transformed into a makeshift surgical suite in the next ten minutes,” I told Giovanni when he answered the phone. “Make sure all of Dr. Dawson’s supplies are brought there and ready for her.”
“Of course,Signor,” he replied like it was an ordinary request.
“Grazie,” I said, then hung up the phone and called Raven. I was fairly sure Heidi could use an extra set of qualified hands for whatever it was she was going to do.
I glanced over at the side mirror. Greta and Brute were on bikes right behind us, and Bruno and Carmine were in the car behind them, with the asshole from the basement—Dorian Sinclair—trussed up like a turkey in the trunk.
I clenched my hands into fists, then stretched out my fingers, staring at them consideringly. I’d brought about countless deaths with these hands, but I couldn’t say I’d ever particularly enjoyed it. Torture and murder, they’d always been necessary evils. A means to an end. But what I was about to do to Dorian Sinclair and the asshole who’d cut Heidi had nothing to do with necessary evils.
And I was sure as hell going to enjoy every fucking second of it.
By the time Aurelio turned into the driveway of the estate, there was so much adrenaline coursing through my veins, it was a wonder it wasn’t boiling out of my pores. I watched as Bruno and Carmine drove past Greta and Brute, circling around the house to take Sinclair in through the side entrance and straight to the basement.
It took every ounce of restraint I could muster to help Heidi get a slightly woozy Vito into the house. Once inside, Giovanni took over, hooking Vito’s good arm over his shoulder and leading him up the stairs while Heidi followed behind them.
