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The line goes dead.
My pulse hammers in my chest so hard, I fear my heart might burst. All I can do is stare at the phone. I’m not equipped to handle a crisis like this. I have no training. Besides, I dropped out of college to raise my baby brother, who is asleep upstairs in my bed. My only talent is serving tables of ten with the efficiency of a seasoned waitress.
Matty needs a doctor, not a mafia kingpin.
I sit back on my heels, tears burning in my eyes. Do I put pressure on the wound? What do I do? “I don’t know how to save you.” I hiccup a sob.
If I survive the week, I’m enrolling in college for something to help this town out.
Just as the thought trickles through my head, the front door crashes open, and in walks Desmond. He’s wearing jeans that look like he grabbed them from a pile on the floor and a tight shirt, no coat. Desmond looks like the savior I see him as.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper as he kneels beside me.
“I have the kit. We can help Dom by getting the bullet out now.” A woman I have never seen before in my life kneels down beside Matty in her sweatpants. She doesn’t even flinch at the blood or the wound. She grabs a pair of long tweezers from the medical bag and looks up at me.
Her dark eyes are set on a beautifully aging face. There is a grace about her, one that reminds me so much of Audrey Hepburn. Her long dark hair has spatters of white, but they only make her look more refined and beautiful.
“I know you don’t know me, but I’m going to get that bullet out of Matthew.” Her voice is steady, calming, and instantly puts me at ease. She gives me a soft smile, one I don’t reciprocate because I’m too busy panicking inside.
“Charlotte.” Desmond lays a gentle hand on my bicep. “Come on.”
I scramble backward, press my body against a cabinet, and just watch, which is all I can do.
“All right, get those towels,” the woman directs Desmond. “I’m going in.”
“Ma, do you need more light?” Desmond asks, confirming this woman’s identity. She’s his mother, the woman I protected without ever knowing her personally, and I’m glad I did because, in a strange twist of fate, she’s saving the man who wanted to know just where she was.
“No, I could do this blindfolded.” She kneels beside Matty, her hair spilling over her shoulder, hiding her hands from view. “You fucking foolish boy. What did you do?”
“I told Lyric to talk to him.” Desmond kneels on the other side of his mom, checking Matty’s pulse every few minutes.
Matty grunts in pain but doesn’t wake up.
“He’s going to need blood,” Mama Black says. “It’s right here. I can almost get it. His hip caught the bullet. That’s going to hurt like hell for a few days.”
“Why didn’t he talk to him?” Desmond, for the first time, looks distraught. He doesn’t appear to be upset about Matty.
“Lyric,” I whisper. “He said he was going to make a few calls. He didn’t tell me where he planned to go.”
“I know, kitten. I know,” Desmond says, and that’s when it hits me that he’s upset about Lyric. “He went to find his brother without me.”
I look over his mom’s shoulder, finding the worry in his gaze.
“Dessi,” she says, trying to get the bullet out. “Would you have done the same with any of your brothers?”
“It isn’t the same, Ma.” He looks at her, their faces hidden from view.
“No?” she scoffs. “I recall the last time you and Dom got into it. You didn’t talk to each other for a year until you got shot.”
“You got shot?” The words are almost an afterthought, just something to fill the room and prevent it from going silent.
Desmond grunts. “Dom is here.” As soon as he says the words, the front door opens, and a man who is obviously another Black sibling struts through. He looks so much like Desmond, I take several moments to note the differences in the men.
There’s a hard edge to this man, one hidden beneath the laugh lines and the edges of his face. He’s terrifying in a way, and as those dark eyes roll over me, I feel as though he instantly dismisses me, but it’s only because he is looking for his patient.
“Got it,” their mom announces with a shout. A second later, she falls back on her heels, holding a bullet in a pair of tweezers. “He can wear it as a trophy.”
“Not if I torture and kill him,” Desmond grinds out, pressing a towel to Matty’s wound.
