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We go down the hallway together, and Carter leads me into an empty private room. He closes the door behind him, turning with a sigh. “Sorry, Dante.”
“Just get on with it.”
“From our initial tests, it doesn’t look like the cause of the migraines and the episodes are physical. We’ll make deeper inquiries, of course, but so far, from initial scans, it would seem the cause is psychological.”
I swallow. It’s been a few years, maybe three, since this has been happening. Whenever I thought about the cause, I assumed there would be something physical, some misplaced piece of brain or a growth.
“So it’s just… me doing it to myself?”
“Like I said, we’ll keep looking. Otherwise, we can arrange counseling?—”
“No,” I tell him. “I don’t need that. Thanks, Carter.”
I leave the room and walk quickly down the hallway. Luca is on his feet, hands in his pockets again, waiting.
“She wasn’t awake,” I tell him. “You don’t have to wait.”
“I’ve got some time.” Luca sits down. I sit next to him and pick up my coffee again.
“What did you want to see me about, anyway?” I say.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Business always matters.”
“It’s not business exactly,” Luca says. “It’s security for a day.”
“I’m listening…”
“For my cousin, Mia, and her man.”
I swallow, curling my hands into fists, almost trembling. “Why do they need security?”
“We’re dealing with the West Coast Marinos now. My uncle has introduced Vito and said he’s trustworthy, but we need to be sure there aren’t any threats.”
“Am I protecting them,” I say, “or watching Vito? Judging his character?”
Luca grits his teeth and lets out a breath. “I wouldn’t come right out and tell you to do that, Dante.”
I nod. “I got it. I’ll do it.”
“But your?—”
“I’ll do it, Luca.”
After a moment, he nods. I wonder if I should’ve agreed to it so quickly. There’s a deep well of fire, rage, and hate just thinking about her going on a date with another man.
“I’ll get you the details for the date,” Luca says about twenty minutes later when he’s getting ready to leave.
“Sounds good.”
Once he’s gone, I take out my phone.Somebody tells me you’re going on a date.
Yeah, it could be you, Stranger.
I quickly go to the selfie camera and take an awkward photo of me staring down at the camera. She quickly types,You could try smiling.
I grin, but it’s sour. I could tell her why it’s so difficult to smile, but I don’t want to weigh her down. I don’t want her to have to be part of it.
