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I’d been too busy focusing on the inside to get to that. Stripping the black stain off of the gorgeous real wood wall accents, removing the carpeting that had been laid over original wood floors, restoring the bathrooms to something less modern-looking.
It had been a labor of love because I hoped to have a wife and kids in it one day. Fill it with noise and laughter and Christmas mornings with wrapping paper flying and big birthday parties with the whole family around.
I made my way in through the side door leading into the kitchen, going right to the sink to wash my hands and arms, watching Savannah’s blood circle the drain, and feeling yet another wave of guilt wash over me.
How the fuck did you make up for something like this?
As far as I knew, aside from the girlfriends or significant others of the women in the Family, no innocents had ever been caught up in our shit, hurt because of our business.
It wasn’t like there was even anyone to reach out to for answers.
Almost as if on cue, the door I’d just walked in burst open.
And there was Smush, my cousin, carrying several bags on her arms and against her chest.
Smush—or, Sofia, as was her real name—was tall and fit with black hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and a perpetual ‘don’t fuck with me’ look on her face.
She’d unfortunately been dubbed Smush because she’d been a chunky toddler, and her mother had called her it affectionally.
She hated it.
As if having a sixth sense for this sort of thing, her gaze went to the sink, to my shirt, seeing the blood, the darkened patches of it on my shirt.
“Bad time?” she asked, placing my bags on the kitchen table.
Yes, my bags.
Smush had made a business of shopping and running errands for the single guys in the family. And even some people outside of our gene pool.
Sure, I did my own shopping on occasion, but Sofia was better at it than I was, always remembering to get things before they ran out, before I was reaching for something, and there was just none there, setting off a bad mood spiral for the day.
“Actually, you have great timing,” I said, turning to look at her as I dried my clean hands and arms. “I need help.”
“In case you forgot, I don’t help with all of that,” she said, making a circle with her finger as she indicated my shirt.
“No, it’s… there was a shooting today,” I told her.
“Wait, is that your blood?” she asked, going deadly serious in a blink, her whole body going tight.
“No. But it should have been. There was an attempted hit,” I told her. We didn’t often share details of the Family business with the women. For legal reasons. But I figured that this was going to hit the news anyway. “And the server at the place pushed me down, saving my life, and got two bullets for her effort.”
“Oh, my God. Is she okay?” she asked, her hand going to her heart.
“She was stable when the ambulance took her. But I…”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding, knowing what I was going to say.
“What the fuck do I bring to the hospital?” I asked.
“I mean, flowers are always a good idea.”
“I don’t think the florist makesSorry you got shot because of mearrangements.”
“I mean, I’m pretty sure Luca isn’t going to want you to tell her the bullets were meant for you anyway.”
“They clearly weren’t meant for her.”
“I mean, but, random shootings? They happen all the time. Couple of idiot guys who got spooked before they could rob the joint? Just… don’t give details, maybe? It can totally be a ‘Thank you for saving my life’ visit without you saying you were the one they were looking for.”
