She glared at me with fierce intensity.
Panicking, I muttered something about a sour stomach and slipped behind the door of the bathroom.
What a joke. Now I was knotted into her scheme like a name on the same hit list.
When her trick came apart, wouldn't I be the one dragged down into the dirt with her?
Moments later, I heard my sister's sweet, practiced laugh drift down the sterile corridor:
"No need to thank me. Saving a life is simply the right thing to do. The boy is only five years old. I couldn't just turn away and let him bleed."
"I only lent a hand. I want nothing for it. In fact, I have other matters waiting, so I'll take my leave now."
When the Don's right hand stepped forward to press a thick envelope of laundered cash into her palm, she made a hasty exit.
But she made certain to leave behind a card with her name and her number, set down on the counter like a calling card for tribute.
I came out of the bathroom and pressed myself into the shadowed end of the hall, weighing whether I should simply disappear before anyone noticed me. Before I could move, I caught the low, even voice of Lorenzo Moretti speaking to his right hand:
"Find out whether this was an accident or whether someone planned it."
"Keep the law out of it. I'll handle this myself. If a man laid hands on my son, there are a hundred ways to make him wish he hadn't."
"Every soul who was at the docks when it happened, I want their names. The broken steel that ran through him, I want to know if it was loose by chance or by design. We'll see which holds up longer under pressure. The steel, or the life of whoever set it."
The right hand inclined his head, again and again, in agreement.
When Lorenzo's gaze settled on the card Gemma had left, I went still, bracing for whatever came next:
"And this Gemma woman?"
"Leave her be for now. My son comes first. I'll see to her when he opens his eyes."
After Lorenzo and his crew stepped into the elevator and the doors sealed shut, I finally let out a shaky breath.
The Moretti Family held this city by the throat. No one crossed them and walked away whole.
Gemma had dared to spill the blood of their only heir. Her future was already written, and it was a short one.
Once I left the hospital, I saw that Gemma's car was already gone.
I tried calling her. No one picked up.
With no other choice, I flagged down a cab and went home to the tenement.
The moment I crossed the threshold, my father hurled a glass ashtray at my head.
Blood began to slide down at once.
My mother's voice came right behind it, clicking her tongue, dragging her eyes up and down over me before the words even fell.
"Adriana, can't you show some ambition for once in your life? You're absolutely hopeless!"
"Your father breaks his back on the docks for the made men year after year. Crossing paths with Don Moretti and his boy is the kind of chance that comes once and never again. If you won't help your sister, at least don't ruin it for her!"
My father struck the open wound on my forehead, and I flinched, the pain white behind my eyes.
"Gemma told you to clear out of that hospital. Are you deaf, or were you trying to steal the credit for saving that child? How did I ever raise something this useless?"
"If Don Moretti goes looking for you, how do we finish what we started? How do we collect what's owed? You absolute fool!"
So they had known all along. This was a shakedown, a blood-debt squeezed out of a Don.
They didn't just know. They were behind Gemma's poison from the start.
In my last life they had blamed me for wrecking her scheme, and they hadn't even bothered to claim my body off the steel.
I no longer cared to keep the peace with them.
"Steal the credit for saving someone? Or take the fall for her nearly killing him?"
"I haven't got the stomach for either. Every part of this is rotten down to the bone."
My father, enraged, raised his hand to strike me again.
But Gemma, home early, stepped in.
"Don't waste your breath on her. She's just a useless piece of trash, no good to anyone for anything. Lucky for us I thought ahead and left my card behind at the hospital." She laughed a half-beat too fast and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
At that, my mother's scowl melted into a beaming smile.
"Gemma, you've always been the clever one. I've said it since you were small. You're meant for villas and easy money, destined for greatness!"
"Not like someone else under this roof, more trouble than she's worth. A lazy mule! Twenty years of feeding her, and all she's ever been is a drain on this house!"
Too tired to argue, I withdrew to my room and grabbed a fistful of tissues to press against the wound. My thumb found the inside of my left wrist and pushed hard, there at the spot where the steel had once run me through, and I did not even notice I was doing it.
In the front room, Gemma was still spinning her version of the story, basking in their praise.
