“I want to do one more round of fluids, but you should be good after that,” he tells me.
“I’m going to be a doctor when I’m grown so I can make sure you and Daddy don’t die, Antonia,” Jazzy says like she’s just found the solution to all her problems.
“A doctor, huh? That’s a great choice,” I reply, not having the heart to tell her that no matter what, we’ll all die one day. I want to ask if Carlo is back, but the fact that he’s not in this room is answer enough. “What time is it?”
“Just a little after seven,” the doctor says, while the sunlight streaming in tells me it’s morning.
“I need to get up. I need to cook Jazzy breakfast,” I say.
“Aunt Charlotte is cooking,” Jazzy chimes in. “But she’s not as good as Daddy.”
“I heard that.” Charlotte comes in with a tray. “I guess you don’t want these banana pancakes, then?”
“No, I still want them. Please! They smell so good.” Jazzy jumps up onto her knees.
“Is it okay if she eats in here? She didn’t want to leave you.” Charlotte looks to me.
“Yeah, of course.” I nod my head.
“Right, I’ll leave you to it. Drink some liquids, but stay away from anything solid for the day,” the doctor instructs.
“Evie has gone to get you some soup,” Charlotte says, and I scrunch up my nose. “Oh crap, not the best choice. I’ll call her.” She runs out of the room. The poor woman looks stressed.
“How are they?” I ask Jazzy, who is currently stuffing her face with pancakes.
“They’re good, but Daddy’s are still better,” she whispers.
I laugh. “That’s 'cause your daddy is the best at everything.”
“He’s not that good at brushing my hair. You do that better,” she says matter-of-factly.
“You know you don’t have to sit here with me all day. You can go hang out with Charlotte and Evie if you want to,” I tell Jazzy.
“I want to stay here.”
“Okay, but how about after you finish eating, you go grab some of your toys and we can play whatever you want?” My suggestion lights up her face.
“Okay.” She nods. “Are you feeling better?”
“So much better.” I smile. My head is still foggy, and my stomach is icky, but I do feel better.
Chapter Thirty-One
There are times where I enjoy getting my hands dirty. Others when I don’t. I’ve never enjoyed this part of my job more than I do right now, though. The chef who cooked and sent up that bowl of poisoned soup, which my wife fucking ate, is currently spread out on the table in front of me. Wrists and ankles shackled.
A calmness washes over me. It always does. There’s something about the smell of desperation in the air that speaks to my soul. The desperation of a man at my mercy. A mercy that doesn’t fucking exist.
Especially to someone who’s attacked those I love. I’d be pissed if it were just me, but this latest stunt touched my family. Which means I’m not just pissed. I’m out for blood like I’ve never been before.
Removing the gag from the fucker’s mouth, I lean over him to whisper in his ear. “Welcome to the end, motherfucker. Get comfortable, because this is about to be your final hours.”
“No… I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know what was in the soup,” he says. I’ve got that same bowl of soup right here. I plan on feeding it to him through a straw later.
“If I had a dime for every time I fucking heard that… Can’t they come up with something more original?” I ask my friends, who are standing back, watching the scene unfold before them. No doubt the fuckers have all taken bets on how long the guy’s gonna last. Nothing like a friendly wager. We are in Vegas after all.
“You know, one day, when someone actually says something original, I might just let them go,” Sammie says.
“No you wouldn’t,” Louie counters.
