Chapter 18 Antonio

The clinic is empty except for a very pissed Dr. Camilla Cannella and two men standing in the waiting room. One sports a handlebar mustache, beady eyes, and has beefy hands with freshly bruised knuckles. He has to be at least 6’5 and over two hundred pounds. The other is slim but has a slimy disposition as he leers at Camilla with sunken eyes and high cheekbones which make him look eerily skeletal. There’s a hardness to his eyes that says he’s the more lethal of the two.

“Good afternoon, fellas. I’m Dr. Antonio Calisi and I need to speak to the good doctor, here—” I approach Camilla, but the bigger of the two stops me with a hand to my chest.

I don’t want to brawl. At least with the scar-face guy, we were evenly matched, physically. Mentally, I think that asshole has a screw loose, but you need to be slightly unhinged when working with anyone associated with the mob.

“I think you can speak right here in front of us,” Beefy Hands tells me with a glimmer in his eye. He wants me to give him any reason to get physical, but I’m tired of throwing punches today.

I keep my voice as calm as possible. “Camilla, Ronan’s on a house call, out of state. I’m here to take over his shifts and patients temporarily. If you gentlemen don’t need Dr. Canella, allow her to leave. It’s close to lunch and I’m sure she’d like to eat.”

The two men eye each other and the slimy one nudges his chin toward the door. She stays silent as she slinks by them to leave the clinic. I know that as soon as she gets a chance, she’s either going to call Ronan or the police. She’ll have better luck with the police because Ronan’s phone is going straight to voicemail.

Once she’s out of the clinic, I ask them, “Who are you and how can I help you guys?”

“I’m Detective Oliver and this Detective Morningside. We’re looking for Ronan because he has information for us,” Beefy Hands, aka Detective Oliver, says firmly. They both show me their badges and look official enough. However, there’s nothing about these two that says they uphold the law.

“What kind of information are you looking for? A second opinion on a medical matter?” I don’t want to assume anything, but with how this day is going, I know they’re not interested in Ronan’s medical expertise, or mine.

The slimy one, Morningside, speaks up this time. “If Ronan trusts you to take over his patients while he’s supposedly out of town, I assume you’re close? Close enough to come at a moment’s notice when his sister calls. Are you familiar with his work after hours? Tending to Don Verducci’s men?”

“No. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of his private clients,” I tell them.

Morningside reacts first, punching me in the gut while Oliver moves behind me to wrap his arms under my armpits, and lacing his fingers behind my neck. He holds me steady as Morningside throws blow after blow like I’m a punching bag. I fuck up and twist to break free, giving Morningside an open shot to my back before Oliver jerks me back into position.

“Wait, this is unnecessary.” I manage to gasp out. There’s no way I can retaliate against these guys as police officers. But make no mistake, I’m searing their names and faces into my memory.

There won’t be any reports of police brutality, but I’ll make sure they regret taking their frustrations out on me. One kick can shatter Morningside’s diaphragm. A headbutt will stun Oliver into letting me go and giving me time to knock him out.

However, Oliver lets me go as Morningside shakes his hands out. His fists may be smaller than mine, but they pack a punch. Morningside flexes his fingers and clears his throat, saying, “Okay, let’s try this again. Tell me about Ronan’s clients who belong to Don Paul Verducci.”

“He hasn’t treated anyone since Vito Dacosta went inside,” I tell them. Every breath leaves me panting for more air. There’s a nucleus of pain pulsing in my back. I think the little shit hit me in the kidney.

“Really?” Morningside asks. “That’s funny because we got a call from Verducci, who says the doc treated someone important to the family. We just want to know how that all worked out since we can’t seem to find him.”

“Who can’t you find? Ronan or the someone important to the family?” I ask.

That earns me a punch to the face and Oliver grabbing me by the hand.

“Wait, I’m left-handed. That’s my surgical hand.” I tell him with hope he’ll let me go, but Oliver grins as he snaps my middle finger backward and out of the socket. I clench my teeth before biting down on the top of my arm to muffle my screams of pain.

I hate to give them this much of a reaction, but showing pain, restrained or not, gives the appearance I’m not a threat. I won’t retaliate until I know more about these men. The last thing I need is a third front to fight in this war; Verducci, Gemma’s past, and San Francisco P.D.?

No. I need to be smart about this.

Morningside persists. “Now that we have your attention, doc. We’re looking for Frankie and Ronan, but Frankie will do. We want to know where he went last night, and we want to know now.”

He nudges his chin toward Oliver who is ready to dislocate more of my fingers. I can’t have this happen. I won’t be able to throw a punch at this rate.

I blow out a deep exhale while talking through the pain and trying to keep my thoughts straight. “Wait a minute, you said last night? As in Monday night, last night?”

“Yes. Verducci got a message from Frankie he was going to see the doc last night,” Oliver reiterates.

I know that can’t be, because Frankie is chum, floating in the ocean or in the gullet of some shark, but this is good. I find myself smiling. “Frankie must have gone to see someone else then because Ronan’s been out of town since Saturday. Has anyone spoken to Vito Dacosta?”

I’m fishing for information and only hope to stop these officers from doing any more damage to me or my hands.

“Vito’s been inside for months now,” Oliver scoffs. “No one listens to him. He’s not in charge. He was killing his own guys and thinks that Verducci is going to honor his position—”

Morningside shuts his partner up with a glare and shifts his steely gaze to me. “Why should we speak to Vito?”

I shrug. “Because you asked about Verducci. Ronan doesn’t do work for Don Verducci, which is probably why Frankie never made it in here. You can look around. Call a forensics team out here to check for Frankie’s blood. This is the only place Ronan would treat anyone like that because it’s his family’s facility. Vito might ask what’s happening that Frankie needs to see his doctor.”

The officers exchange glances as if that might cause a problem for them, or Verducci. I press my hunch further.

“I think Vito Dacosta might find it interesting how Verducci is using his,” I pause to look them up and down, while ignoring the pain shooting up my arm and to my shoulder, “well-paid private police officers to search for someone who stirred up so much trouble he needed his private doctor. If Frankie’s making waves, maybe you’re looking for Frankie to make him stop so things can go back to business as usual, to Verducci keeping Vito in the dark about what’s really happening out here?”

Morningside pulls Oliver to the side and I’m thankful to have that walking boulder step away from me. A part of me wants to slink into the exam room to grab one of the many guns Ronan keeps stashed around here. But a bent middle finger will make holding the gun and pulling the trigger cumbersome.

They step back over to me and Morningside shoves his hands in his pockets. “Okay, so if you were taking Ronan’s patients, then you could have treated Frankie.”

“I was at home last night and you can verify that with the security guards or at my condo’s management office. I didn’t leave, and I damn sure didn’t come here.”

It’s a lie, but the slight truth is that I wasn’t here, and I didn’t treat Frankie. That bit will save me from enduring more pain at their hands.

I continue, “But, if I were Frankie and needed to see Ronan, that would mean I’m pretty bad off. I’d go see another doc, or if I could stand it, I’d probably get out of town if someone’s trying to hurt me, or worse. No one calls Ronan after hours for something they can’t take care of themselves.”

“Alright, doc,” Morningside says. “Keep this conversation between us and um, Oliver, apologize for breaking the guy’s finger.”

“It’s alright, no apologies necessary. Accidents happen. I’ll take care of it,” I tell them.

Morningside nods and Oliver leaves as he says, “We’re going to look into a few things, but if we find out that Frankie was here—”

“I can assure you he’s never been a patient here, legitimate or otherwise.”

The men leave, but moments later the bells chime above the clinic door. It’s not Camilla, but Casper instead. Relief actually washes over me as I don’t want to deal with Camilla’s temper for the trouble we’ve been causing at the clinic these past few days.

“Don’t tell me I missed all the fun, doc,” Casper says with a smile and hand above the holstered gun on his hip.

“Sorry, brother, but all is well,” I tell him.

He looks at my hand with worry in his eyes. “That doesn’t look well at all. What happened?”

“I just had the pleasure of talking to two of San Francisco’s finest who are looking for Frankie.”

Before Casper can say anything, the bell above the doors chimes again. This time Gemma rushes inside, clutching an envelope to her chest. She drops it the minute she sees my hand.

“What the hell happened? Are you okay?” She rushes over to me and stops just shy of touching my abstract finger.

“What are you doing here?” I ask and pull my hand away from her. “You were supposed to go to my place and stay there.”

“Well, she sent up the bat signal.” Casper answers me instead of Gemma. He says, “Bash is on his way back to New York. Damian should be in Vegas by now. I thought you needed help.”

I cut my gaze to Gemma. “I said I didn’t want you in the middle of whatever was waiting for me here. So here is where you come?”

“I know, but Bash also told me to tell you, well tell you both, whenever the demand for money came,” she says with worry etching her gorgeous features as she picks up the envelope and puts it on the receptionist desk.

Casper flanks her from the side as she pulls the photos out of the envelope.

“Who reached out to you?” I ask her.

“No one yet, but they definitely know what I did. Look.” She spreads the pictures out and I see what has her worried.

“Well, at least Damian taught you how to use that thing,” Casper sighs as he runs his fingers across the top of them. “You have good form.”

She scoffs. “That’s only because the pictures don’t show me being dragged across the foyer. I think I squeezed off two shots.”

Casper nods and steps away to use his phone, telling us, “I’ll have Bash circle back to the house and see if it’s still lodged in a wall or something. If someone fished that bullet out of your ex and the house, we may be in trouble. Where did you put the gun, Gem?”

“Chucked it off the Golden Gate as soon as I got out here. Natalie had it in her stuff which her parents shipped to the apartment.”

“Thankfully, that’s one less thing for us to worry about. For right now,” I tell her, “I need you to help me with this.”

Gemma cringes with disgust as I show her my finger that’s at an angle I can barely stomach to look at myself.

“Maybe I should help with this.” Casper says as he slides Gemma away from me.

“I don’t care who helps. I just want to be able to put on a pair of surgical gloves without looking like a penguin.”