Chapter 6 Antonio

I don’t give a fuck who put what in Gemma’s drink. Everyone involved needs to pay for what happened last night. Rage surges through me. Gemma’s face reddens as she questions what happened. We both look at the footage as Damian plays it again.

People sway to the music on the dance floor of Trips while others sit around the bar. Every frame plays in silence until we get to the point of the night where Frankie notices the girls from afar. He watches them move to an opening among the bar stools. When Natalie and Gemma come on the screen, there’s a shadowy figure following them.

I point it out to Gemma. “You two don’t even notice this guy. He followed you in and stood there. Look how he’s moving around the crowd to sit at that end of the bar. He has a direct line of sight to you two. Now, watch.”

We watch as the shadowy stranger moves seamlessly through the crowd just as Frankie approaches Gemma from behind. It’s quick and you’d miss it if you weren’t paying attention.

“Right there!” I point at the screen. “Natalie, you’re looking at the dance floor. The bar tender just sat the drinks down. Frankie’s looking at you but has his back to the bar. Natalie turns back around to say something to you, Gemma, and that guy right there reaches for a napkin.”

Gemma squints and shakes her head. “I don’t even remember seeing him. That’s the asshole who put something in my drink?”

“You’re not supposed to know or remember a simple thing as reaching for a napkin. That’s how fast it happens,” Bash says with his face wincing in pain. “Whoever that guy is, he paid enough attention to see you two weren’t on alert. Frankie saw it and decided to take advantage of it.”

“What the fuck?” Natalie gasps.

Gemma growls. “We can’t even have a drink without being on alert. I hate it here. Who’s the guy who reached for the napkin?”

Damian shrugs and swipes out of the video. “I have to pull some other favors to get that footage, but I’m already working on it.”

My phone rings, taking me out of the room and into the hallway. It’s Ronan and I can already feel the dread behind the call.

“Yeah?” I answer abruptly.

Ronan takes a deep breath as he tells me. “We have a problem.”

“What happened?”

“I was on my way home and when I got there, Frankie was sitting on my fucking doorstep!” He whispers frantically.

My stomach churns and I’m ready to hit something. “I told you doing work for Vito always ends in chaos.”

Ronan continues whispering. “Now’s not the time, Antonio. I have a fucking dead body in my house.”

“What?!” My aggravation shifts to panic. “Why is he dead? And why are you whispering? The dead don’t listen.”

“You have no idea what the dead hear.” He hisses into the phone. “As far as why he’s dead? Why don’t you ask the trigger-happy mafia don in the exam room?”

“Ronan, calm down.”

“Verducci is going to kill me. I have to get out of here until I figure out how to get Vito to vouch for me,” Ronan says.

“Why would Verducci kill you ? He’ll likely think I finished Frankie off after what happened with Gemma.”

“You don’t get it. Whatever your friends did, they didn’t finish the job. Frankie probably called Verducci who told Frankie to come to me because of my work for Vito! They’re going to know he came to me and when they find his dead fucking body I’m going to be dead fucking meat!”

My hair’s soft to the touch when I run my fingers through it. No product, no shave... it’s a reminder that it only takes one event to throw my life into a tailspin.

Everything is a routine for me, and while Gemma is the best part of this shift, it’s not permanent. This chaos is temporary. How is she going to deal with my hours at the hospital? My routine isn’t suitable for spontaneity, let alone helping one of my closest friends get rid of a dead body

Will she even want to deal with me after all of this?

It’s not a surprise bodies pile up when Bash and his brothers are around. But with one disastrous situation after another, how am I supposed to sell the idea of being engaged when any other woman would flee?

“ANTONIO!” Ronan shout-whispers into the line and pulls me back to our conversation.

“I’m here. Calm down and get him out of sight. We’ll be there soon.” I tell him and hang up.

The front door of the clinic opens with a bell chime I typically ignore, but these past 24 hours demand I pay attention to every detail. Ronan’s sister, Dr. Camilla Canella, strolls in with her head shaking before I can get a word out.

She shakes her head, dismay in her hazel eyes as she speaks. “No, Antonio, I don’t want to hear it. There are bullet holes in the walls beside the door.”

“I can explain that, Camilla.”

She points at the floor, her eyes widening with building anger. “There’s literally a trail of blood through my waiting room. You’re lucky Cat is on vacation and Carmen doesn’t come in until later. You and Ronan are always bringing your extracurricular activities here. I’m turning my head, ignoring the obvious, and going to my office. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

She’s angry and rightfully so, but I don’t let her get far before holding a hand up to stop her from heading toward the exam room. I doubt that seeing Bash waiting for me to finish bandaging his wounds will lessen her anger.

“How about you get breakfast and come back in ten, fifteen, minutes? We’ll be out of your way and Ronan will be back ... soon,” I tell her and usher her out the door. Camilla doesn’t panic. She rarely does, simply taking my and Ronan’s extracurricular activities in stride.

Panic, duty, and loyalty swirl around my head as I’m faced with protecting Marzano family interests once again. This time with Gemma involved, I’m even more invested than before.

I head back into the exam room where I still need to cover the stitches on Bash’s ribs. Color’s coming back to his skin, and it’s clear he’s ready to leave.

“I thought you said Casper was cleaning up the mess you made last night?” I ask while taping a patch of gauze over the area.

“He is. What’s going on?” Bash asks.

“We have to finish cleaning up your mess,” I tell him as calmly as I possibly can. “ He’s landed on Ronan’s doorstep.”

“Fuck. I told Casper that asshole was still on his feet.” Bash huffs and grinds his teeth with the pain spiking through his body as he stands up.

“We got another problem,” Damian interjects.

The subtle throbbing of an erupting migraine pulses behind my eyes. I’m already running on a few hours of sleep, but I have to keep my mind sharp.

“What now?” Gemma asks her brother with the same amount of exhaustion I feel brewing inside of me.

“We have to help Casper. He’s in a situation at the cleanup site. Someone is following him, and he still has stuff to get rid of from last night,” Damian tells Bash.

Bash turns to me. “Do you think you can handle the Ronan situation until we get to Casper?”

“Of course, I can. It won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last,” I tell him. I turn to Gemma and Natalie who are whispering amongst themselves. When Damian leaves with Bash, he wraps his hand around Natalie’s to leave with him.

Gemma follows me out of the clinic just as Camilla comes back from her coffee run. After a brief introduction, I give her a flimsy excuse about why Ronan isn’t inside to clean up the mess we’ve made of her exam room. She’s in a constant state of irritation when it comes to me and Ronan using the clinic for our friends , but I can’t hash this out with her right now.

I’m torn over bringing Gemma, but I know she needs to stay with me as this Frankie situation escalates. There’s an uneasiness settling over me as we head to Ronan’s house. I’m constantly checking the rearview mirror to ensure we’re not being followed. If things happened the way Ronan said, it wouldn’t surprise me if Verducci is looking for me.

“What’s actually going on, Antonio?” she asks. I can feel her anxiety growing alongside mine.

“Someone showed up at Ronan’s place and we have to help him.”

“Help who?”

“Ronan. We’ll talk more when we get there and see what we’re dealing with,” I tell her with my eyes ever alert. I hate talking in the car about these kinds of things. Too much detail can lead to subpoenaed testimony if I’m not careful.

While it’s been a long time since my voice has come up on a wiretap, I have no desire to be surprised again. The recent uproar between the mafia families of San Francisco doesn’t blind me to the fact they, and their known associates, may be under federal law enforcement surveillance.

‘Known associates’ is a loose term for my role in Bash’s life these days, but being good friends with Luca Devlin and Julian Blackwell, puts me high on the list of people the feds would want to watch.

Gemma’s foot rocks in the seat beside me as we drive through Oakland to snake our way up the cliffside to Ronan’s secluded house. There isn’t a view of the ocean or jagged beaches below because the hedges around the property are nearly ten feet tall.

Ronan’s pacing in circles by the time we pull to a stop in his circular driveway. He’s smoking and while it’s jarring to see, it lets me know just how fucked up this situation is. Ronan doesn’t smoke unless he’s down thousands of dollars at the poker table. He’s feeling like there’s no way out and I have to help him.

The moment we’re in earshot, Ronan rushes toward me, grabs me by the arm and pulls me around the side of the house. It’s not a large place, but it’s big enough for Ronan. The privacy from surrounding properties with the tall hedges gives us enough cover, but we still have to be careful.

Ronan leads us to a small shed beside his back door where it’s clear someone’s been bleeding on the doorstep. I have no idea what he’s done so far to solve his problem, but we soon find out when he opens the door to his shed.

Frankie is still in the clothes with dried blood stains from the night before from when I broke his nose. He has fresh pools of blood from a shot through his stomach and one through his leg.

“What’s the plan?” Gemma questions from behind us. I wasn’t thinking of shielding her from the sight of a dead body because I know her family. She’s a Marzano, and her question proves as much. But, I’m supposed to be keeping her safe and dealing with the dead body of the guy who put us in this predicament, feels like a failure on my part.

“How did he get here?” I ask Ronan.

Ronan takes another pull of his vape pen, runs his fingers through his ginger-red hair and swipes across his phone’s screen.

“I put his car in the garage until we figure out what we’re doing with him,” Ronan huffs out between pulls.

Gemma barks out instructions, a surprise to both me and Ronan. “I need toothpaste, a bucket, scrub brush, peroxide, bleach, and that dish detergent that cleans oils off of baby ducks.”

Ronan and I swap glances of confusion but immediately let her take the reins. The way she takes charge strengthens my attraction, but now’s not the time for me to fawn over Gemma.

“I probably have everything you need, but while you two work on that, I’m going to dump his car somewhere,” Ronan says, taking steps closer to his garage.

“Ronan, you’d better come back.” I tell him, even though I know better. He doesn’t do well in highly stressful situations. He’s the type to wait out the storm in a basement under a blanket. All of that is fine when you don’t agree to treat the wounds of mafia associates. Fear isn’t helpful in our professional lives or this one.

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” he asks with a shrug of his shoulders and his voice pitching too high for my liking.

“Because you think people are trying to kill you. I remember the last time this happened. It took me three weeks to find you.” I shake my head, hoping Ronan doesn’t turn tail and run away now I’m here to clean up the mess.

Ronan takes a quick drag of his vape pen. “But you found me, and I’m just a doctor, Antonio. I’m not like you. I’m not cut from a different cloth. I’m cut from a cloth of self-preservation that keeps my neck away from the guillotine. I’m going to park his car at an airport or somewhere with long term parking.”

It makes sense for us to handle the car and the body separately. Who knows how much time we have before someone starts looking for Frankie? Once Ronan brings out the supplies Gemma requested along with a box of disposable latex gloves, he heads to the garage to leave us alone with a dead body.

“I’m going to work on the blood stains.” Gemma says as she starts pouring portions of her requested ingredients into the bucket. She turns to me as she snaps on a pair of gloves. “You should work on the body.”

I can’t stop the smirk from slowly spreading on my face. “What would you have me do with the body?”

The way Gemma’s nose scrunches is cute as she plots how to get rid of evidence. She pauses for a moment and says, “Aren’t there sharks just off the coast? Let’s strip his clothes. We can burn his fingertips off, so it’ll take a while to identify his body, if it’s even found. You’ve already disfigured his face.”

“You sound like this isn’t your first time.”

The subtle flash of innocence lost in her eyes disappears as soon as she sees me looking at her, studying her. I want to know the story behind those soft gray eyes that have clearly seen too much. It reminds me of her earlier confession; the one I didn’t want to hear. She squares her shoulders and shifts her gaze to the blood stains on the concrete doorstep.

Gemma kneels, talking through her process as if I’m back in my residency observing an operation.

“The mint scent from the toothpaste obscures the scent of bleach. The toothpaste also treats any surface like enamel. If it’s porous, it seeps into the stain and starts to break it down. Peroxide and dish soap are a woman’s best friend when it comes to her period. Everyone doesn’t have to be a murderer to know how to clean up blood, Antonio.”

She scrubs the stain until the suds run pink. I kneel beside her, putting my hand on top of hers to stop her erratic movements.

“You’re right. You don’t have to be a murderer to know how to clean up blood. But you’d have to understand that getting rid of the blood before the body—”

She cuts me off with a hint of a smirk. “Getting rid of that body will be a lot easier than getting rid of the concrete attached to the foundation of this house.”