I looked at the brace and nodded. "It is much more high-tech than the air splint, that's for sure. Still immobilized though?"
He nodded. "They put in two pins and reattached some tendons that got ripped up pretty good. They claim that the surgery is going to reduce the amount of time until I can put weight on it. The docs said I can start crutch walking in two weeks, and then in the brace alone in about a month. That's when the rehab starts, which is going to be the real bitch of the whole thing. As much as this thing hurts, I'm going to be driving automatic and foregoing the stick shift for a while."
"Does your family even own a car with automatic transmission?" I joked in reply. I went over to the small wet bar and poured him a scotch and soda, stirring it before putting it on the rocks. "Here. Better than the Tylenol I’m sure they sent you home with."
"Actually, they gave me a scrip for Oxycontin," Tomasso said, "but I'm not planning on taking any. I've seen too many Mafia men get a monkey on their back and not be able to get that fucker off. A drink every now and then, sure. But I'm not going to get drunk, and I'm not going to take pain pills like that. If I have to, I'll go study some new age biofeedback shit or something."
I chuckled and poured myself a glass of club soda before sitting down. "You know, I actually missed our little chat today. You may be a terrible driver, but you're a helpful amateur therapist. I've never felt better about my background and family than after the past few days. Thank you."
"It's easy to feel better about things when you meet someone even crazier than you are," Tomasso said with a laugh before growing serious. "Which is why I need your help."
"What for?" I asked, thinking perhaps he needed a snack or a pillow or something like that. "Hungry?"
Tomasso shook his head and pointed to the door. "Can you close that, please?" I did and came back, taking my seat. "Thanks. Luisa, I need your help finding out who tried to sell you out to Frakes."
"What do you mean?" I asked, slightly confused.
“He never got your name, and I'm not a famous face in town. Famous name, sure, in the right circles, but even then, my father is more famous than I am. So how in the hell did Frakes know that you were out on the road, in a Bertoli-owned vehicle, at the time he did? I've been thinking about it."
I nodded, his words sparking my interest. If the leak had been the police, then knowing I was staying with the Bertolis was one thing. But the driveway is far from the street, and the view is blocked. Only someone who saw me get in the vehicle would have known it was me. "You suspect someone on the inside."
He nodded. "I do. Someone who was here at the time you left that morning contacted Frakes and told him to follow that car. Hell, it's not even yours—it was Angelo's! By the way, don't worry about that. I spoke with Angelo over the phone, and he said he wanted a new one anyway when he gets back for winter break."
"Gee, thanks," I joked, then sobered. "Why not approach your father about this? Or Pietro?"
Tomasso sighed and looked down. "Because Pietro was one of the men here that morning. And while my father wasn't, that doesn't mean that he couldn’t have ordered Pietro to sell you out. I wouldn't know why. It doesn't make business sense, but I can't rule either of them out either. I can trust two people with this idea. You . . . and me."
I wasn't as shocked as you may think. After all, crime families are just that, criminal. We betray the law on a regular basis, and while honor is a major point and a part of the very glue that holds us together, that doesn't mean that you turn your back on anyone without knowing what they had in their hands at the time. “So you want to find this person. Why?"
Tomasso thought before answering. "Because my only thought once that van side-swiped you and until I saw you standing in the doorway of my room at the hospital . . . the only thought I really had was if you were okay. Someone tried to hurt you, and they tried to make me look like an incompetent idiot. That doesn't sit well with me."
It wasn't Shakespeare, but there was a sense of romance to what he said. I stood up and went over to his chair, leaning down and kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll be happy to help," I whispered, stroking his face. "But you promise me something."
"What?" he whispered back, his face open and honest.
“That you don’t risk your life over it.”
Chapter 11
Tomasso
I woke up the next morning in pain. I wish I could say it was the fiery pain like I'd felt in my neck where Luisa had unknowingly scratched me the night we had sex, or even the dull, thudding pain of a hangover. Both of those I was familiar with, and I knew how to do something about them. I could make the pain go away.