The van sped through the narrow Brooklyn streets. Angelo's goons chased them on foot and in cars for a little while more but gave up soon.
Another sharp turn threw the last pair of goons off balance, and they rolled onto the pavement. The van kept moving until the noise of the city faded behind them.
"Phew, haha. What do you think? Am I not the best driver in town?"
"You drive like drunk. My stomach hurts", Natasha looked towards Rose, who was still holding the bleeding man's shoulder and applying pressure.
"How much time to Doc?" Rose asked.
"Two more intersections, we are almost out of Brooklyn."
After some time, they reached a quiet suburb. Trees lined the sidewalks, and the first light softened the edges of everything. Lorenzo stopped in front of a small house with peeling paint and a crooked fence.
Rose and Lorenzo carried the wounded man inside. Natasha limped behind them.
The house looked like a storm of paper had blown through it. Chemistry equipment covered every surface. Test tubes, beakers, burners, strange powders, half-finished contraptions. Books lay scattered across the floor in messy stacks.
Natasha stumbled on a pile of books and cursed. "Why do you live like this, old man?"
Something moved under a table.
Doc Mallick crawled out, hair tied in a careless knot, a string of wooden beads around his neck, and glasses smeared with fingerprints.
He looked at Natasha. "Little Danger."
Then he looked at Rose. "Miss Big Danger."
Then at Lorenzo. "Useless moron. Why are you here in the evening?"
Natasha burst out laughing. Lorenzo threw up his hands. "Why am I the only one who gets an insult? And it's already morning, wake up."
"We need some help here Doc Mallick. See if you can save this man." Rose pointed towards the bleeding man.
Mallick shook his head. "No. I am not helping you. Trouble follows you everywhere. Take your bleeding friend somewhere else. A hospital, a church, throw him in a trash bin. Anywhere but here."
Lorenzo stepped forward. "Doc, you know no hospital can save him. He took more than five bullets. Only you can handle this. You are the best. The greatest. A true genius. A healer touched by God, uhh….some weed.. and maybe some lucky stars."
Mallick stared at him. "Do not flatter me. It is disgusting." He groaned. "Fine. I will help. But if I die because of this mess, I am haunting all three of you."
He waved at them angrily. "Take him to the room. Put him on the bed. Then get out. All of you."
They laid Ethan on the bed and stepped back as Mallick entered with a tray of surgical tools. He kicked the door shut.
Mallick approached the man and prepared to inspect the wounds.
"Wow! I have never seen so much blood." He removed the jacket and brought the lamp closure to look at the wounds.
Before he could begin, the almost dead man coughed and pushed himself upright, Mallick almost dropped the lamp.
"Damn. It hurts. Give me some water, would you?"
Mallick sighed deeply. "I thought you were finished this time. You are not out of blood right?"
"I hope so. What about throwing me in a trash bin part?"
"What? You want me to apologise?"
"Fine, fine. Just do not overact alright. And do not forget to praise the Kevlar."
Mallick rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. The Kevalar or cave-aler or whatever you call it." He handed Ethan a glass of water.
Ethan stood up and removed his shirt. The bullets that hit him had already pushed themselves out, now stuck in the fabric. He lifted the mesh of intricate polymer threads. It looked rough, uneven, but still impressive.
It had taken him almost a week to make. In his previous life, he would have produced it in a few seconds. Just giving instruction to his AI assistant was enough.
Now that he has to do everything with his own hands, he came to appreciate those cold, steel machines even more. Truly, people only appreciate things worth when they are not available anymore.
Inspecting the mash, the Kevlar had stopped at least three shots. Two had gone through, but considering the materials he had, it worked better than he hoped. And with his healing factor, it made for a convincing display.
It should be enough to intrigue Rose Belladonna.
Mallick crossed his arms. "How long do we wait here?"
"One hour should be enough," Ethan said.
"Good. Stay in bed for now. If someone walks in, this will be awkward."
Outside, Lorenzo cleaned Natasha's wound. He wrapped a bandage around her arm as she teased him about his slow hands.
Rose sat on a wooden chair near the door and lit a cigarette. Her eyes unfocused as smoke curled around her face.
Her thoughts drifted back to the chaos. She still could not understand how Angelo survived the blast. She had planned everything. Checked every detail. It should have worked. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe something slipped. Or maybe someone interfered.
Still, the blast revealed Angelo for what he was. A rat. His mask was gone. And now there were fewer people between her and the leadership of the family.
She glanced at Lorenzo and Natasha. They were flirting again. Even with blood drying on Natasha's arm.
She asked, "How did you know we were inside that shop, Lorenzo?"
Lorenzo scratched the back of his neck. "I did not. Someone shouted that Rose Belladonna was that way. So I drove the van that way."
Her head throbbed. Too many things lining up in strange ways. Too little information to understand why.
Let us hope the man survives, she thought.
She flicked ash to the floor. "Lorenzo, tell someone to inform the hotdog seller near Rusty Crown Bar. He might be the family of the man."
Lorenzo nodded and stepped outside.
Rose leaned back in her chair and blew a perfect hoop of smoke. It floated gently upward and drifted toward the ceiling.
.........
Angelo Carminetti smashed another glass against the floor. The crystal burst across the carpet, tiny shards glinting under the dim table lamp.
His face was a map of fresh violence, thin scratches dragging across his cheek, and a deeper cut above his eyebrow still pulsing red. Even now, hours after the explosion, the echo of the blast trembled through his bones.
Across from him, three people sat with two empty chairs between them, a respectful distance from the storm pacing the room.
After looking at Angelo pacing back and forth for hours, Thompson gathered enough courage and cleared his throat. "So, umm…. what is your next step, Mr. A? Your plan to…. kill off…Miss.. Rose has failed."
Angelo stopped mid-stride and slowly turned. "MY PLAN? Tommy, it was OUR PLAN. What now? You want to stack all the blame on MY SHOULDIERS?"
"No, ab…absolutely not. My lo..loyalty always stands with you."
Liz tilted her head, swirling the whiskey in her glass before taking a slow sip. "Tommy is just worried, Angelo. But he is not wrong. We will have to confront the Don after this. Unless you actually want a full blown confrontation with the old man."
A muscle twitched in Angelo's jaw. "I.. I underestimated that girl… that little bitch. Nearly killed me. Me. That ends tonight, you hear me?" He strode to the desk, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out a thick notebook bound in worn leather.
Every set of eyes in the room snapped toward it.
Angelo tossed it onto the table. "This. This will keep us alive. With this, they have to keep us at the table."
Patrick, who had sat in silence like a statue, reached for the notebook. He opened it. Lines of numbers, signatures, hidden payouts, and forbidden transactions spilled out before him.
The more he read, the more his hands shook. "Mr. Angelo, have you completely lost your sanity? If this material is exposed, do you realize it will result in our collective demise?"
"If we don't use this, we're corpses already. You really believe Don Vittorio will pat our heads after we tried to kill his precious daughter? No, he'll bury us before sunrise."
The room went still. Even the air seemed to retreat. No one spoke the Don's name lightly. He might have been old, but age had sharpened his ruthlessness, not dulled it.
Angelo took a long drag of his cigarette. "We go to him now..now…before that witch opens that schemy mouth again. We shove this in his face and remind him we're worth more alive than dead."
Liz leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "You are giving too much credit to Rose. Let me handle her next time. Woman to woman." She finished her drink and set the empty glass on the table with a soft clink.
Angelo scoffed and headed toward the door. "Handle her all you want after we survive. Move. We have to win a lifeline before she reaches Don"
Liz stood, pushing Thompson lightly with her hand. "Come on, stop shaking."
Patrick closed the notebook, exhaled shakily, and followed them out.