Chapter 3 - Blood and Ledger
Three days passed. The rain outside turned into early winter sleet, coating the city in a veneer of black ice.
Keo was moved to the eighth floor—the executive isolation ward, accessible only by a private elevator requiring keycard authentication. Four of my most disciplined soldiers, armed with suppressed sidearms beneath their tailored coats, guarded the perimeter in shifts.
I found myself returning to St. Jude’s on Thursday evening, bypassing my usual underworld council meetings at the docks. I told myself I was merely inspecting an investment, ensuring my perimeter hadn't been breached by federal agents or rival syndicates.
When I entered the room, the scent of antiseptic was masked by the warm, sweet smell of cinnamon.
Linda was sitting in the corner, peeling an apple into thin slices. Keo was sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows, color finally returning to his hollow cheeks. The new immunotherapy drug had begun its work; his fever had broken, and his dark eyes were bright with curiosity.
As I closed the door, Keo's eyes widened. "Are you the king?"
Linda nearly dropped the paring knife. "Keo! Hush. That's Mr. Gallo."
"A king?" I asked, pulling up an armchair and sitting down across from the boy. "Who told you that?"
"Mom said a king paid for the magic medicine," Keo said seriously, holding up his action figure. "Captain Galaxy fights space monsters, but mom said you fight real monsters so the doctors can fix me."
A faint, self-deprecating smirk touched my lips. "Your mother has an imaginative vocabulary. I don't fight monsters, Keo. I manage them."
"Can you teach me?" the boy asked, coughing softly before regaining his breath. "So when I get big, nobody can scare my mom anymore?"
The boy's words pierced straight through the armor I had spent thirty-five years forging around my heart. I had executed capos for displaying less courage than this seven-year-old showed while undergoing toxic chemical infusions.
Linda looked away, wiping a stray tear with the cuff of her sweater.
"First, you finish your treatment," I told Keo, extending a scarred finger. He wrapped his small, feverish hand around it, his grip surprisingly firm. "Then we'll talk about fighting monsters."
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For the first time since I had stepped into that hospital, Linda looked at me not with the terror reserved for a mafia Don, but with a profound, terrifying tenderness. And that terrified me far more than any federal indictment ever could.
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