Taking Care Of The Mobster

So you think you’ll get to know him better by snooping around his room, my conscience jeers at me. What if Carlos walks in on you?

I ignore the little sneering voice in my head and head toward his bedside table.

I’m determined.

Either it's this, or I go crazy wondering if I’m falling for a thug without a conscience and what does that make of me. It’s crazy, but I can’t deny my attraction to Carlos anymore, not to myself.

Actually, it’s more than an attraction.

I really like him.

However, I’m more curious than ever. It’s why I have to find something, some sort of conclusive evidence or affirmation of the kind of person Carlos really is.

I open the first drawer, ruffling through the impersonal items inside. There’s nothing of interest in there, though. I push it close and pull open the second drawer.

Like the first, the second drawer has nothing of interest. I let out a huff and pull out the third drawer. There I find a bunch of opened letters and take them out. The first one has a childish scribble on the front that reads, “To the good Herr.” I read through, and the letter seems to be from a German orphanage thanking him for his constant donations and help.

I continue to read through the letters, and they are all in the same fashion, orphanage homes and NGOs from different countries thanking him for his kindness and yearly contributions. These contributions, though, are made through Diamonds Investments.

Just as I’m about to put the letters back, one of the letters falls out. I pick it up and start to put it back with the others when the letterhead catches my attention. I open the letter and lower myself onto the bed before my legs give way.

The letter is from Crestview Hospitals thanking him for his large donations towards a project and how, as per his personal request, they have admitted a Miss Maria Smith and how they promise to do their best for her.

I let out a shaky breath and lean back weakly against the headboard. So, after all, Mom’s miraculous admission wasn’t a miracle. It was all Carlos’s doing.

A hundred thoughts bombard my head all at once.

How did he know about Mom’s condition? Did he run a background check on me? When did he set all this in motion?

The questions keep coming, but I can’t seem to find an answer.

Now, I have even more questions than when I started snooping in his room.

Suddenly I hear a slamming sound. I sit up quickly and listen again, my heart thudding hard in my chest. I hear a few undecipherable sounds, then complete silence.

I quickly return the papers to the drawer and close it carefully. I look around to see if there’s anything out of place.

I adjust the bedding and quickly tiptoe out of the room, gently closing the door behind me. Outside, I smooth my hand down my hair and clothes. I walk slowly toward the stairs, peeking around.

Then, I see him.

I immediately realize that something isn’t right. He’s half lying on the sofa at an awkward angle. His head seems to be lolling to the side. At the sound of my footsteps his face turns my way, and I catch the sight of blood trickling down his head.

My heart freezes in my chest.

“Carlos!” I cry, already sprinting down the stairs.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Abby

I wrap the bandage around his bloody knuckles as he sits quietly on the bed.

I don’t understand the strange pressure building steadily in my chest. And I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that he went out and returned all bloodied and injured.

A drop of liquid hits the back of his palm and immediately it soaks through the bandage, followed by another and another.

“Are you...are you crying, Abby?” Carlos asks, sounding panicked.

I raise my eyes to his blinking. “What? I’m not....” I raise a hand to my face, surprised at the dampness on my cheeks. I sniff quietly. “I’m sorry. Silly me,” I say with a chuckle that sounds more like a sob. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Carlos raises his hand to my chin, gently swiping his thumb across my cheek. “I’m sorry, Abby. Please don’t cry.”

I nod my head jerkily, despite the tears sliding down my cheeks. “I just...I’m just mad at whoever did this to you. I’m mad at you, too. Why did you have to go and get hurt?”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says helplessly. “I’m sorry, please. I’ll be more careful next time.”

My chest squeezes painfully at his words. “There’ll be a next time?”

Carlos runs a hand down his face with a tired sigh. “I don’t know. With me, it’s always one battle after the other. These past few weeks with you have been my most beautiful dream.”

“What happened tonight, Carlos?” I ask softly, raising my eyes to his.