Page 114 of Cartel Devil

At this point, there’s no questioning that Tre’s the target. Nobody knows why. The most obvious culprit would be Don Francesco Toretta since Tre hasn’t come back with any actionable intel. But that’s too obvious. Occam’s razor doesn’t apply to our world. The most obvious and simplest explanation is almost never the right one. It’s why the rivalries last generations.

Kathleen rode in the ambulance with Tre while I followed in the SUV we came in. It nearly killed me, and Tre cried when I refused to get in. Kathleen knows Tre’s medical history, and I don’t. I didn’t know she had any allergies. It’s a brutal reminder that we still don’t know each other that well despite being inseparable and having a baby on the way.

We’re having a lengthy conversation about any and all illnesses, injuries, or surgeries when Tre comes home. I’m certain it’ll take far longer for me to recount my ailments than it will her.

Just like the last time Kathleen was at the hospital with us, she’s on one side of Tre, and I’m on the other. We’re both holding her hands. Tre looks absolutely wrecked. They pumped her stomach since we didn’t know what was in those little rice balls. Watching her go through that nearly broke me.

They have her hooked up to the fetal monitor, and we’ve both snapped at people to talk quieter so we can hear the machine. We’re desperate for the reassurance that our baby is all right. No one’s making any promises, so we’re clinging to the rhythmic sound as a sign that no news is good news.

Whoever’s doing this has made their last mistake.

I no longer hold any reservations about unleashing the darkest corners of my already corroded soul. Fear and rage are a dangerous combination in any wild animal.

“How’re you feeling, chiquita?”

It sounds like the most banal question, but I don’t want a cliché answer. I want to know if a doctor needs to examine her again. She’s still so fucking pale despite going through three bags of IV fluid.

“Like death warmed over, but not in need of more help. Just time.”

I assess her for a moment before bringing the back of her hand to my lips. If money bought everything, I’d pay for a doctor to stand in here just in case.

“Quino?”

Finally!

I texted Tía Margherita on the way to the hospital. She had to wait until her shift ended because Labor and Delivery is three floors above us. She’s still in her scrubs and lab coat.

“Tía.”

I rise and move my chair out of the way. That’s as much attention as I get from her. She greets Kathleen but focuses on Tre.

“I know you’re miserable, cariño. Did they say how much longer they want you here?”

“No.” Tre’s voice is raspy after having a tube down her throat.

“Let me see what I can find out.”

She uses her badge to log into the computer on a stand that’s pushed off to the side. I observe my aunt, and I can tell she’s visually examining Tre as she types. When she’s satisfied with whatever she’s determined, she looks at the screen. I’m uncertain whether she’ll have access to patient files that aren’t from her department. I don’t know how it works, so I’m even more anxious than I was. I might need a Xanax.

“What do you know so far?”

I don’t like how my tía’s hedging. She saw something concerning. I look at Kathleen to see if she wants to answer for Tre, so she doesn’t have to strain her throat. But she defers to me since it’s my family member here to help.

“Nothing beyond they were sending a sample of Tre’s stomach contents to the lab.”

Tía Margherita glances at the screen again. “That was two and a half hours ago. Has anyone been in to check on you?”

She directs the question at Tre. None of us want to talk about her as though she isn’t here or is too feeble to understand. Tre nods, so I explain more.

“Yes. Every half an hour or so a nurse stops by to check Tre’s vitals and ask how she’s doing.”

“Have you slept?”

Tre loosens her hand, and I let go. She holds up her index finger and thumb to sign a little. She dozed, but it wasn’t restful. She shifted in her sleep a lot. Every time made me think about what they found when they undressed her. Kathleen and I waited outside the curtains. I can only imagine what they thought when they found the butt plug. I’m certain Tre was humiliated—if she was with it enough to know what was happening—and that was the exact thing I promised her I wouldn’t let happen.

I’ve also promised not to let anyone keep harming her, and I’ve failed monumentally. I don’t want to lock her away and refuse to let her leave the house. She’s had some uneventful outings in Boston and NYC. It’s tempting to think shit only goes wrong when I’m with her, but I’ve taken her out without shit going wrong. It’s so fucking unpredictable on purpose.

“The toxicology report is in.”