“You’re not just saying that because he’s annoying, are you?”
She dared to giggle. “Of course not. I take the health of my doctors very seriously. He’s cleared all the tests, but he’ll need a wheelchair while undergoing therapy.”
“Can you sedate him? He’ll complain—”
“You really want to fight with me today?” I asked him, and he sighed while rising from the chair and tossing a wool coat to me.
I grabbed it and put it on, and he wheeled the chair over to me. Luckily, he knew better than to help me and just held it as I dragged myself over. He bent down, putting my shoes in front of me…and I could feel myself getting annoyed as he put them on my feet.
“Where’s Helen?”
“Why? You’d prefer if she did this for you?” he questioned, looking back at me.
“Yes, actually I would—”
“I thought you loved her. She’s working so hard to get all the motion back in her fingers, and you want her tying your shoes?”
I closed my eyes…because I’d lost this battle, and I was an idiot. I’d forgotten for a second, too busy being annoyed with my own progress. I felt weak…and after everything that had happened, all I wanted was control over myself. The medical part of my mind understood the very fact that I was functioning. That I had regained so much of my strength was a miracle. Most people never got any significant motor function back and spent the rest of their lives as a vegetable, communicating through their eyes. I should have been grateful for that, that I had so much of myself back already.
But I was starting to realize it just wasn’t in my nature.
I wanted what I wanted, and when I didn’t get it…no…I always got it.
“Thank you for not making this a big spectacle,” I muttered as he wheeled me into the hallway. The nurses, doctors, the very few people on our floor—they were all gone, nowhere in sight, and I knew he did that, for me.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said when we reached the elevator, and I was a tad bit nervous, expecting something when the doors opened. But instead it was empty. “Someone has trust issues.”
I rolled my eyes. “Years of having you as an older brother, can you blame me?”
Shit. I didn’t mean to say that—
“Years of having you as a little brother, can you blame me?” he questioned back, and I couldn’t help it. I smirked.
“So we bring out the worst in each other?”
“Define the worst,” he replied, pushing me forward when the doors opened at the private garage. There, in front of the doors, the only car in the whole garage, a 1969 black and chrome Lincoln Continental Mark III.
“Who died?” I asked when he wheeled me around to the passenger side.
“Don’t make fun of my car,” he said seriously as I shifted myself into the front passenger seat.
“I’m not. It makes fun of itself.” I tried not to laugh, and he just ignored me, putting the wheelchair into the long ass trunk—which was one of the reasons it was such an iconic mafia car. “You might as well be telling the world I’m in the mafia.” I added when he got in.
“Put your seat belt on,” he said, strapping himself in and starting the engine.
“Yes, dad.” I rolled my eyes, clicking the buckle in place, but when I moved to speak again, he flipped me off. And again, I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or check his mental stability. “Who are you, and where has my brother gone?”
“Nana and Helen planned you a welcome home party,” he said, changing the subject. I noticed, and I was pissed because it worked.
“Another one? Jesus Christ,” I groaned, leaning back in the leather seat. “I swear they look for any reason to have a party.”
“It also serves another purpose—”
“Of course it does. All of our parties serve another purpose. We know that. The people who come know that. We’re just calling them to show we’re still here. That nothing could break us. However, seeing as my legs aren’t really at their best right now—”
“They don’t need to know that,” he replied, turning onto the off ramp even though it wasn’t our exit. “For all they know, you could be pretending, to cover up your other crimes.”
“What crimes?”
He pulled to a stop, clicking one of the buttons, causing the Lincoln’s top to lift up and go back. The cool air rushed in, flooding the air around us, and he pointed to the left of me. “Those crimes.”
My mouth dropped open, and I couldn’t help it. I broke out laughing. He was insane…he was fucking brilliant.
“So much for a new Chicago,” I finally managed to say, tilting my head to see them all because it was too far.
“Chicago will always be Chicago,” he said, looking at their cold grey bodies as they hung from their toes, upside down and naked, from the Chicago Skyway Toll Bridge, right under words “Welcome to Chicago”…which, whoever saw the bridge this morning would be greeted by the bodies of the mayor, the governor, the fire chief, and the good old police commissioner…carved into each of their stomachs was one word…forming the perfect sentence.
“Welcome to Chicago, the rats die first.” Grinning, I nodded. “Bravo. Has the president declared a state of emergency yet?”
“I told him to give it a day.”
I frowned after thinking about it. “I really wanted the commissioner and the governor for myself.”
“We have bigger issues. Remember,” he said seriously, then brought the top of the car back up. “So, before we deal with the south, do you want to confess whatever you haven’t told me for the last three weeks?”
I knew this moment was going to come.
But I wasn’t sure how to say it.
“Now or never, brother.”
“You weren’t the one who saved us, were you?” I said, looking from the rats to him, and he paused. “You didn’t come for us…there was no way you could
