Bones: Broken Bones MC by Leah Wilde

early morning pills. These are the mid-morning ones.”
     
    “Early morning, mid-morning, late morning—it never ends!” He swished a hand back and forth through the air with each syllable, twisting his face into an exaggerated scowl. “Alright, alright, let’s have ’em,” he said. He reached forward to take them from my hands. I watched for a moment as his trembling fingertips combed and combed through the air. He couldn’t force them to cooperate. His body was failing him right before his eyes.
     
    After a few long, agonizing seconds of Frank clumsily struggling to pluck the pills from my outstretched hand, I pushed him gently back against the pillows. He sighed and let me. “Here, let me help,” I said quietly. “Open up.”
     
    He opened his mouth obediently and let me feed the pills to him one at a time, interspersed with sips of water from the glass on the table by his bed. He massaged his throat when he had swallowed the last of them.
     
    “There we go, not so bad, right?” I said, smiling sweetly.
     
    “I feel like a child,” he replied crossly.
     
    I reminded him, “Children don’t own mansions.” Or slaves, said a sinister voice in the back of my head. I tried not to focus on it.
     
    Frank chuckled. “No, I suppose they don’t.” He rolled onto his side, trying to grab for the newspaper on the tray I’d brought in, but it was too far out of reach. The effort set off a heart rate alarm that stood next to his bed.
     
    “Sit back,” I reprimanded, slapping him playfully on the arm. He laughed and leaned back once more against the pillows. I handed him the paper.
     
    “What’s on my docket today?” he asked as he started to leaf through the news.
     
    “Antonio and Angela should be back from their trip early this afternoon,” I said quietly. My voice was somber. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor.
     
    “The prodigal son returns home, girlfriend in tow,” he mused. His eyes flashed with something akin to anger. Antonio, Frank’s twenty-five-year-old son, was constantly falling in and out of his father’s graces. He was being groomed to take over the family once Frank was no longer up to the task, but it was almost impossible to fill his father’s shoes to the man’s satisfaction. There was only one Frank Capparelli, and try as he might, Antonio was not him. His latest endeavor, a trip to Boston to negotiate an arms shipment with some contacts Frank had made there years ago, had gone horribly awry. Frank had spent all night on the phone, ironing out the messy wrinkles that Antonio had managed to inject into the situation. It left him in a foul mood wherever his son was involved.
     
    Angela, Antonio’s long-time girlfriend, had taken to whispering in Antonio’s ear about all the things he’d be free to do once Frank kicked the bucket. I’d heard them talking late at night a dozen times or more, Angela curled up next to Antonio and stroking his hair while murmuring that Frank was old, Frank was senile, Antonio was so much smarter and more ruthless. The rift growing between father and son was becoming scarier by the minute.
     
    Even worse for my sake, Angela had taken an intense dislike to me. I couldn’t figure out the reason why. Maybe it was because of how Frank complimented my looks so often. Every time he did, I could see her lip curl into a sneer if she was anywhere within hearing distance. As long as Frank was nearby, though, I was safe. But the second I stepped out of his sight, she pounced, flinging more chores and harsh accusations in my face without warning.
     
    If something in the house was broken, it was my fault. If a staircase was dusty or a picture frame crooked, I was the one getting the dressing down. She’d positioned herself as the mistress in charge of the house, like some twisted mob version of an evil stepmother, and I was the one on the receiving end of her venom. Her absence the last few days had been an immense relief. I was less than thrilled