JOAQUIN
Antonio walked inside of the basement of his restaurant. He didn’t look happy to see me. I removed the vest, as the in-house doctor tore my shirt open to look at the bullet wound.
“Joaquin, you need to be in a hospital, I can only patch you up,” the doctor said.
“What happened?” Antonio asked, sitting on the edge of the conference table.
Carlo sat his g*n on top of the table, keeping the safety on. I furrowed my brow.
“I had a disagreement with some people.” I shrugged as I tried to play it off.
“How many people?” Carlo questioned.
“Russians, Nigerians,” I answered.
“You realize that you will end up having a bigger issue now. Did you get things cleaned up before anyone saw you out there?” Antonio pressed.
Waving them off, I tried to push through the pain. It wasn’t life-th
