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“I want to see where he’s going, who he’s meeting with, what his conversations are.”

“You got wiretaps on him?”

“I’ve got his fucking asshole wiretapped. We’ll find out something. Then we’ll pull him in.”

Big Daddy was amazed at how Mick did it. He still didn’t know how he did it. But he didn’t have the energy to ask him. He was just as worried about Lucky and heartbroken that such a good kid had to go through so much agony that he could hardly stand up too.

The door to the waiting room would open again, but it was only Trina and Marie.

But then, nearly an hour later, the door opened again.

But when it opened this time and a surgeon in scrubs stepped in, they all braced themselves.

Those various conversations that had been going on in the back went to total silence.

The front was by and large already silent.

But nobody moved a muscle. They all were staring unblinkingly at the surgeon.

They were all waiting to hear if they were going to cheer or die.

The surgeon didn’t mince words. “We did all we could,” he said as he removed his surgical cap. “But unfortunately he didn’t make it.”

When he said those words the entire room erupted in screams and cries and everybody was devastated.

Sal slid out of his chair and fell down on his knees, wailing in torment.

Gemma leaned all the way back and didn’t even realize she had released the baby from her grasp.

But Grace was beside her and took the baby from her arms. Even Big Daddy slammed his fist into the wall and Mick leaned his head back in pure agony.

But then the surgeon said, “It’s alright folks. Don’t weep for him. He lived long enough.”

When he said those words, every man up front, from Sal and Reno to Dommi and Tommy all started rushing that surgeon to kick his natural ass. And Big Daddy, offended too, didn’t even try to stop them.

Sal got there first and jacked that surgeon up by his shirt and slammed him against the wall. “What did you say?” he asked him with rage in his eyes.

“All I meant was that he was ninety-eight. It was expected!”

Wait what?

Everybody stopped.

Did he say what they thought he just said? “What are you talking ninety-eight?” a dumbstruck Sal asked him. “Who’s ninety-eight?”

“My patient,” said the surgeon. “Isn’t this the Randolf family?”

“The Randolf?” asked Reno.

But Sal was ready to rejoice. “Are you saying that Lucky, I mean that Salvatore Gabrini isn’t. . . That my son isn’t. . .”

“Are you saying Salvatore Gabrini isn’t dead?’ Reno asked plainly where Sal could not.

They were all staring at the surgeon. “Who’s Salvatore Gabrini?” the surgeon asked and everybody in that room cheered and exhaled and stopped themselves from passing out. “You’re not the Randolfs?”

“No we ain’t no fucking Randolfs,” Reno said angrily.

“Oh my. I’m afraid I’ve entered the wrong room. I am so sorry,” he added, but because the news was good, they didn’t need an apology. They let him go. He ran out of that room.

But once the smoke of that shotgun blast that nearly shattered them all was cleared, they went back into their solemn state.

Lucky wasn’t dead, at least as far as they knew, but he apparently was still in surgery.

Which meant he was still in danger. Which meant they still didn’t know any more than what they knew before that incompetent clown came in.

The fact that the surgeon was in the wrong room was good news for them, but it wasn’t the news they needed to hear. They were all still on edge.

Although the nurse was addressing them over the loudspeaker with constant updates, it was always generic. He was still in surgery, was all she could say. It would be another three hours before they heard actual news.

And when the door opened this time, and the surgeon and nurse walked in, they waited with bated breath again. They refused to exhale until they heard what they wanted to hear. What they needed to hear.

“Salvatore is out of surgery,” the surgeon said, “and all went very good. He should have a full recovery.”

The room went from total silence to unhinged delirium. They were cheering and high-fiving and overjoyed with the news. Sal and Gemma jumped up and hugged each other, unable to let each other go, as they let out sobs of joy too.

But Sal needed total reassurance. He and Gemma stopped embracing and sobbing and they both hurried over to the surgeon. “You said he’ll make a total recovery?”

“Barring any setbacks, yes, sir. He’s young and in excellent shape. He should make a full and complete recovery. He was very lucky.”

“What do you mean was ?” asked Reno. “He is Lucky.” And they all laughed.

But Carmine was frustrated. “How many times do I have to remind you people that being lucky is not a great thing?”

“And why isn’t it, Mister Know-it-all?” Reno asked his genius IQ son.

“It can’t be a great thing because luck is by chance,” said Carmine. “Because luck runs out. And once it runs out, then what do you have?”

“More luck,” said Reno. “Now shut the fuck up.”

Although the surgeon was amazed by the language a man would use on such a young man, and by that young man’s intellect, everybody else laughed.

Carmine rolled his eyes and shook his head. They never listened to him. But Mick was staring intensely at Carmine. He agreed with the kid.

But Reno saw Carmine’s eye roll and turned toward him ready to slap the shit out of him.

But Carmine wasn’t just smart, he had a wealth of common sense too.

“I’m shutting the fuck up,” he said quickly and then moved over by Trina, his mother.

But Trina was ready to slap him too. She didn’t play that eye rolling nonsense either.

But she was too happy. They all were too happy. She let it slide.

Gemma and Sal looked at each other. They knew then, when Trina was so happy that she was willing to let something slide, that their child was going to be just fine.