There was no point in throwing herself a pity party. The terms of this arrangement had been clearly laid out. She had to help the guy in the bed, who was probably in the mob or something, if she had to guess.
Whatever. If she was going to be a doctor, she was obligated to treat anyone that needed it, so she might as well get this over with.
“He’s been shot in the left side,” the older man said.
Amy let out a long exhale. That didn’t sound good. Approaching the bed slowly, she saw Matteo and the older man tense in her peripheral vision, but no one moved to stop her as she lifted up the blanket. The man’s shirt had been removed, and a towel had been pressed against his side secured in place by duct tape that wrapped tightly around his abdomen three times.
“Uh, what is this?” she asked. The towel was white, which made the dark red blood that had seeped through even more jarring in contrast.
“One of my men did that to apply pressure to the wound and stop the bleeding,” the older man said.
“Is the bullet still inside of him?” she asked, her mind running through all the ways she’d read about treating a bullet wound. She’d never actually done it before, but she was going to have to figure it out.
“No,” Matteo said. “I looked at it before he was taped up. The bullet ripped through his side, but not deep enough to get lodged inside.”
Amy nodded, forcing her mind to focus on the problem at hand and not the threat against her life. She was good at that sort of thing; compartmentalizing things so that she could line up her priorities and get things done
She turned to Matteo. “You should probably cut the duct tape so I can see what I’m working with. Is there a bathroom nearby where I can wash my hands?”
“Across the hall,” the older man answered.
She didn’t waste time. Rushing across the hall, she closed the door behind herself and headed for the window next to the sink. The glass was frosted, preventing her from seeing out, and when she tried to open it, the thing didn’t budge. She was dismayed to realize that it was nailed shut.
No escape that way.
Cursing under her breath, she washed her hands and returned to the bedroom. Matteo had removed the tape and towel, revealing the wound she was dealing with. Matteo was right, the bullet ripped through the man’s side, but it technically grazed him. There was no entrance or exit wound. It was just a jagged hole in the man’s side and she was going to have to stitch up. It wouldn’t be pretty, but she could do it. Meeting the man’s eyes, she could see that they were hazy.
“Has he been drugged?” she asked.
“We gave him a pain killer,” the older man answered.
“So, you have access to medical supplies?”
“I can get my hands on anything.”
His cocky response made her want to roll her eyes, but she held it back and focused on rattling off the supplies she would need to clean and stitch up the wound. She asked for antibiotics too.
Matteo left the room, but the older man stayed behind, watching her with curious eyes. Amy sighed.
“I don’t suppose you plan to introduce yourself?” she asked, exasperated. There was a straight-backed chair in the corner, and she pulled it up next to the bed to take a seat. “I assume you know who I am.”
He nodded. “Amy Jacobs.”
She waited for a moment, but he didn’t continue. The sound of a train distracted her, and she wondered for a moment just where they were. It sounded close. Her eyes darted to the window, but the curtains were pulled closed in here too.
“Rocco Mancini.”
Amy blinked and returned her attention to him. “What?”
“My name,” he said. “It’s Rocco Mancini.”
Mancini.That was the name mentioned in the van. Based on the way the men spoke about him and the powerful aura he emitted, she guessed this was the guy in charge. And he said her patient was his son.
The stakes just kept getting higher and higher.
She didn’t know what to say after that. It wasn’t exactly a pleasure to meet the guy.
“I’m Leo,” her patient said, his voice little more than a pained groan.
