“I know your rights too,” Roberto says. “I also know what happens if you neglected to order a CT scan and a patient dies. And Ms. Crawford here happens to have a very good lawyer.”
The doctor’s face drains of all color.
“That’s not what happened,” he says quickly. “We—we don’t know that’s what happened.”
“You seemed pretty certain you knew what happened a moment ago,” I say calmly. “When you were telling Erica, whose fatheris in a hospital bed right now—bleeding, maybe septic—that she lost a piece of paper and that very well may be the reason he dies. You seemed pretty sure about that.”
The doctor swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I’m not saying she lost it,” he says, backtracking desperately. “I’m saying it’s standard. It would have been provided. And right now, our priority is stabilizing him.”
“Pretty hard to stabilize him from all the way out here,” Erica says. Her hands are still at her sides, but her whole body looks wound tight. “Seems like your priority is to preemptively shift the blame for my father’s condition and possible impending death on me.”
The doctor’s mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
My father’s mouth curves into something that isn’t a smile. “Nico,” he says. “Vito. Show the good doctor the way back, would you? He seems lost.”
Vito’s lips spread into a slightly demented smile, and he tightens his grip on the doctor’s shoulder.
I press my hand reassuringly to Erica’s back before moving off without a word. I note that Bianca and Caterina are just behind and out of the way. Bianca nods at me to let me know they have it before stepping in next to Erica.
I step in on the other side of the doctor without a word, close enough that the doctor’s options narrow to exactly one.
The doctor’s breath goes shallow.
Vito gives his shoulder a squeeze. “C’mon, Doc,” he says, almost friendly. “Let’s go see if we can figure out how to do your job.”
The doctor swallows again and starts moving, stiff-legged, as if he’s afraid any wrong step will set one of us off.
Erica doesn’t look away from the doctor as he’s shepherded toward the hallway, her jaw set so hard I can see it working.
The three of us disappear behind the double doors.
The hallway swallows the noise of the waiting room the second the doors swing shut behind us.
We walk him past the first turn-off like we’re heading somewhere official, like this is routine. Vito doesn’t rush. That’s the worst part for him. Slow feet. Slow breath. Nothing frantic. Just inevitability.
At the next corridor, I angle left without speaking.
The traffic thins immediately. The lights hum. A janitor’s cart sits abandoned against the wall. No nurses. No patients. No one paying attention to the two men escorting a urologist.
The doctor’s shoulders creep up toward his ears.
His eyes keep darting—forward, back, at Vito’s hand still resting on him, at my face like he’s trying to read me.
He’s afraid.
Good.
When we reach an empty hall far away from the activity, Vito stops him with a shove.
I step in close enough that the doctor’s back meets the wall, and he has nowhere to go.
I look at him for a moment, then tilt my head.
“What do you think, Vito?” I say, almost conversationally. “Roberto thinks we should settle this in court. Lawyers, you know?”
