“No.”
That gets the slightest exhale from her, almost amused.
“I’m…” She trails off, glancing at the building. “I don’t know.”
I squeeze her hand once. “That’s fair.”
Her gaze drops to our hands. “You okay?”
The question catches me off guard enough that I nearly laugh.
“Not really,” I admit.
Her fingers tighten around mine.
The comm crackles again.
“All clear. Entry team set.”
Vito turns in his seat. “We’re good.”
I nod once. “Let’s move.”
Vito is out first. I step out and pull Elsa out of the same door with me.
She takes my hand the second she’s on her feet.
We’re along the side of the building instead of the front, approaching a service entrance already opened for us by a man who gives me a short nod and steps back.
Inside, there are no front desk lights, no waiting room bustle, no phones ringing. Just quiet.
We move quickly through a side corridor, up a private stairwell, and into the office suite itself.
One of the guards stays back to guard the stairwell.
The door is already unlocked.
A woman in her forties steps out to greet usbefore we can even knock.
Dr. Bianchi.
Kind face. Sharp eyes. Gray threaded through dark hair pulled back neatly.
“Mr. Conti,” she says softly. Then to Elsa, “Ms. Nilsson.”
“Elsa,” Elsa says automatically.
Dr. Bianchi smiles. “Elsa, then.”
Her gaze flicks once to Vito, takes in the general energy of the visit, and wisely does not comment on any of it.
“This way.”
She leads us down the hall to an exam room. Vito stops and stands against the wall outside the door, planting himself there.
The doctor ushers us in.
The room is small, bright, and ordinary in a way that feels almost surreal. The paper-covered exam table. The rolling stool. The machine in the corner. Cabinets. Sink. A dim lamp near the monitor.
