A moment later, he walks Dr. Bianchi into the office.
She looks wrecked. One side of her face is already swelling. Head bleeding a little. Terrified.
Good.
She sees the body on the floor and nearly collapses.
Then she sees me.
And Elsa.
She starts crying instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “They threatened my son. They said they’d kill my husband. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You should have come to me,” I say.
My voice is quiet.
That makes her cry harder.
“I know.”
I steptoward her once.
She flinches so hard she almost folds in on herself.
“I should kill you for what you allowed to happen here.”
She nods like she already knows it.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please.”
I glance at Elsa once, then back at the doctor.
“You’re alive because she wants you alive. Not because you deserve it.”
The doctor starts to shake.
“You’re done here,” I continue.
“You will pack whatever you have, leave this city tonight, and go practice medicine somewhere else. If I ever hear your name in connection with this city again—if I ever see your face again—I will finish what I’m not finishing tonight. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes.”
“Good. Get out.”
She stumbles toward the door, crying openly now, and doesn’t look back.
The office goes quiet again.
Too quiet.
I put my hand on Elsa’s back and guide her toward me.
“We’re going home.”
She looks up at me. “Your place.”
