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Every Benedetti man recognizes the rarity of Enzo’s love story. And this headstrong doctor marches to a more raucous beat than Sophia, a mild-mannered beauty with a caring soul.
Enzo steers the conversation to the man who tried to kill him before I stepped in. The man was supposedly hired by an insider, possibly a capo who has enough access to bypass security.
Sitting in that car in the hospital lot, we brainstorm and bounce around names of suspects. One we all agree on is Tomas Greco, who used to be very loyal to the previous regime.
My eyes drift toward the hospital entrance. Through the lobby’s glass double doors, movement catches my attention. I shift forward in the back seat, close enough to the drop-off lane that the fluorescent lights inside illuminate the scene.
Lucia’s just beyond the reception area, visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the front corridor. She stands tall, her hands on her hips and her posture rigid as she faces a taller man in a suit. A small gathering has formed around them. Even from here, I can read the blade-sharp set of her jaw, the same expression she wore while stitching me without anesthetic and daring me to flinch.
A battle rages on the other side of that glass as the doctor challenges a Goliath alone. Having faced a lifetime of similar experiences, I can’t drive away and leave her to that fate.
I lean forward. “I’m with you, Enzo, but I need to go back in for a moment.”
He glances at me. “We’re not done.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I jump out and rush toward the hospital’s entrance. As the doors slide open, voices spill out. An elderly woman clutches her purse, and Lucia acts as her shield, defending her against the suited man.
I seamlessly merge with the crowd, then creep in so I can hear the argument.
“That boy is critically ill.” Lucia’s low, steady voice drops. “Moving him would be malpractice.”
The man in the suit snaps back a clipped reply. “It’s policy. We’re not a charity.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not letting a child die because of absurd policies.” She’s waving her arms around as she speaks, every gesture a quiet act of defiance.
Before the nurse from earlier can breeze past me, I block her path.
“Hi, Miss…?”
“I’m Jenna. We’ve run into each other three times in just over twenty-four hours.”
“All right, Jenna. What seems to be the trouble?”
She narrows her eyes, weighing the cost. Then she relents.
“One of Lucia’s young patients needs surgery, but he and his grandmother don’t have any insurance. Hartwick, the hospital’s administrator, wants to transfer the boy.”
My eyes return to Lucia, who still hasn’t budged. Though the admin turns to saunter away, she continues to argue with him.
A smile crosses my lips. “She fights like it truly matters to her.”
“Yes, she does.” Jenna nods, beaming proudly in Lucia’s direction.
I wrap a hand around Jenna’s arm and steer her toward me. “Take me to the financial services office. I’ll pay the bill.”
“What?” She blinks. “You mean that?”
A chuckle slips out. “You would rather me not?”
She shakes her head and leads the way, half jogging and half speedwalking as if afraid I’ll change my mind. Once we enter a room that smells like paper and toner, she points to a receptionist. I pull out a heavy black card and set it on the counter.
“The boy’s surgery.” I nod in the direction of the front desk. “Cover it anonymously.”
The receptionist’s eyes widen and flick from me to Jenna, who nods. “It’s forty thousand at least.”
I shrug. “Do it.”
