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My stomach twists as I drag the tray away from him, muttering about supplies before slipping out of the room.
He’s mafia. That’s not just a guess anymore. That little show solidified the truth. However, the weight that sits in my belly continues to confuse me.
An hour later, I’m still stumped. What should I think of a man like Marco?
I’m pushing open the door to the doctor’s lounge when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. When I open it, I find an address and confirmation for a restaurant reservation.
Ten o’clock. Don’t be late. See you there, Dottoressa.
My thumb hovers over the delete button and stays there.
A flutter rises in my chest, and it dawns on me that for the first time in years, what I felt around a man was a mix of anger and irritation, yes, but also excitement and curiosity. Not the deep yawning ache and black void of disinterest that seem to swallow every other emotion since Matteo’s death.
For the first time in a long while someone asks me out, and a part of me wants to go.
Chapter 2
Marco
She doesn’t show up for the dinner reservation.
So fifteen hours later, because I’m not a sane man, I’m sitting in Nico Ferrante’s car with blood seeping through the dressing on my side, heading to the one hospital in Washington Heights I have no business returning to.
Nico notices my discomfort before I even say a word.
“You look like shit.”
“I’m fine.”
“I see a red splotch right there.” He glances pointedly at my side. “You’re leaking through the bandage and your clothes, man.”
As I glance down to confirm the pooling blood, the stab wound throbs, sending spasms through my side.
I dab at the wound with a handkerchief. “Just get me back to the hospital.”
I’m used to cracked ribs and jaws, which come with both the life of a kickboxer and the life of a mafia enforcer. My habituation to pain meant I jumped out of bed this morning without much thought about the knife wound, at least until a few minutes later in the gym. Now, new aches are lancing through my body.
The pretty doctor was right to have wanted me to stay at the hospital, but spending a night there with the Volkov Bratva walking around would’ve been foolish.
Nico clears his throat as he turns onto the road that leads to the hospital. “I don’t know why I have to drive you all the way to Ashford. You could see one of ours. Enzo pays the family doctors for a reason.”
“She did the stitching.” The words come out too fast. “She should look at it.”
Nico’s mouth twitches. “Really?”
I decide to lie. “Simple medical reasoning, right?”
He watches me for a second, his eyes sharp, then shrugs and waves me off. “Try not to bleed on the seats.”
The rest of the drive passes in silence. As I climb out of the car, I give Nico a nod of gratitude before turning and venturing inside. Just like last night, bleach and lime-scented cleaning agents assault my senses.
Lucky for me, the nurse behind the admissions desk was the same one glued to Dr. Lucia Romano’s side yesterday. As I approach, she eyes me warily.
“I need to see the doctor who treated me last night.”
She offers a wry smile. “I can guarantee you’ll see a doctor, just not the same one. Doctors have busy schedules.”
“I’ll wait for my original doctor.”
