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Rose shoots me a look that says it’s too early for my humor. “I know that. I meant, what is this for?”
I take the box from her and open it to reveal a brand-new black iPhone. Turning it on, I program my number first and then the others. Handing it back, she carefully accepts it, almost like she’s afraid it might break in her hand.
“I don’t know if you want to call Anette or anyone else, but at least now you can if there is.” She has no family to speak of, but she must have friends outside of Anette who are worried about her.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her glassy eyes meeting mine with genuine gratitude, and my chest swells with pride at the sight.
Rose sets the phone on the bed, then throws herself into my arms. I barely catch her in time before her lips are on mine. My thoughts momentarily stumble, but I quickly regain my focus and take control of the kiss by pulling her closer.
“I’ll call Gabriella and have her come over,” she breathes.
Dominic is helping his dad tie the good doctor to the chair in the center of the room when I walk in with Enzo behind me. With his arms crossed over his broad chest, my dad stands in front, intimidating the frightened man with his hard gaze.
“Where’s Raphael?” I ask when I notice my twin’s absence.
“Your brother decided to drink an entire bottle of Macallan last night,” Dad answers, his eyes never leaving our guest.
Couldn’t say I blame my brother for overindulging. Last night wasn’t pleasant for any of us and if my brother wants to drown his sorrows, then who am I to stop him? Especially considering my decision to pursue a relationship with Rose is partly to blame for his sorrow. Well. Me and the crying doctor in front of us.
“Dr. Murphy,” I greet the fertility specialist pleasantly, like this is just another conversation over a Sunday dinner.
The middle-aged man looks at me in confusion before recognition fills his face. “Mr.-Mr. DiAngelo?”
I slip my jacket off, revealing the pair of guns haltered at my chest, and enjoy the way his face pales. Handing Dominic my jacket, I roll up my sleeves and walk forward. Sliding my hands in my pockets, I gaze down at the man who delivered the worst news of my life. And certainly lied about it.
“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask, starting out easy.
He shakes his head quickly. “No. What–what’s happening?”
“Do you remember the last time you saw me?” I press on.
He shakes his head again, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He’s lying to me, and I hate being lied to.
“November of last year. Jog your memory yet?” I wait and watch as the doctor visibly swallows hard before I continue, “No? Well, allow me to remind you.”
I jerk my head at Enzo. He steps forward and grabs the back of Dr. Murphy’s head, his hand fisting what’s left of the doctor’s hair tight enough that it forces his face up. “My wife and I visited you because we were trying to have a child and weren’t having any luck. So you ran some tests and assured me all would be fine. Only it wasn’t. Was it?”
It’s a rhetorical question that I don’t need him to answer.
“Now, listen to me very carefully, Dr. Murphy, and try to answer truthfully, because your life depends on it.” He stares up at me in terror, tears filling his dull brown eyes. Finally. Now we’re getting somewhere. “Why did you tell me I was sterile when I am not?”
Enzo pushes the doctor’s head forward with enough force to cause whiplash, then steps back, resting a hand on his gun’s handle, ready to take aim and fire if necessary.
The doctor sobs, his voice frantic and uneven as he stammers, “I…I don’t–I don’t know. I—”
“Doctor.” I reach for the knife I keep sheathed beside one of my guns. The light catches the silver blade, and the doctor thrashes against his bindings in panic at the sight. “Remember what I said. The truth. Please.”
“I swear I didn’t mean to do it,” he cries out in a rush. “I was told…I was told to lie and say you were sterile.”
I glance at my dad over my shoulder and watch his jaw lock as he raises his chin at the news. He meets my eyes and nods for me to continue.
“Who told you to fake the results?”
The doctor shakes his head slowly from side to side as if spilling the truth is painful. “I can’t. I can’t say. He’ll…he’ll kill me if I do.”
“He’s not the one you should be worried about right now,” I warn him. “Tell me who told you to lie.”
The man wails, snot falling from his nostrils to mix with the tears streaming down his cheeks. He’s a disgusting mess. “I never saw his face. We only ever talked over the phone, and his voice was always disguised.”
