Isabella clears her throat. “No, I have not.”
“Polycystic Ovary Syndrome or known as PCOS. It’s very common in women. It’s an imbalance of your hormones. It can affect your ovaries causing cyst, and, as I’m sure you already know, irregular menstruation.” She sucks in a small breath. “There is also a risk of complications during pregnancy, things like gestational diabetes or preeclampsia which can lead to premature birth.” The doctor pauses. “Now, that does not mean it will happen but there is a possibility. I have seen many of my patients have PCOS and had no birthing complications, but I also have some with.” They are silent for a few moments and the doctor continues. “This explains your irregular periods over the years along with your other symptoms you brought up at your last appointment.”
“Is there something that I do to correct this? Or cure it?” She asks lightly.
“There is no cure per say. PCOS can be controlled by a few ways.” I hear him shift in his chair. “There are some medications that help with the insulin resistance where it will work alongside your body. But if I can be frank, those medications tend to have some side effects. I would recommend trying some supplements that have been proven to work.”
“What kind of supplements?”
“You want to take ones that have inositol that will help with the insulin sensitivity. Vitamin D will improve your menstrual cycles, blood sugar and lower your testosterone levels. Magnesium will play a role in your metabolism and help your sleep. I would start with that before changing your diet or any other medication.” His mouse clicks a few times, and he continues.
I hear her shift in her seat. “Um, what ones do you suggest or recommend?” She asks.
My phone vibrates on my desk interrupting Isabella.
Pressing the answer button, I grit through my teeth, “What?”
“Boss, three of Di Marco’s men came into the club running their mouths to anyone who would listen. They kept talking about some plan that is going to make them richer than any one of the families. They also were very aggressive with the girls working the bar tonight when they were ordering drinks.” Angelo says through the phone.
A slow smile pulls the corners of my mouth over how I get to relieve some tension that has been taking up home in my body. I have been obsessed with listening, for more intel on the Costas, but it turns out, I’m obsessed with listening to Isabella’s voice. And her lack thereof when it comes to enduring the conversations about Ian and her parents. Her mother ripped away her confidence day after day. To her silent cries at night. I need this.
“Good, bring them to the warehouse.” I roll my head side to side, letting the cracking sound echo off my office walls. “Angelo, no one touches either of them before I get there. It’s been too long since I have gotten my hands dirty.”
“You got it.” I can hear the excitement in his voice.
I press the end button on my phone and go back to my app for Isabella with all the intentions of listening later. But now the mask of being the Don has slipped back into place.
I pull my black Range Rover on to the unlit road that is out of the city. Away from the city lights, hustle and bustle and certainly away enough where no one will hear the screams that come from this very building. I keep this warehouse for this sole purpose, along with the rest of this property. Abandoned just the way I prefer it. The way I prefer to play with my food before I kill it.
I open my door, step on to the gravel then shut the sleek door behind me. I adjust my Glock in the front of my pants as I make my way into the building. My hand grips the knob, as I yank the door open and am greeted by two of my men. They simply nod their heads as I walk by. The stench of mildew hits my nose as my legs carry me to where the asshole is sitting in the middle of the room. His hands are tied behind his back, legs tied together and a piece of duct tape over his mouth.
All three men are sitting in a row spread out in wooden chairs. There are two of my men standing behind them making sure they don’t get any smart ideas. Angelo is standing next to the table with the assortment of weapons laid out like a buffet. His arms are crossed against his chest with a firm line on his face.
Out of the three, the smallest one is the first to notice me and starts to move in his seat, but my men put their hands on his shoulder to hold him in place. I nod my head, signaling to Angelo.
Angelo gestures with his head. “Our friends, Joey, Paulie and Mike here thought they could come into your club, run theirmouths. Then think it’s okay to touch women without asking.” They all mumble to say something from behind the duct tape.
I spin on my heel, take off my suit jacket and lay it down on the table. I unfasten the cuffs of my black button-down shirt and, roll the sleeves up each arm while I keep my eyes locked on my prey in front of me.
My feet carry me to the front of Joey’s chair, and I squat to his level. I rip the tape off his mouth making him squeal like the pig he is.
“So, Joey, you thought that you could come into my club, run your mouth and then mess with my staff? Did your mother ever teach you any manners? Did your father teach you not to touch women without permission? Hmm?” He tries to speak, and I put my finger to my mouth telling him to be quiet. “Now, as you can tell, I don’t like people coming in and touching my things, or people who run their big mouths for the sake of it. But here you are doing both things I don’t like.” I tilt my head to the side. “That was not a smart thing to do was it, Joey?”
He shakes his head frantically.
I stand to my full height and say to my men behind him, “Hang this one up by his wrists.”
I turn my head to look at the other two pieces of shits and ask, “Who’s idea was it?”
Neither of them say a word. My fuse is really short, and my hands are itching to break something or someone.
My voice booms through the warehouse, bouncing off the walls and concrete floor. “I don’t like to repeat myself. Whose fucking idea, was it?”
Like the cowards they are, they both glanced at Joey being hung up by his wrists.
Two of my men pick him up on either side of his arms, and my eyes narrow at how short he really is. He must be at least five foot three, a round pudgy face that reminds me of a rat. Eyesthat are too small for his face and too far apart with a receding hair line. His hands are the same size as a child’s, and I can only imagine that his dick is the size of a jellybean.
The chains rattle throughout the warehouse as they hoist him up. His short legs swing off the ground. I walk to the table next to Angelo and, pick up a hunting knife with a wooden handle. The blade reflects off the fluorescent lighting. All three of their eyes widen and pull on their restraints holding them in their chairs. I turn the knife over and press my thumb to the tip to get a sense of the sharpness. It breaks my skin, and I bring it to my mouth to suck on the bead of blood.
