Page 56

The anger hits me low and fast. Not at the demand—I expected that—but at the way she’s talking to Kira. Like my wife is an obstacle instead of a person.

“Watch it,” I growl.

Kira holds up her hand to stop me before I can say anything else. My jaw clenches, but I keep my mouth shut. This is Kira’s fight, not mine.

“Before you spend a single minute alone with my mom,” Kira says, her voice steadying, “I want to see your credentials. All of them.”

“Has Domenico not explained who I am?” Dr. Morgan asks, pushing her glasses further up her nose.

I have, but there’s no way I’m pointing that out. Not when my wife’s in full-on protector mode. And when Dr. Morgan looks at me, I just shrug.

Dr. Ruth Morgan is one of the best and brightest when it comes to neurology in America. Hell, probably including Europe and Asia as well. However, that’s not why I know her.

Her eldest daughter used to be married to the head of the Albanian Mafia. A ruthless bastard who used his wife as a punching bag. And when she became pregnant… let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.

If it wasn’t for us ending the war by driving the entire Albanian organization from Boston, the good doctor would have lost her daughter. A fact she’ll never forget. Not because I won’t let her—she can’t when her daughter named her son Domenico in gratitude.

Kira shrugs. “I want to hear it from you.”

Dr. Morgan tilts her head in what had better be a show of respect. Then she reaches into her satchel, pulls out a folder, and hands it to Kira without a word.

“I’m a board-certified neurologist,” she says as Kira flips through the papers. “I’ve spent over eighteen years specializing in severe traumatic brain injury and disorders of consciousness. I’ve studied and taught at Harvard as well as Brigham and Women’s Hospital right here in Boston. You can verify all of it in the morning. But right now, we’re wasting time, Mrs. DeLuca.”

Kira studies each page, her fingers moving slowly. I watch her face, the way her brow furrows, the way she bites her lower lip when she’s concentrating. She’s thorough. Methodical. Checking dates, certifications, and the institutions Dr. Morgan named. When she looks up, there’s no relief in her eyes—just a harder edge.

“What’s your plan for tonight? Exactly.”

Dr. Morgan adjusts her glasses again. “I’ll review all your mom’s records and personally speak with the overnight nursing staff to get their observations. Then I’ll conduct my own neurological examination.” Each point lands like a stone. “And I’ll form my own conclusions without interference from the hospital’s attending physician or anyone else. Including you.”

Kira’s jaw tightens. I can see her working through it, looking for the flaw, the thing she can grab onto and refuse. There isn’t a legitimate reason though. Not really. And definitely not if she wants her mom to get looked at by one of the best.

I don’t fault my wife for feeling uneasy, or for wanting to challenge Dr. Morgan. Not when her dad made her a pawn in her mom’s care. Sick bastard. I know I’ve done questionable things. But this… using family against family.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Fine.” The word comes out clipped as my wife steps aside, her shoulders dropping an inch. The fight drains out of her, leaving her looking smaller than she did a minute ago.

I move with her and place my hands on her shoulders. “I want answers by morning,” I tell Dr. Morgan.

She holds my gaze, and there’s no fear in her eyes. Just the flat certainty of someone who knows exactly how good she is. “You’ll get answers when I’m ready to give them,” she states. “Not a second before.”

Then Dr. Morgan pushes through the door into Paige’s room without waiting for a response.

With her gone, I turn to Vinny, who’s already straightened up from the wall. “We’re leaving, Vinny. I need you to stay until Gio comes to relieve you.”

He nods. “Understood, Boss.”

“No one gets in or out of that room without Dr. Morgan’s say-so. No exceptions.”

“Got it.”

Kira watches Vinny settle back against the wall, his posture shifting into that alert, watchful stance he defaults to when he’s on duty. Her hands hang loose at her sides, and the fight is gone from her completely now.

She looks exhausted now. Hollow even. Still, she smiles gratefully at Vinny and says, “I’m sorry you have to—”

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. DeLuca.”

“Kira,” she sighs, exhausted. “And thank you, Vinny. For looking after my mom.”