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“No. I mean… why am I here and not at the hospital?”
To that, Maine took a slow, deep breath and released it before he spoke. “See, Whitney. There’s this protocol at the hospital where they have to report gunshot wounds. And when that happens, the police come. And when the police come, they have questions.”
“Questions you don’t want me to answer,” I concluded.
“More or less,” Maine agreed, nodding. “But we couldn’t exactly leave you to bleed to death in the street either, could we?” he asked, slapping his knees before standing up. “Eat some of that food. And that other cup of fluids. It’s electrolyte water. Lemon-lime flavor,” he added before making his way out of the door.
Alone, I stared down at the plate to my side.
Aside from the water and the electrolyte water, they’d brought me a bowl of soup and half a sandwich. Both of which looked too nice to have come from a convenience store or diner, which had to be the only things open at that time of night.
Or was it morning?
I’d lost all track of time thanks to whatever it was that Surgeon had stabbed me with. There were no windows or clocks in the bare space, leaving me with no choice but to guess that at least an hour or two had passed if he’d been able to fish out the bullets, clean the wounds, then wrap me up.
Where did that leave us? Five am? Six? Somewhere around there.
The city would be waking up soon, early birds chasing that proverbial worm, the health-conscious strapping on their sneakers to run the streets or parks before they were too packed to provide any peace.
I didn’t know where I was. But I did know there was no such thing as a desolate area of the city. People were piled on top of each other in every corner of the place.
So if I screamed… someone would hear me.
That was kind of the perk to living alone in a big city. You were never truly alone. If you screamed loud enough for long enough, someone would eventually get sick of it and call the cops.
What can I say? Us city folks weren’tnicebut we gave a damn on occasion.
Decision made, I sucked in a deep breath, fought with my insecurity about it—decades of being told to be agood girl, to be quiet, to never draw too much attention to myself—and screamed.
I screamed until my lungs hurt, until my throat felt raw, until defeat made frustrated tears flood my vision.
It was right then, in one of my lowest moments, that the door opened up again.
This time, it wasn’t “Maine” who came in, but Surgeon himself.
Stepping inside, he leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his strong chest.
“You done?” he asked.
Was I done?
Was I done?
Oh, no.
No, I was just getting started.
CHAPTER FOUR
Salvatore
“Ah, yeah, so… that was nasty as fuck,” Cesare said as I washed the blood off my hands, watching as it mingled with the soap and water, becoming a milky pink color instead of the stark red that was on my pants and the tweezers I hadn’t sanitized yet.
“That didn’t even make the top ten nasty wounds I’ve seen,” I told him, shrugging. “Only the third woman I’ve treated, though,” I said, thinking back.
What can I say? The mafia was a historically male-centric profession.
“That’s because there’s only one Family with female capos,” Cesare said, making my gaze slide in his direction. “The Lombardis,” he told me.
