Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

I gazed at my screen, unsure what to do. My finger hovered over the message I had typed, just one word.

“Okay.”

I hit send.

In a split second, the screen lit up. Ringing: Vincenzo.

My heart tightened. "Oh, come on," I muttered under my breath, tossing the phone onto Matheo's desk as if it had burned my fingers.

My brother across the table didn't even raise an eyebrow.

"Answer the phone.".

“No.” I crossed my arms, scowling. "If you're so curious about what he wants, you can pick it."

He sighed and got to his full height, storming around the desk.

"Francesca," he said to me, voice low but firm, "You're his staff. You asked to do this. You don't have the right to call the shots in his territory like you do here. Right now, you're his hired doc, not a Marino. Not an assassin, not my sister. You're a doctor he employed! So unless you're willing to blow your cover and watch your plan go up in flames, take the damn call."

I clenched my teeth, seething with anger beneath my skin.

"He's arrogant," I snapped. "Calling me late in the night  like I'm his housemaid."

"He doesn't know who you are. To him, you're just a doctor on a contract. And people like him? They don't wait on names, they summon them.

You don't get to say no to a powerful man with a temper unless you're ready to write your dying wish. "

"I'm not afraid of him." I retorted.

“You should be,” Matheo said, eyes narrowing. “Not because he’s dangerous, although he is but because one wrong step, and everything we’ve worked for is gone. You’re not doing this to prove a point. You’re in this to kill the man who murdered our parents.

Keep your eyes on the prize. Don't lose sense of your purpose.”

Silence cut between us, razor-sharp.

My fingers curled into fists before I finally picked the phone. The screen flashed, he was calling- again.

With the thrill of a woman who was about to swallow glass, I pressed the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Come to the house," the gravelly voice growled. No hello, no explanation.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I do not like to repeat myself." His voice was all ice and condescension. "Especially not to my staff."

I glanced at the clock. "It's past working hours, I don't make emergency house calls without advance…"

"It's not a request," he cut in. "It's an order."

The phone went dead.

I glared at the phone, lips opening in shock. "He hung up on me."

"Shocker," Matheo grunted sarcastically, obviously not surprised by the act.

"Does he even know who I am?" I spat. "The nerve…"

"Francesca," Matheo called, taking a step back and coming forward to me. "You want to slit his throat while he's sleeping? Fine. But to do that, you have to have access. You're smarter than to let pride burn the bridge you're building. You don't throw a tantrum because he's pulling the boss card, that's who he is.

Stay on course. You're in, remain in. Move closer, and when the time is right… you'll have everything you need."

I clenched my teeth, the anger swirling through me like smoke. But I breathed.

"Fine," I said stiffly. "But he's indebted to me. And I never forget debts."

"Just don't get caught collecting it before time," Matheo muttered, following after me as I swept out.

The ground was already in shadows by the time I got to the Lombardi compound, the air felt heavier. The night clung to the walls like sweat.

I pulled over where I had before. A man stood outside, tall, wall-built, dressed in black with a scar along his cheek cut through pale flesh. His blue eyes were flat. Watchful. Cold.

He didn't speak. Simply turned and indicated for me to come after him.

Inside, the house was colder than I'd remembered. Lights fell as if mourning something. We passed by the curving staircase and down a long hall, through the double doors into the clinic.

Alessandro lay on the bed, his skin pale and slick with sweat. His chest rose and fell in ragged, irregular gasps. His skin was slick, his eyes half-closed.

My heart tightened, the doctor instinct jumping in automatically. But I didn't show it.

"What has  he taken?" I barked, pulling on gloves and striding to the tray.

The bodyguard, Marco, I remembered was his name, was holding up a box. "Only the Clindamycin you prescribed.  He took it an hour ago."

That was correct, I'd given it to him to help with the infection of his stitches.

I snatched the box, scanning the ingredients.

And then I paused.

Benzyl alcohol.

Fuck it!

I rushed over, checked his pulse, too fast. I pulled up his shirt, rash, faint but worsening. Wheezing, no full airflow.

"Does he have asthma?"

Marco frowned. "No. But sometimes dust irritates him."

"This is not dust," I snapped. "It's a Type I hypersensitivity reaction. He's going into anaphylaxis."

Marco's face went white with confusion.

"I need epinephrine, now! I also need an Auto-injector or pre-filled syringe, diphenhydramineI/V and methylprednisolone."

Marco nodded and took off.

I knelt next to Alessandro. His airway was tightening, his blood pressure decreasing now. Dammit, not yet, hold on.

Marco returned in an instant, shoving the emergency kit into my hands.

I worked on the epinephrine: 0.3 mL, 1 mg/mL strength.

The jab into his thigh was rapid and agonizing. His body twitched.

Then I started the IV, sliding it in easily up into the crease of his arm. Diphenhydramin 50 mg. Methylprednisolone 125 mg.

But my breath caught.  The combination would halt the reaction and keep it from flaring back. But it was the epinephrine doing the heavy lifting now

"Start timing," I ordered. "We should be seeing change in three to five minutes."

And thankfully, we did.

Alessandro's breathing slowly leveled out. His pulse steadied. His skin flushed back to normal color.

I relaxed.

Only then did I realize that my shirt was slick with sweat. "He's stable," I wispered, stripping off my gloves.

Marco nodded. "I'll report it."

I frowned. "Report it?"

He looked me straight in the eye. "Yes, to Vincenzo. He's waiting."

Of course he is.

Ten minutes later, I was ushered into the other wing. Vincenzo was positioned at the rear of his office window, backing me. One hand rested on the edge of the desk, the other gripped a bourbon glass. He didn't turn around when I entered.

"Is he breathing fine?" he inquired, in a chilly voice.

"Yes," I replied, crossing my arms. "He's stable now. He just experienced an allergic reaction to Clindamycin. Benzyl alcohol is contained in it. Rare, but fatal. You should have known."

He spun then. Slowly.

His eyes locked onto mine like a knife. "And you?" he said, closing in on me. "You knew what to do so fast."

I met his gaze without flinching. "It's my job."

"Or instinct?"

"I don't play guessing games with patients."

He looked at me silently. His eyes were piercing, as if he were trying to crawl inside my skin and look in at what was there.

"You didn't freak out," he said finally. "Most people would have. "

"Then you've been recruiting the wrong doctors, sir." I replied, every word heavy laced with sarcasm.

Something danced in his eyes, amusement? Surprise? I couldn't tell.

He turned away and filled another glass.

"Want a drink?"

I sneered. "It's way past my hours."

A faint smile distorted his mouth. He took no words, drinking slowly.

The silence strained between us, thick as smoke. I saw the curve and dip of his shoulders, the tension there, the way he barely relaxed even when he rested.

Then he twirled around, and fire blazed from his eyes.

“I do not like to be kept waiting  Francesca, neither do I entertain questions from employees. I do all the questioning around here, and whenever I call, you show up. Do you understand?” I grew furious but swallowed it before I could cause any havoc.

“Do you understand?" He repeated.

The fury simmered to the surface like a tidal wave. I opened my mouth, venomous words ready to pour forth but I stopped myself.

Not yet. Not here.

I swallowed it all back, every insult, every threat, every ounce of venom I wanted to unleash. I bent my head slightly, the rage still bubbling under my skin.

"Yes, I do. I apologize."

He watched me, the fire still burning in his eyes.

"Good. When are you moving?" he asked again.

I blinked. "Moving?"

I knew that being a personal surgeon meant I would move in at some point, but what I didn't know was that I would be faced with that question on the first day at my job.

"If you can't decide, I will. You're moving in tomorrow," he said easily, like it was already finished.

Wait what? I was in shock. I stopped, paralyzed where I was. The world went around in circles, walls falling. He had taken a decision without giving me a say.

And now, I was going to be in his universe, high walls, no cover. No way out.

Only closer. Closer to being found out.

Closer to the man I was meant to kill.