Page 5 of Broken Princess

With a soft sigh, I reply, “Aurora Bianchi.”

“Holy fuck,” she gasps, “do you know who did this to her?”

“Yes, but it’s best if you don’t.”

“That’s such bullshit, Sin. I’m not some delicate fucking flower that needs protecting.”

I consider her words, and what she’s risking helping us before answering, “It was Massimo De Luca.”

Her face crumples in shock, looking crushed by the revelation.

“You’d better make the fucker pay,” she declares, refusing to meet my eye as she fiddles with the electrode placements. “Grab the scissors from the crash cart. I need this hoodie off to assess the injuries and figure out where the fuck to start with this knife. I’m promoting you from Enzo’s Bitch to mine.”

I smile at her coarseness; it’s one of my favourite things about her. Emergency or not, she’s always got the warmth of an ice cube. It’s familiar and reassuring, especially in a crisis. I need that right now. My control is hanging by a thread.

She snatches the scissors, cutting away the hoodie carefully, exposing the knife wound. My breath catches at the marred terrain across her collarbones and arms.

Dozens of tiny angry slashes obscure her skin. But that’s only the beginning. Doc Em cuts away her tank and I’m shocked by the extent of the bruising. Angry dark red and purple contusions cast dark shadows over fading blue-green bruises. From out of her upper abdomen, the knife handle stands proud. It’s lower than I’d thought.

“I wish we could x-ray this,” Doc Em mumbles to herself. Turning to me, she adds, “It’s low enough that it looks like it missed the heart and lungs, and the angle looks like we may have got lucky; it doesn’t appear to have nicked anything vital. Have you got any O-neg on hand?”

I nod, heading to the refrigerator at the back of the room and return with what she needs. She puts in multiple lines, hooking up the blood first, then fluids, and injects what I assume are antibiotics and painkillers. Palpating the area around the knife with great care, she takes a deep breath, collecting herself before removing it swiftly with the precision of a surgeon. There’s bleeding, but it looks minimal.

“That was an enormous risk,” I bite out through gritted teeth.

“Oh, exactly when did you attend med school? I know what I’m doing, Sin. Wind your neck in, right now.”

Seizing instruments from the top of the crash cart, Doc Em studies the wound, grabbing a suture needle and thread and throwing in stitches where needed. It looks like Aurora was lucky, but then I shake my head in disgust. There’s nothing about her condition that could be called lucky. It’s a fucking tragedy.

“How are her vitals? Are they normal? Her pulse has been consistent since the warehouse, but honest to God, I can’t figure out how. Look at the state of her.”

“Her pulse is good, but her oxygen is low, and her respiration is poor. I was concerned she had a collapsed lung, but from what I can see and hear, the knife hasn’t penetrated the lungs. She has multiple broken ribs, though. I’ll know more when I can get x-rays. How did you find her?”

“She was unconscious, tied to a chair. She regained consciousness once in the van but then passed straight out.”

“You’re right that she’s not exhibiting typical symptoms of shock,” she says in a hushed tone and a sorrowful look on her face. “What she endured, Sin. This wasn’t just a beating. Half these injuries appear to have occurred over days, if not weeks. And the scars… I can’t even begin to guess what’s been done to her. This is more than shock, Sin. I think she’s in a dissociative state. She’s completely shut down.”

I gaze down at Aurora as she lies motionless, the reassuring beep of the monitor the only clue that she’s still with us. “What can I do?”

Doc Em takes another deep breath and starts cutting away Aurora’s jeans, exposing more bruises, lacerations and scars. “We clean and treat every wound. You use butterfly strips for the small ones and leave the stitches to me. We get her as comfortable as possible and then I need a portable x-ray and an ultrasound machine. I don’t care how—you guys can steal them for all I care, but I need to know what’s going on internally. She’s not stable enough to move, but you need to understand this is a patch job. She’ll need extensive treatment over the coming weeks, preferably in a hospital.”

“Understood.”

It takes hours to tend to Aurora’s injuries. With every cut I clean, and butterfly-strip I apply, my rage grows. A molten fury I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before. Because next to every fresh cut is an existing scar. Cuts. Some deep, some shallow. Burns, some cigarette sized, others wide and gnarled like from a cigar. They run the entire length of her body, back and front, from her ankles to her wrists to her collarbone. The only places unscarred from injuries are places not easily concealed under clothes.

I look up at Doc Em—the most stoic person I know—and notice the tears trailing down her cheeks. Her shoulders betray her as a hitch runs through them, chasing the soft sob that escapes her. Being witness to what Aurora has endured is heart-rending.

“I’ll be back as often as I can without raising suspicion, but I need you to change the dressings on the deeper wounds daily, keep them clean and dry. You need to keep a close eye on her. Call me if anything changes. But I’m hopeful she’ll recover well.” She’s heading towards the door and turns back to look at me, adding quietly, “Sin… when she wakes up, I’ve got no idea what state she’ll be in… mentally. She’s going to need help. More help than I think you and your brothers can give her. What she’s been through…”

“I know. I understand what you’re saying,” I whisper.

She closes the door, her retreat marked by the soft footfalls up the stairs. Shuffling, exhausted, shell-shocked by what she’s seen. I call Enzo, putting him on speaker as I clean up the discarded packaging. We used nearly our whole stock of bandages and sutures. He picks up on the second ring.

“Boss, Doc Em’s got a shopping list for you, and we need to restock our supplies. I’ll text you the details, but we need it before she comes back. She said she didn’t care who you had to steal from—just get it.”

“I’ll get it done,” he replies solemnly. “What’s the update?”

“Shit, boss, it’s bad. What he did to her… it’s not like the other guy we found. It must have taken days.” I pause because I don’t know if I should say the rest. “That’s not all we found, Zo. He’s been doing this, judging by the scars, for years.” I’m met with a stony silence. “Are you guys done?” I prompt, attempting to divert his focus to something else.

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