Page 41 of Assistant to the Mafia

“Yeah,” Romeo said slowly. “It might be.”

thirteen

Reunited

Grace woke up in a brightly lit space, disoriented and frightened. The fluorescent overhead light made it hard to clear her vision. The headache didn’t help, either. Come to think of it, she thought she remembered having had one of those earlier, too. It took a moment for her to register the beeping at her side, but almost as soon as she did, it came to feel like a punctuation to the unsettled feeling inside her.

When she went to sit up, she realized she was attached to things. She had an IV taped to one arm, and her other wrist sported a pristine white bandage of its own. Somehow worse than that, a breathing tube was stuck in her nose.

A hospital… She was in a hospital.

Memories rushed her in the wake of the realization. The accident, the trunk, kicking out a brake light, flagging down help. The policemen pulling her out. The paramedics stitching up her wrist. The look of abject horror on the male paramedic’s face when Grace had mentioned the De Salvo name—which she had only done when prompted to give them information about herself. Things like where she worked and who her emergency contacts might be.

She could reflect on the strange reaction later, though. She was more concerned with where, exactly, she was, and why she’d lost consciousness.

A person in nursing scrubs stepped into the room. They were tall and lean, with long, braided hair and shimmery makeup that matched their long, fake nails. “Oh, you’re awake!” The nurse smiled and came closer, glancing up at the obnoxious machines as they moved. “How’s your pain, honey?”

Grace swallowed, searching for her voice. “Where am I?” Her voice cracked a little, but she got the words out.

The nurse’s smile faltered. “Saint Michael’s Medical Center,” they said. “You were unconscious when you got here, apparently you passed out in the ambulance.” They patted her shoulder. “Why don’t I call the doctor to go over everything with you, okay? I’ll bring you something for the pain, too.”

Grace opened her mouth to ask if she could use a phone, but the nurse was already fast-walking out the door. Tears built behind her eyes. Yes, learning her condition was important. But when was anyone going to let her use a damn phone?

She laid there, irrationally angry and trying hard to ignore the throbbing pain radiating between her head and her arm, for several minutes. Staring at the ceiling and breathing through a nose tube. It was utterly unflattering and she wanted all of it removed. Surely, she did not need a breathing tube, or even an IV. But no one would let her articulate her needs. It made her want to scream.

The sound of alarmed voices carried down the hall, drawing her attention. Grace tensed and her heartrate monitor ticked up a couple of notches.

Seconds later, a taller, well-built man with straight, jet-black hair pulled back in a low ponytail and rich brown eyes rounded into the room. He wore navy blue jeans over heavy black boots and a black, high-collar sweater. He was immediately intimidating in the way dangerous men were, particularly given her immense vulnerability, but something about him struck her as familiar, too.

In the blink of an eye, his somber expression gave way to a smile that lit up his eyes and softened his whole face. “You probably don’t recognize me, Ms. Mariner,” he said. “I’m Ryoma.” He moved to stand across from her, at the foot of her hospital bed. “I’ll be in charge of your safety until Mr. De Salvo can get out here. He’s dealing with a small situation at Lucia’s school, but I’m sure he’ll be headed this way as soon as that’s handled.”

Just like that, her tension dissolved. She barely held back the tears. “You … work for Romeo?”

He shrugged. “I work for the family. So, yeah.” He motioned with one pointer finger toward the open doorway. “Please don’t be alarmed by those looming shadows. They’re just part of my team. Barring an actual situation, I’m the only one who will be in the room with you.”

Grace nodded, then winced. Ow. Her gaze dropped to the clipboard affixed to the foot of the bed. “I don’t suppose you can tell me what that says about me? Apparently, I passed out in the ambulance….”

Ryoma frowned and dropped to a crouch, almost completely disappearing behind the footboard of the bed. “Deciphering medical mumbo jumbo isn’t really my strong suit,” he said, “but if I’m understanding this stuff right, it looks like you have a mild concussion, a broken toe, and lacerations on your wrist. There’s a note about a concern for infection, not clear why.” He paused and lowered the papers he’d lifted while he was reading, meeting her gaze over the bedframe. “There’s another note about checking with you regarding risk of pregnancy.”

Grace felt her face flush. That wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to discuss with a man she’d just met. But she was the one who’d asked him to read the paperwork, so she couldn’t very well go blaming him.

“What the hell is this?” an annoyed, unfamiliar male voice said from the doorway.

Ryoma straightened as another man asked for identification.

“What do you mean ID? I’m the doctor assigned to this patient! You have no business—”

Ryoma stepped up to the doorway. “Hey, doc. Listen, our job is to keep this patient safe, and that means making sure no one slips into this room who shouldn’t be here.” He reached forward as if he were clapping someone on the shoulder. “Good news is, I memorized your picture on the way in.” He moved backward into the room and put his back to the wall at a position where he wasn’t likely to lose sight of her. “Don’t keep your patient waiting now.”

A flustered man probably twice her age sauntered into the room, clipboard under one arm. He shot a glare at Ryoma before shifting his focus to Grace, his expression barely softening. “Mrs. Mariner—”

She frowned. “Grace,” she said. “I’m not yet married, and Mariner is my maiden name.”

He blinked at her. “Yes, well. I hear you’re having some memory concerns.”

Her frown deepened. “I am not. I remember everything up to being in the ambulance. They asked me some basic questions about myself, they stitched me up, and it hurt way more than I expected it would. I think I cried, because I remember being embarrassed and thinking the guy who was riding in the back with me was uncomfortable about it. Then I was waking up here.”

“Sounds like an adrenaline crash,” Ryoma said. “Paired with that ‘mild concussion’, it’s no wonder you blacked out.”

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