Page 67 of Unforgivable Ties

I relayed the day’s events, talking excitedly about Dr. Malden’s speech in my class. My hands went every which way as I talked, hitting a stethoscope and knocking it off the wall.

“Oops,” I said, picking it up off the floor.

“Are you sure you’re not Italian? You talk with your hands more than your mouth,” he muttered, tapping his fingers along the desk. “Yes, I’ve met Dr. Malden; he is one of the most brilliant minds out there. But don’t get too caught up in trying to ‘win,’” he added, narrowing his eyes at me. “We need you here.”

My stomach twisted with disappointment. I couldn’t tell him no, because the mafia paid my $100,000 year tuition, and if they didn’t I might actually have to sell a kidney to afford it. So, I wouldn’t get too attached to the dream.

“You’ve met him?” I asked, trying to hide my disappointment from his disapproval.

“Obviously. We’re both licensed doctors in New York, and attend the same conferences all the time,” Cesare explained, returning his attention to the paperwork on his desk.

I had no idea Cesare was a licensed doctor. I had figured he had gotten his license and hadn’t bothered renewing it after he started working in the mafia. The idea of him in a lab coat, socializing with professional doctors, was odd to me.

“That’s amazing,” I said, thoughts of being handpicked by Dr. Malden still spinning in my head like a whirlwind.

“Tch. The man’s ego could fill Broadway,” he scoffed, not looking up from his paper.

Well, that was disappointing to know. But, with a resume as impressive as his, I could see how his self—pride would be very high.

“A man got shot earlier today. I stabilized him, and he’s in the recovery room right now.” He shooed me off with his hand. “Go check on him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I sighed, walking towards the side room that housed the patient.

As I attended to the patient, I tried to push the dream of watching Dr. Malden do surgery out of my brain. Right now, this was my job, and it was my first priority to work hard here.

“You didn’t tell me how nice this place was,” Jessica said, her eyes growing wide as she looked around our penthouse.

I had meant to invite her over sooner, but things had just been so busy with school and work. And, selfishly, I had wanted to spend my free time with Vincenzo. The high of our relationship hadn’t faded, and every time I was around him, I still got butterflies.

“I could have probably described it in better detail,” I responded with an awkward laugh.

“It feels like I’ve stepped into a painting,” she said, her gaze still wandering. “Or a billionaire’s Instagram photo.”

Jessica continued to walk around, picking up a crystal wine glass from the dining table and inspecting it. I followed her around, watching as she admired the expensive objects.

“Do you just have a thing for attracting rich men?” she teased, tapping me on the shoulder. “First Preston, now Vincenzo.”

“Don’t even compare Preston to him.” I scowled at her, crossing my arms. “He just had his parents’ money. Vincenzo made his own.”

“Ah, a self-made man. Now that’s alluring,” she nodded, setting the crystal down and facing me. She lifted my hand and gently tapped the face of my watch. “He bought you a gift that probably cost a small country’s GDP.”

“This?”

I knew the watch was expensive, but I didn’t think it was that expensive. But Jessica’s dad was a watchmaker, so I was sure she knew more about it than I did.

“How much did it cost?” I asked, glancing down at it.

I choked on my own spit on her response. Vincenzo didn’t need to spend that much money on me; I didn’t think we were even in an official relationship. And he had only known me a few months. I was dizzy and had to hold on to the back of the sofa to keep my balance.

Jessica rushed over, her hand lightly grasping my shoulder. “Are you alright?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

I nodded, taking a few deep breaths. “Yeah,” I managed to say, “Just really surprised.”

Jessica patted my shoulder and chuckled lightly. “Well, at least we know he’s serious about you,” she said, the corners of her mouth curling into an amused smile.

“I can’t believe I bought him $160 cufflinks,” I said, my eyes tearing up with embarrassment.

“Hey, what matters is that he likes them. Anyways,” she said, pulling a wine bottle out of a paper grocery bag. “This looks extremely out of place here.”

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