Page 83 of Unforgivable Ties

Another man in a suit opened the car door for us, and I became aware that I was horribly underdressed. The place was swanky as hell, with a live piano player and crystal chandelier hanging over us.

“I think I may be a little underdressed,” I laughed nervously, wringing my hands together.

“There’s never a dress code when I’m here,” he laughed, as a hostess led us off to the side.

When we walked down the stairs into the basement, I got a bad feeling. It wasn’t because the area wasn’t nice; if anything, the decorations seemed to get nicer. But after going to the club with Vincenzo, I had picked up on basements containing illegal activity.

The hostess walked us into a private room and bowed before walking away. It wasn’t the two of us alone in this room; two guards dressed in a suit stood against the walls.

Yes, there was definitely something off about this. But what was I going to do? I took a nervous breath in and decided to play it by ear.

Dr. Malden gestured towards one of the plush seats around a small, mahogany table. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said.

I nodded and sat down, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering stronger, a swarm of unease. Dr. Malden took the seat opposite mine, his expression inscrutable in the soft glow of the room’s candlelight. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his light blue eyes studying me with an intensity that did nothing to ease my discomfort.

“Do you know the reason why I chose you to observe today?”

I had still been trying to figure that out. The only conclusion I had come to was my academic performance.

“My grades,” I said, swallowing down the dry lump in my throat.

“No. But that was a bonus,” he chuckled. “I chose you because you work with Cesare.”

I almost vomited on the table. He knew I worked for the mafia. He was going to report me, and I was going to get kicked out of medical school and go to jail forever.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, but I did a terrible job at hiding it. My body shook and my hands grasped on to the edge of the table.

The server walked in with utensils, water, and an appetizer that I had never seen in my life. I think it was some sort of caviar, but presented in a really fancy fashion.

Dr. Malden waited until he left before continuing. “There’s no need to lie; I don’t care.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I chose you because I want you to work for me instead.”

My heart pounded like a sledgehammer against my chest. He certainly didn’t mean work for him in the hospital, which begged the question: who was Dr. Malden?

“You probably heard of me while working for the mafia, as Cesare and I do business together,” he said, as if reading my mind. “I’m The Surgeon.”

Time stopped, and I was certain I had heard his words wrong. When I had met David, he asked if I was working for “TheSurgeon.” If Cesare did work with him, that left me with one conclusion: Dr. Malden was The Surgeon.

“No way,” I breathed out, my fingers unconsciously loosening their desperate grip on the table. “But...you’re a world famous surgeon. How could you be involved in something so dark?”

He let out a deep, booming laugh, as if I had just told the funniest joke in the world. “Dark? I have some news for you: everything about this profession is dark.”

I tilted my head in confusion. Of course there were dark moments. You’d never be able to save everyone and patients would die.

“There are pharmaceutical companies paying doctors to prescribe their drugs. Doctors are expected to prioritize profit over patient care in hospitals,” he said. He looked amused, while I looked horrified. “You need to find the best darkness in this profession. And to me? Kickbacks and pressure to increase a company’s profit isn’t it.”

I tried to say something, but couldn’t find the words. Everything I knew about becoming a doctor was a lie, and it felt like my world had tilted off its axis.

Finally, I spoke. “What is your business? What do you do with those organs?”

I already knew most of the answer, but I wanted to hear it from him.

“I perform underground organ transplants for the desperate and wealthy,” he stated matter-of-factly. “When someone needs a new heart, lung, kidney or liver and they don’t have the time to wait on a list, they come to me.”

Money really did buy everything.

“Leave the Mafia. I will teach you how to perform transplants before you reach residency,” he said, his gaze narrowed on me. “And will certainly pay you better. I can’t believe they only pay your tuition.”

Everything I knew about ethics, morals, and the Hippocratic Oath I had aspired to take was being shredded before my eyes. It whirled into a grey soup, and I no longer knew what was right.

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