Page 8 of Unforgivable Ties

“There’s always something to be said for trying,” I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

Stephanie stood there, studying me with a determined expression, as if trying to ready herself for whatever might happen next. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she wore an apron stained with what looked to be pasta sauce.

She looked cute, in a frazzled, about-to-be-confronted-by-a-remorseless-assassin kind of way.

“Whatever,” she grumbled, walking towards the kitchen. “I need to finish my dinner.”

“Didn’t make me any?” I asked, and she shot me a glare over her shoulder. The fact that she couldn’t stand me only made this whole situation more entertaining.

“It’s always hard to tell when a six and a half foot criminal will show up on my doorstep,” she retorted, but I watched her toss more pasta in the boiling water.

“6’7”, actually.”

“My mistake.” Stephanie vigorously stirred the pasta with a wooden spoon, causing some boiling water to spill over the edges of the pot. “Why are you here?”

“Need your help.”

“My help? Tsk.” I couldn’t see her face, but I was almost certain she was rolling her eyes. “I can’t exactly traffic drugs or get into shootouts, so I don’t think I’ll be of much help to you.”

“No, you’d suck at that. I need your medical skills, Doc.”

She stopped stirring the pasta and turned to face me. Her eyes were narrowed, in stark contrast to the fear I had seen when we first met.

“If one of your buddies is bleeding out, you need to figure it out yourself,” she said, tossing the wooden spoon to the side. “And I told you, I’m not a doctor!”

“Well, think of this as an internship…”

The urgent text I had received earlier was from Cesare. He told Ettore and I that he was drowning in a sea of unending work,and wouldn’t be able to keep up with everything. His duties of tending to our injured men and extracting organs from lifeless bodies had left him overwhelmed and in desperate need of additional help.

In this moment of urgent need, we found ourselves with no trusted medical contacts. The only person who was remotely able to help us was Stephanie. Although inexperienced, she was capable, and she could step up while we searched for a more suitable option.

So, I told her this. But, I neglected to mention the organ harvesting part, because she would definitely say no. I’d leave that to Cesare.

“Are you insane?” she asked, her voice teetering on the edge of fury. She abandoned her pot of boiling pasta altogether now, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at me with a ferocity that made me internally laugh. “No! Just what kind of criminal are you?”

“I’m a Capo,” I stated matter-of-factly, my gaze unwavering.

“Why are you talking about musical instruments?” she asked, curling her fists in frustration. “Don’t change the subject!”

I sighed, rubbing my temple. I’d have to remember she knew nothing about our world. “I’m a high-ranking member of the mafia. And right now, we need a medic. Desperately.”

Stephanie laughed, a harsh sound that bounced off the kitchen tiles and echoed around the room. “Is that supposed to make me more likely to help? The fact that you’re a ‘high-ranking’ member?”

She was hot when she was pissed off. The fire in her eyes matched the anger in her voice as she fearlessly stood before me, unbothered by my job or the gun holstered at my side.

“Hm, no. But I’ll pay for your schooling.”

When I had been looking into Stephanie, I had learned her family was from Wisconsin and they weren’t very well off. Shegot through undergrad on scholarships, and she had a few more for med school, but they didn’t come close to covering the tuition. She paid over $100,000 a year to go to college. A small sum for me, but a staggering amount for her.

“Or I can kill you,” I said, giving her a second option.

“Pay for schooling…” She acted as if she didn’t even hear the second option I had suggested, instead focusing solely on the first one.

The sound of the pot boiling over snapped her out of her thoughts, and she quickly went to lower the heat. The pasta must have been done cooking, so she grabbed a strainer from the sink and moved the pot over to drain it.

“What do I have to do?” she asked, opting not to look me in the eye and instead pour the pasta and sauce back into the pot.

“Same thing you helped me with. If it’s slow, you can probably just sit around and study.”

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