Page 24 of Devilish Prince

The instant the door swings wide I smell infection and blood. It’s a scent I’ll never mistake or forget. As a surgeon I smell it daily, though it’s normally mingled with the familiar smells of bleach and cleaner. And I’ve never smelled it this strongly anywhere besides an operating theater.

“What’s this?” I say, stepping into the room. I see a man prostrate on the bed, his backside exposed. There is a huge hole in his back, yellow puss seeping from it as it oozes blood. “What the hell!” My medical training kicks in instantly. “Holy fuck, this guy is septic."

“Fix him,” I hear from the doorway and glance over my shoulder to see Antonio there with a glass of some sort of whiskey in hand.

“What?” I spin around and shake my head at him. “I’m a surgeon, not a miracle worker.”

“Fix. Him.” He accentuates each word as a sentence as his jaw sets and he stares at me. “Or should we find another good doctor to help us?” He brings the glass to his lips and I feel like I’m staring into the eyes of the Devil himself. If Lorenzo is capable of doing what he’s done to me, threatening me the way he has, his father is worse.

I say nothing. I turn back to the wounded man and bend over him, examining his wound. “Was he shot?” The backside of his body looks as if it’s been blown to bits. He’s missing muscular and skeletal tissue necessary to sew him back up. He’ll never walk again as it is. I look up at Norm who also stands by the bed.

“Twelve gauge to the gut. The front side is just a small hole. This is the worst of it.” Norm pushes a cart next to me which I hadn’t seen yet. The room isn’t exactly sterile, but if I don’t act now this man will die. Even if I do something, there is a very high likelihood he will die anyway. I glance at the window and know I need more light. “Open the curtains,” I snap, and Norm goes to do what I’ve asked. The risk of infection is high too, but I have to worry about that later. I pick up a pair of gloves and put them on, then survey the tools. There are a myriad of things but no sutures, no staples, and nothing to clean the wound.

I struggle for a while, cleaning puss away from the infection site and mopping up blood. It’s a wonder he hasn’t bled out yet. His liver is intact, but his intestines have been perforated in multiple places.

“I need a needle and thread now.” While I wait for them I pick up a glass of water off the nightstand. There isn’t any real way to irrigate this, so I just use a bath towel already stained with the man’s blood, and the water from this cup to attempt to flush out fecal matter. It won’t even matter if he gets the best antibiotics in the world if I sew this shit up inside of him.

I’m frantic, hands trembling as I dab at his internal organs. He doesn't even move. I’m not sure if they have him knocked out with a drug, or alcohol, or if the pain is so intense he’s just blacked out. I don’t know how long he’s been this way but it appears perhaps a day at least. And despite my best efforts, without a skin graft, there is no way I can close him. So whenNorm gives me the needle and thread, I stitch the perforated intestines shut and pack his wound with alcohol-soaked gauze.

When I step away, I’m covered in blood and shaking. I peel the gloves off and step away knowing his chances are almost zero. I toss the gloves and try to leave the room, pushing past Antonio, but he stops me with an arm across the door frame.

“He will make it?”

I pause, staring into the dark hallway. “You should have called me the instant this happened. There isn’t anything more I can do. He needs the emergency room, antibiotics, real surgery. Christ, he needs a fucking skin graft.”

Lorenzo watches me stand up to his father and quirks an eyebrow. Either he’s entertained and waiting for the fireworks, or he’s impressed that I’m not afraid.

“I told you to fix him.”

“Get a fucking ambulance here and I’ll do my best at Bellevue.” I glare at him out of the corner of my eye and he yanks my arm and forces me to spin around and look him in the eye.

“You haven’t done what I said.”

“You haven’t kept your end of the bargain. Where is the million dollars for the foundation?”

I hear the smack before I even see his hand move. My cheek burns as my head snaps to the side. I suck in a deep breath and keep my gaze fixed on the floor down the hallway. No one moves a muscle as Antonio takes another sip of his drink.

“He’s gone boss,” Norm says and I flinch. I knew he would die.

There is a moment of silence before Antonio speaks again. “If I wanted failure, I’d have brought in a veterinarian. Maybe you’re not the best doctor in the nation.”

“And maybe you’re a piece of work.” I raise my chin upward and meet his gaze. “Don’t call on me again.”

I turn and look directly at Lorenzo who now has both eyebrows tented. He is definitely impressed. I wonder if he would even stand up to his father like that. I take a few steps closer to him and when he is within earshot I whisper, “It’s over. I’m out.” Then I move on toward the front door and my freedom.

I retrieve my purse from the car where it was tossed hastily when Norm threw me in, and I set up an Uber for a few blocks from here. A short walk will help me clear my mind because I just stood up to the most notorious mob boss the city of New York has ever seen. Now, that mountain escape to Jen’s cabin is looking more and more appealing every day.

16

LORENZO

Istand in the doorway of one of my guest rooms knowing what my father has done. We all knew this man was going to die. No one survives a shot at point blank range to the gut from a shotgun when part of their spine gets blasted. Though, Dr. Carter did her damndest to try to save him. Our previous medical help would have written him off and injected potassium chloride to alleviate the suffering.

“Where do I put him?” Norm is already busy folding the edges of the comforter up around the man to haul him out. I’ll need a new mattress, maybe new carpet too.

“On ice for now. His body parts may be useful later on for some black mail.” I scratch my beard and glance at my father who has his own thoughts.

“Cut his fingers off and package them nicely. Just the right hand please. I have a message to send.” Dad backs out of the room with his empty glass in hand and heads toward the living room and a refill.

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