Page 26 of Devilish Prince

“Yes, when the brother and nurse are safely in the van on the way here, go back and trash the place. Destroy anything that looks sentimental. Shred the couches, chairs, beds… Make it look like someone was very angry with her. Show her what her future without me looks like. Scare her… But don’t lay a finger on her brother. Understand?”

I turn back to Norm who is nodding. “Got it. I’ll finish the room now and have Mr. Carter and his nurse brought over first thing.”

This plan will work. Sofia’s heart is too connected to her brother’s for it to fail. And when I have her alone at my house, I will tell her of our impending wedding. The plans have been made already. We’ll wed in June with only the wealthiest and most elite guests in attendance. With her as the acclaimed surgical chair and myself the humble benefactor who generously donates to end the suffering of thousands, my reputation will be cemented and I will gain new trust.

It's only a matter of time now. The web is set. I’m just waiting for my little butterfly to flutter by and become tangled in my plan.

17

SOFIA

It wasn’t the smack so much as it was knowing a man died that got me. I stood there over him working on him, knowing there was no way he’d survive. I did my best. I did everything I was taught to do in training, though I had no pain meds to ease his distress, or an operating room to actually provide life-saving care. With my limited resources, I was doomed—and so was he—from the beginning. So why is it hitting me so hard now?

The water is scalding hot, nearly burning my hands as I scrub them for the third time. Three nurses have come in, scrubbed, and left this tiny little room already but I’m here, watching the water pour over my bright red skin, wondering if that man had been in my OR would he still have died? Did he die simply because I didn’t have the right tools and conditions? Or did I make a mistake?

I’ve lost patients before, very sick ones, ones who lost too much blood, even a few children. But I’d never seen something so grotesque and graphic. The image of his back split open, oozing pus and blood, organs exposed and bone matter peppered through the filth—it gave me nightmares last night. And now Ican’t focus. My hand trembles in the flow of water and I grasp it with my other hand to stop the shaking.

I blink hard, pushing the thoughts away again. This is my OR. It’s my hospital. Surgery for this person has been scheduled for two days now. I’m just putting a rod and six pins in a teenager's femur after a bad basketball accident. I can do this. It’s routine. I’ve done a million of these or something.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and replay the surgery in my head. Closed reduction, then incision from just below the femoral head descending four inches into the femur. Insert the rod using x-ray guidance. Fix the screws in place. Hold the bone in place as I make an incision four inches below the break location to… Who the fuck am I kidding?

My hand shakes again and I grip the edge of the sink, leaving the water running. My stomach churns and my shoulders tense. Even with my eyes closed and my breathing deep and steady, I can’t see anything except that infection. I can’t do this surgery. My hands are shaking too badly. My patient could suffer because of my emotional state and I can’t put them at risk like this.

I shut the water off and pull the mask off my face. I don’t know any of the perioperatives, so I step out of the scrub room and pull my phone out of my pocket, shooting Dr. Baker a 9-1-1 message. Within seconds my phone rings and his name shows on my screen’s caller ID.

“I got your text, Sofia, what’s wrong?” We often use the code to indicate a lesser emergency, but considering my patient is already drugged and waiting, I know this one is important.

“I can’t do this surgery. Fourteen-year-old boy, broken femur. He needs a rod, but my hands are shaking. I have to recusemyself. Can you send Larkin in?” Larkin is a damn good surgeon and I know he’s free right now. I saw him sitting in the lounge room ready to clock out for the day just before going to scrub in.

“Sure, what’s wrong?”

“Can I come to your office?” I bite my lip. The more I am open with my boss and friends, the more they will understand what I’m going through. Unfortunately I can’t exactly be very forthcoming because to do so would be to admit ethical violations.

“Yes, of course. I’ll call Larkin now, and meet you in my office in fifteen minutes.”

Baker hangs up and I shove my phone in my pocket and toss the hair net into the garbage as I strip off the gowns and foot covers. I operated on more than one person outside the hospital. I slept with a patient, even if I was coerced into doing the operation that wasn’t sanctioned by the hospital. I accepted favors from a mafia crime boss and now with this whole thing about the promotion to surgical chair, it’s too much.

Skating the line between propriety and the abyss of evil makes my stomach roil even more. I punch the elevator button and wait for it to arrive at my floor. Baker knows something fucked up is going on with the promotion; he has to. And Jen knows about my arrangement with Lorenzo too, though I should never have told her. Her offer to escape to the cabin in the mountains is tempting, but it will never work.

I step into the elevator and push the button for the third floor and the doors close. As I descend I think about how running to that cabin would only infuriate the Gatti family. Antonio isn’t the sort of man to let me off the hook. I’d never be able to come backhere and New York is my home. Where would I work? Because if I skip out on work for a month or two, my position will be filled. And even then, when I come back it isn’t like the major criminal organization will just leave and I will have peace. They’ll be on my doorstep immediately to get their payback.

The bell dings and the doors open on my floor. I step out and immediately see Jen standing at the nurses station filling out paperwork. Her head pops up as I stroll past. She leaves her things and falls in step beside me, hooking her arm through mine in usual fashion.

“You look pale, what’s going on?” Of course she joins me. She’s my best friend. She’d never let me walk past when I’m feeling like this and not say something.

“I…” I can’t explain to her but I don’t have to. She knows me too well.

“It’s him again. Isn’t it?” She clicks her tongue. “You need to leave town. Go to the cabin, girl. I swear you’ll feel so much better.”

I lay my head on her shoulder as we walk and when we get to Baker’s office he’s already there waiting. I nod at Jen who seems to understand I have to do this alone, and stays outside the door while I walk in and shut it. Baker takes a seat behind his desk and I hover by the door, hugging my stomach.

“I’m feeling ill. I can’t do surgery today.”

“What the hell is going on Carter? This mess with Holder and being surgical chair is a little insane. Now you’re too ill to do surgery?” Baker stares through the office window at Jen who lingers like a lost puppy. “What the fuck does she want?”

I sigh and turn to open the door, letting Jen in. “She knows everything, okay, so I just need to be honest now. I’m struggling.”

Jen walks in and shuts the door, then takes my hand. She squeezes it hard and gives me the moral fortitude to blurt out the whole mess to Dr. Baker—the kidnapping, the surgery on Lorenzo, the way he made his little arrangement, the promotion, his donation, the promise of a million dollars from Gatti Senior and finally the man who died at my hand. When I’m done, I sink into the chair and cover my face. I’m not crying, but only because I’m so emotionally overwhelmed I’ve become numb to it all.

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