Page 2 of Devilish Prince

“Yeah, well if you don’t go save his life, you’re going to be a puddle of blood and guts on the floor.”

I swallow hard and follow their nudges—or hard shoves—until I’m standing outside the plastic sheeting staring at a face I know to be one that strikes fear in the hearts of men of this city. Lorenzo Gatti, son of Antonio Gatti—Italian Don. His face is inthe news constantly, and it’s just enough to make me want to piss myself.

“What? No….”

“Now, bitch.” The man behind me pushes me again and I have no choice. I take a deep breath and unzip my coat, shedding it. I can’t perform surgery in that thing. He holds the plastic back and I step into the makeshift room which is strangely warm.

“Uh… I can’t wash?—”

“Welcome, Doctor. Hands up?” A woman, mid-thirties and scared-looking, offers me gloves. I haven’t even washed my hands. I glance around at the few medical personnel here and wonder if they’re all here under duress too. I don’t recognize any of them. “Just put your hands up or they’ll kill us all,” she whispers and my brain goes on autopilot. I raise my hands up and she shoves two gloves on each one, taping them off the way I would in surgery.

“What are we dealing with?” My body kicks in now too, moving toward the patient. I have to think of him as a patient, not as the city’s most notorious criminal mastermind. I look down at his chest, already prepped and ready for surgery. There is an obvious bullet wound.

“Patient as suffered a gunshot wound to the chest. Traumatic pneumothorax presented; an intercostal drain in place. BP is seventy over forty, heart rate one-seventy-five and rising. Bullet fragments in the left lung and chest cavity. If we don’t open him up now, he’ll bleed out. We have two units of O-negative on standby, waiting on your orders.” The nurse takes her place next to the bed and I know based on those stats I’m cutting this guy open now, with dirty hands and all.

“Scalpel,” I say, holding my hand out and without thinking I slice into the man in what can only be described as field medicine. It takes two chest retractors and a nurse with constant suction of the cavity for me to find the bullet fragments, but I sew up his lung and then his chest and save his life. My hands are trembling as the last stitch is put in place and a collective sigh escapes everyone in the room.

I make eye contact with the anesthesiologist who has tears streaming down her face. She’s young, maybe in her early twenties, and probably sitting in wet pants from her expression. None of us want to be here today; I see it in their eyes. They were all taken just like me, and now that we are here, and we’ve seen faces we can’t unsee, I don’t know if we will live to make it home. I shudder to think what they will do with us, and I determine that I won’t let these innocent men and women die.

“Alright, back out. Just the doctor stays,” one of the men orders. I turn to him.

“What will you do with them?” I’m shaking, peeling my gloves off. I should have a mask and a hair net too, but this is so clandestine, they have no clue how to prepare a medical unit.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re sticking around to make sure he comes out of the anesthesia.” The guy waves his gun at them and I feel my chest tighten. “And you’ll stick around to make sure he recovers fully.”

“My name is Doctor Sofia Carter. I work at Bellevue hospital. My coworkers will know I’m missing. If these people are harmed in any way?—”

“You’ll what?” His gun pushes the underside of my jaw upward.

“They’ll report to me tomorrow, or I’ll make sure this whole operation is exposed.” I’m not afraid; I’ve seen jerks like this before.

“Oh yeah?”

“And I won’t treat him at all. I’ll let him die.” I clench my jaw and he shakes his head then licks his lower lip and bites it.

“One word… they speak one fucking word to anyone and you all die. Got it?”

I stare at him with hatred in my gaze and he lets them all leave the area. I’m not sure if he will keep his word to not harm them, but they pile into the van and it drives off. I keep staring at him until his gun lowers and he tucks it into his pants. Then I turn back to the patient and stare at his bloody chest. He’ll need antibiotics and lots of follow up care. This isn’t over. He could take weeks to recover, and I don’t have time like that.

“I need to get home to my brother….” Calvin needs me as much as this asshole.

“In time. Just make sure he lives…”

I hover by his bedside as the anesthesia wears off and he wakes. It’s still hours later before they realize Lorenzo is heavily drugged and will have to sleep it off. I give him a shot of morphine for the pain and they make it clear to me that if I don’t come back willingly tomorrow when they come for me, both I and Calvin will die.

I have to go along with them. What else can I do? I swore to care for my brother the rest of his life, and I’m not about to let these monsters end it prematurely.

2

LORENZO

I’m talking in my sleep, in so much pain it feels like I’d rather be dead than dealing with this. The last thing I remember is the crushing pain I felt in my chest when that bullet hit me and a few foggy images of a beautiful woman as she administered some medications to my IV. Her voice, like an angel, still permeates the air, rousing me from my slumber. I blink my eyes open to the whir of machines, beeping and reminding me I’m still alive.

“He’ll need to have this multiple times a day. I have a job. How am I supposed to do this? Do you have a nurse for him? If not, I have to teach you.” Her voice—it’s heavenly, but it’s real, not a dream.

I turn and look at her face, screwed up into a scowl. Despite it being difficult to keep my eyes open I notice that she’s dressed in scrubs, stethoscope around her neck. It confirms for me that it is definitely the doctor who was here last night as I came out of anesthesia, though my brain fog holds any other memories at bay. She’s exquisite too—raven hair and green eyes. Eyesthat captivate my attention as she looks down at me and her expression shifts from anger to a professional compassion.

“Mr. Gatti, how are you feeling?” Her fingers reach for the line connected to my IV, and she turns to the whirring machines.

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