42. -41- #2
Well, mad was a strong word. I was irritated by my memory lapse and her sharp reply.
She’d placed an annoying bug in my brain to unsettle me, and it worked all day.
My concentration was nonexistent, and my reactions were slow.
At least I didn’t have any planned or emergency surgeries until the late afternoon.
Actually, my day was pretty dull for a trauma surgeon.
Not even the chief of surgery came to ask for assistance on a case.
The whole wing was unusually quiet. Aryna played in her room with toys Zara brought her.
I read her a story, then we had lunch and another marathon of doll-dressing, and finally Melody showed up.
But only to tell me that the boy from a car crash we’d saved the previous day couldn’t undergo another surgery because his heart was too weak.
The planned surgery was canceled; no date was set yet.
“Have you ever had such a calm shift?” one of the residents asked, tapping the table with a pen next to my ankles. I read a sports magazine with my feet up, enjoying the moment of my mind finally giving up on my wife.
“Don’t jinx it!” Melody hissed, appearing at the nurse’s desk with yet another cup of coffee.
I swore caffeine ran through her veins instead of blood.
“The last time we had a quiet day at the clinic,” she cast me a sharp look, “we ended up helping during a train crash. Imagine stitching people in the hallway because this one,” she pointed a finger at me, “decided it was a terrific idea to do a thoracotomy in the only emergency room there.”
The resident cast me an admiring look, and I winked at her before putting my feet down off the table and closing the magazine.
“Don’t forget I was in Africa.” I looked at Melody, who rolled her eyes theatrically. “I removed a leg from a ten-year-old boy in the field because it was either that or watching him bleed out.”
“Reckless,” the head nurse singsonged.
“I prefer brilliant.” I smiled, checking my buzzing phone. After the whole day, Malin finally texted me.
Sunshine: Outside your place at eight. Wear black.
My heart missed a beat, a grin tugging at my lips. This could only mean one thing. I will find out tonight!
Dorian: The usual?
Sunshine: ??
Three hours later, I got inside a black Range Rover and fastened my seatbelt on the passenger seat. My feet bounced against the floor as I scanned his face for any clues, but it was as emotionless as ever.
“Stop staring at me,” he ground out, handing me a pair of gloves. My last ones burned in a fire after the chase.
“Then tell me already!” I demanded, unable to wait any longer. “You promised.”
“I told you that I’ll show you who she is,” he corrected me, his voice dripping with annoyance. He never understood my inability to contain my emotions at times. “We’re not there yet.”
“Oh, c’moooon,” I whined, leaning my head back. “I want to know!”
“Patience,” was his last word, his detached expression telling me he wouldn’t reveal more no matter what I did. So I watched the outside world, realizing I had surveyed a few apartment complexes in this part of Manhattan about eight months ago.
“This building belongs to the Valentino family,” I said, scanning the tall glass tower where Giovanni Valentino hid his mistresses from the public and showered them in luxury. Everyone in the Upper East Side knew not to set foot inside if they didn’t want to get in trouble.
“Does it?” Malin turned to me with surprise written all over his face. “I didn’t know.”
“Sure,” I groaned, forcing my brain to cooperate, but the imbecile refused to consider ma vilaine as one of old Valentino’s girls. “Why are we here?”
“You’ll see.” Malin smirked, his chilling tone wrapping around the base of my spine. An unpleasant shiver ran through me as I followed him out of the car and behind the building.
What the fuck was he up to?
“Ready?” he asked, dispersing my erratic thoughts. I nodded, and two seconds later, the whole building, and two more on each side, went dark for a second, but then emergency lights bled dim red across the stairwell.
“Oh,” I exhaled, entering the building behind my brother. “Nice.”
“It’ll be nice when we’re up there,” Malin grunted, jogging up the stairs. Thirty floors later, I panted, holding my right side, and sweat beaded on my face under the mask. My skin itched, my boots felt heavy, and my tight pants were uncomfortable.
“How many more?” I leaned against the wall, catching my breath in my depleted lungs.
“Tired?” Malin teased, turning to me, and I groaned in discomfort. I hated these crazy, physically demanding missions.
“Yes! I’m too old for this shit.” I bumped his shoulder as I passed, ignoring the low chuckle lingering behind me. Seriously, the guy was mental. He only enjoyed other people’s misery.
“Then you’re too old for your wife, too,” he mused, stopping me in my tracks.
“How old is she?” I blurted out, completely forgetting about the burning in my chest and the shortage of breath. That woman could make me forget about dying if that were the case.
“More like how young is she?” he mocked, truly surprising me.
“I didn’t know you had it in you, sunshine.” I refused to fall for his provocations and instead attacked. “Making fun of me? It’s so out of your character.”
“I was advised to step out of my comfort zone.” He shrugged and pushed the emergency door open. “Now, stay behind me. I need to do some magic.”
Again, he used my words because, of course, his hacking skills were some kind of mojo. No way in freaking hell could he override the codes, cameras, and elevators, find loopholes where there weren’t any, and get us into the private elevator with biometric access without anyone stopping us.
Still, two minutes passed, and the power was back, yet the cameras were still disabled, and we exited the elevator in the loft on the highest floor.
“Welcome, brother,” Malin said solemnly, inviting me further inside, “to Nina Valentino’s home.”
The air around me stilled, his words striking me like an unexpected punch to the gut.
“W-what?” I stuttered, my mouth hanging open like I was some brainless idiot.
While we climbed the endless stairs, my mind went through every possibility of who she could be: a mistress, a witness hidden from the world, a mercenary, a spy, maybe an assassin, anything.
But Nina Valentino? From all the women in that fucked-up Italian family, she had to be our enemy’s granddaughter?
Still, it fit her perfectly. Mafia princesses were dangerous in their own unique way. Raised around violence, politics, and power, they learned to weaponize charm before they were old enough to drink.
“Yeah,” Malin drawled, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “You’re married to the enemy. I can’t wait to see Zyon’s face when he finds out.”
“That can’t be true,” I mumbled, trying to swallow, but my mouth was dry, and my throat almost closed from the shock.
For a second, I contemplated Malin dragging me up here to make fun of me, but despite being a psychopath, he wasn’t suicidal. The guards would kill us without hesitation, all trained to shoot first and ask questions later.
“Are you sure about this?” I turned to him, seeking confirmation or a glint of the typical craziness in his eyes that would tell me this was all one absurd joke.
“Absolutely,” he replied with unshakable confidence.
“Bloody hell,” I exhaled, moving through the entry hall into the spacious living room.
However, no repulsion, hate, or anger came. Instead, my heart thundered with excitement.
Fuck, I should’ve been furious. Her grandfather had almost killed my brother and destroyed our business and reputation. Yet, if Nina wanted revenge, she’d had plenty of chances to hurt me. She wanted something else, and I found myself hoping that something was me.
I moved farther into the living room, taking in the dark wooden floors, marble surfaces, and warm golden light reflecting off the expensive furniture. Then my gaze landed on the piano by the windows overlooking Manhattan.
Only two sheets of music rested on it, the notes crowded and erratic, as if the composer struggled to put them down fast enough. My brain immediately caught the melody, filling in the quick and slow passages as I read.
It was magnificent. And unfinished.
“You know,” I started as my fingertips touched the keys, “I like her.” I turned toward my brother, who was sprawled on the sofa as if the place belonged to him.
“I hate Italians, and I want the Valentino family out of this country and our lives, but,” I sat on the coffee table opposite him, “it doesn’t change the fact that I care for her, and I won’t let you or Zyon hurt her. ”
“Pathetic,” he groaned.
“Maybe, but she isn’t like anyone I know.
” I tried to make him understand. “Wouldn’t you be impressed by a woman who kidnapped you?
Staged all that stuff to get what she wanted?
She killed a woman for touching me!” I threw my hands in the air, unable to fight the smile that stretched my lips so wide my cheeks hurt. “What’s more romantic than that?”
“It’s crazy.” He cast me a look that momentarily made me question my sanity, too.
“When Zyon did it, you helped him.” The hurt in my voice was evident.
“Not the same.”
“Why not?” My temper was rising, and the urge to protect Nina, to keep this monster from her, made me almost feral. “Because she’s a woman?”
“Because she’s a Valentino!” His strong voice bounced off the walls, underlining the seriousness of our conversation. Malin rarely raised his voice. “We tortured and murdered Giovanni! How do you know she doesn’t plan to kill you in your sleep as payback?”
“She had the chance and didn’t do it.”
“Yet,” he snarled, standing up. “I found out some truly disturbing things about her. She has similar training to mine.”
That stopped me from arguing with him, but it didn’t scare me; it did the opposite. Knowing she went through the same shit as my unhinged, lunatic brother and walked out alive made me tremendously proud.