Chapter Violet
The next morning…
The monitors blink silently, giving me the vitals of my new patient, Marcello Orsi.
With four bullets embedded in him and several other graze wounds, he was quite the celebrity when he was brought into the ER last night—a trauma team's wet dream.
They worked for hours on him. He was taken in and out of surgeries before finally being brought to me in the ICU.
Nobody thought he would survive. So far, he has proved them wrong.
I adjust the drip on his IV while staring at his unconscious form.
I've never seen a man in a coma emanating this much strength and raw power.
Even unconscious, it's hard to overlook that he's a force to be reckoned with.
His presence is all-consuming, demanding, and controlling.
It's impossible to ignore, and I'm absorbing it like a drug.
He's not at all what I pictured a mafia don to look like.
I've watched parts of his father's trial, and Marcello bears very little resemblance.
His father looks like a stereotypical mobster.
Cold eyes, overindulged, and overweight.
Marcello isn't anything like that. He doesn't look like a killer either.
Oh no, what does a killer look like, Vi? I taunt myself. Conceding the point, I also acknowledge that I've neither seen his eyes nor heard his voice. I have zero idea about his personality.
And no clue why I'm even thinking about this. I'm his nurse. Nothing more, nothing less.
Even the four burly, very handsome men in dark suits with tell-tell bulges by the sides of their jackets don't look like what I would have imagined a mobster's bodyguards to look like.
There is nothing sleezy or cheap about them.
Their suits are definitely not off the rack; they're stylish and form-fitting.
They greeted me with ma'am when I entered, and they only intimidated me because, hell, there are four burly, armed men at the entrance of my patient's room.
And then there is Luciano. Since the four bodyguards are very deferential toward him, I assume he's some kind of boss.
His eyes have been glaring at me since we introduced ourselves, watching me like a hawk from a chair by the end of the bed.
Now, he looks like a gangster. His frown, his dark, almost black eyes, the scar crossing his right cheek—everything about him screams ruthless killer.
He wasn't pleased when the CEO of the hospital refused to empty the entire ICU wing for Marcello—not pleased at all.
I have no idea how Henry, the CEO, stood up to him, but he did.
He explained that we still have victims of a mall shooting from a few days ago in here, and that the other hospitals are already overcrowded with additional victims from that incident and simply don't have the room to accept these patients.
"I'll be back in a moment," I excuse myself to the big, scary man. I don't owe him an explanation, but I do need to go pee, and I need another dose of Labetalol to keep Mr. Orsi's blood pressure down.
He rises from his chair and moves his over six-foot, all-muscle body over to me, staring intimidatingly down. "Just in case you get any funny offers or ideas when it comes to Mr. Orsi's life, let me tell you something."
His voice drops, raising goosebumps all over my flesh, and not in a good way.
More in the you're in the middle of a horror movie and about to meet the killer, kind of way, "Your mother is Linda Meade.
She works at Doll's Beauty Parlor. Your sister, Elaine Conolly, just gave birth to her first son, your nephew, Mark.
She is a stay-at-home mom. Her husband, Lee Conolly, makes his money as a YouTube streamer and instructor. "
Sweat builds behind my ears and neck. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins.
"Your brother, Sebastian Meade, is in his third year at Hudson City College—HCC."
I know he isn't telling me all this just for shits and giggles and prepare myself for his next words, which still manage to freeze the blood in my veins. "If anything happens to Mr. Orsi, an unfortunate, very painful accident will happen to all these people, including the baby, understand?"
A shiver moves through me. Now I get why Kelly quit. Even though she hadn't met Luciano yet. Or at least I don't think she did. Looks like she has more smarts than I do.
It's not too late to quit, I tell myself. Out loud, to my surprise, in a steady voice, I say, "Mr. Orsi is in a critical condition." I manage to hold my cool and am proud that my voice trembles only slightly. "You can't hold me responsible if… his heart stops or he develops a blood clot."
"I won't," Luciano replies, unsmiling. "But if any of those scenarios seem suspicious…"
How he expects anybody to make it through the four burly men standing constantly in my way is a mystery to me, but I take his warning seriously. Serious enough to call my mom.
I shut the door behind me and dial her number before I can second-guess myself. My fingers tremble around the phone. It rings once, twice—
"Vi?" she answers, upbeat. "Everything okay?"
"Hey, Mom." I try to keep my voice light, but it wobbles. "I need you to do something for me."
Her tone tightens. "What is it, sweetheart?"
"I need you to take everyone to the lake house. Just for a few days. Maybe a week or two. Call it a mini vacation. It's quiet, safe. You'll love it."
There's a pause. "Vi, what's going on?"
"Nothing, I swear. It's just..." I hesitate. "There's been some tension at work. You know Marcello Orsi is here."
"I told you not to take that case."
"I had to, Mom." How can I explain that nobody else was willing to deal with him? "Please, just do this for me. Pack a few bags and go."
"You need to quit, Vi." Her voice hardens with that familiar maternal steel. "Nothing good comes from hanging around mobsters."
"I'm not hanging around mobsters. I'm caring for a patient who just happens to be—"
"A mafia boss, yes, I remember." Her sigh nearly crackles through the line. "Promise me you'll quit. Right now."
I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. "I can't just walk away. This job is—"
"Dangerous, Vi. It's not just a hospital anymore. It's a war zone waiting to happen." She interrupts with a mom edge to her voice.
"I promise I'll think about it. But right now, can you just go? Take Elaine, Sebastian, Lee, Mark... even Felix. I'll feel better knowing you're somewhere safe."
She exhales slowly. "Come with us. Please. I don't think I'd survive if something happened to you."
"I'll try. I'm sorry, Mom." I use my fingers now to massage the bridge of my nose, trying in vain not to let frustration get the better of me.
"You always think you're so grown up, but you're still my baby. I won't survive losing you." She doubles down, and this time, the guilt of worrying her settles over me like a heavy coat.
"I love you, too," I whisper. My throat tightens. "Call me when you get there."
"I will. And Vi... you better quit. I mean it."
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I expected concern, but this? This is peak mom-level panic. She knows I can't just quit. I won't. I might not love the job as much as I used to, but it pays the bills—bills I'd have to cover from my savings otherwise.
"Mom, it's fine. He's just a patient."
"Then why do I have to leave? Hm?"
I hate when she makes sense. "Please, just take everyone and go. Promise me, okay?"
A long, dramatic sigh follows. "Fine. But you promise me you'll think about quitting."
That's probably not going to happen, but if the assurance makes her happy, I have no problem lying. "I will. Call me. I love you."
"I love you too, pumpkin, more than you'll ever know."
I return to Marcello's room and find a beautiful young woman, probably a few years younger than me, sitting at his bedside, holding his hand.
When I enter, tear-streaked, gray-green eyes look up at me. "Are you his nurse?"
I walk over and hold out my hand. "Yes, I'm Violet."
"Here." She presses a heavy ruby-studded bracelet into my hand. "And here." She pulls out matching earrings from her ears. "Please. I need you to do everything you can. I can't lose him, too." She sobs.
Luciano clears his throat while I stare dumbfounded at the jewelry in my hand. "Sophia, I don't think…"
"I'll write you a check, too. Just tell me how much," Sophia cries.
I gently put the jewelry on the bed, kneel beside her, and say, "This isn't necessary. I assure you, your brother is getting the very best care humanly possible."
"He won't wake up," she says as tears run down her cheeks.
"Has anybody explained to you what happened to him?" I ask carefully.
"He was shot," she sobs.
I put my hands on her knees, in part to balance myself as I hunker on the floor and in part to convey my sincerity and sympathy. "He was shot multiple times, yes. The doctors say they will all heal in time."
"But he's not waking up." She hiccups.
"The worst of his injuries is his head wound," I nod at the thick white bandage around his head. "The bullet took out part of his skull." Another sob escapes her.
"Violet, with all due respect, I don't think—"
I don't let Luciano finish. Sometimes it's best to explain a patient's condition to their loved one in plain English and with as much detail as possible.
Sophia strikes me as someone who needs the honest, if not brutal, truth.
"His brain wasn't directly damaged by the bullet, but there is some brain swelling, which is why the doctors put him into an artificial coma. "
"Okay," she nods, her tears slowing down. "So they'll wake him up? When?"
"As soon as the swelling is down. Then they'll put a new piece of bone or metal in to seal his skull back up."
A ragged breath escapes her, but she sits up a bit straighter, wiping her eyes, and nods. "Thank you."
She puts her hands over mine. "Thank you." She repeats.