Chapter 27
twenty-seven
. . .
Dr Carlo Bianchi was the Chief Medical Office of Healing Heart Medicare, a private hospital in Salerno.
His father opened the hospital decades ago and it grew into a family conglomerate with several hospitals in various countries.
After his passing, Dr Carlo, his five brothers and two sisters, all in the medical field, ran the hospitals.
Their personable character traits were well-known, bringing medical staff from all over the world keen to work and learn under their supervision.
I was twelve when I met Dr Carlo. With an entourage of doctors, he visited several schools speaking about the benefits of a medical degree. Part of the process required interested students to write an essay on a specific field of medicine. Hopeful, I submitted mine.
Impressed with my essay, he not only became my mentor throughout my studies, but he also adopted me.
So technically, I grew up with two dads.
Uncle Haru, my father’s brother and Dr. Carlo.
As a result, I was given opportunities to accompany him to their various hospitals, strengthening my knowledge, and after residency, I was guaranteed a position in a hospital of my choice.
Now, I knocked on Dr Carlo’s door and poked my head around the half open gap. “You called for me.”
He looked up, smiling. “Yes, love,” he replied, his thick British accent underpinned by his Italian heritage. “Come in.”
“How can I help?” I asked, entering.
Salt and pepper-streaked hair crowning sparkling green eyes, Dr Carlo was a handsome man the nurses called a silver fox. While I didn’t see him in that light, their undisguised body language never failed to amuse me when he appeared. Their filthy comments would make hospital hygienists cringe.
“My friend.” He tipped his chin toward his meeting room. Only then did I catch a quick glimpse of his pacing visitor who seemed to be on the phone. “He suffered an injury and needs treatment,” Dr Carlo continued, bringing my gaze back to him.
I frowned, certain I was a neurologist in training. “I doubt he’d still be standing and talking on his phone if it were a brain injury,” I quipped. He could easily send the man to one of the nurses down in ER if it were that urgent and they wouldn’t question his request.
Arms resting on his desk, Dr Carlo chuckled, leaning forward slightly.
“His family does a lot for several communities, mine included that warrants certain leniencies. I turn a blind eye to their lifestyle and why special treatment by my star intern is necessary.” A hint of amusement lined his words when my disbelief became apparent.
“Humor me?” He gave me that fatherly smile I doted on.
Biting back the need to ask for more details, I nodded. “Sure.”
My gaze shifted to the visitor the same time he cut the call and stepped out of the room. The blood drained from my face as I tried to maintain my composure. Dr Carlo’s ears were too respectable to hear the words burning my tongue right now.
The same could not be said for the other man when our gazes locked.
One hand in his pants pocket, a subtle smirk playing around his lips, he shamelessly let his gaze roam over my body while he approached.
His steps the distinct prowl of an unassuming predator and I, the belligerent prey.
Something told me this man would play with his food before he ate it.
Pun intended.
Obviously aware of the reason for my barely restrained docility, his lips kicked up in a hint of a smile. Our initial meeting had been too brief for me to get a defined look at him, now I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
He’d changed his earlier white shirt to a dark one and the black on black seemed to mold his muscular frame, attracting further scrutiny he didn’t deserve.
If that wasn’t enough to suggest I was eye-fucking the man, my gaze stayed too long on a thin silver ring pierced over the middle of his bottom lip that you’d only notice if you looked closely, strangely complemented by the three small rings pierced into the lobe of one ear.
“Ishika Sharma meet Remo Rossi,” Dr Carlo introduced us, pulling my attention.
Seven billion people on the planet and of course said asshole would be a special friend to a man I held in high regard, a man I’d learned a great deal from and a man who I wouldn’t say no to.
I stood stiffly to accept the outstretched hand, my insides doing a sudden dirty tango with the skin-on-skin encounter.
Shut up, I silently admonished my lady bits. This man didn’t deserve any form of reaction from the top or the bottom half of my body.
“Nice to meet you, Ishika Sharma,” my name was purred with a husky decadence as though he savored every letter.
“Mr. Rossi.” I tried to pull back my hand, but his grip tightened, his thumb slowly stroking my skin.
Eyes, a color yet to be define, roved over my features as though he were committing every single inch of me to memory.
However, it was their stark emptiness I found more baffling.
Either he hid his emotions well or he felt nothing.
If I were honest, his features, with that thick hair slicked back on the top and shorter sides, slightly crooked nose and square jaw perfected by full lips, were sinfully beautiful, yet he looked like someone you wouldn’t want to encounter in a dark alley, not if you cherished your soul.
I jerked my hand out of his hold, my gaze dropping to his as I did so.
That tattoo, forming a spiderweb from the digits on his knuckles, creeping along a thick veined forearm to disappear under his rolled-up sleeves and reappearing on his neck, added a hardened edge to his attractiveness most woman would die to be in my spot right now.
Even beneath the inked skin, corded veins tainted with his blood spoke of their strength.
The thought of what those hands would do to a man that wronged him, let alone a wanton woman, brought goosebumps to my flesh.
Nor could I stop the shudder that snuck up on me when I noticed him watching me with unconcealed interest.
“I have rounds to finish, you can use my room to treat him, Ishika.” Dr Carlo’s sudden words reminded me he was still there and that I had nothing to fear. Then his words registered.
“You’re leaving,” I whined, kicking myself for sounding weak. A soft chuckle had my gaze snapping to the other man. I scowled at him.
Such lady-like behavior, Ish.
Unfortunately, Dr Carlo didn’t notice my reluctance. He picked up his stethoscope and with a quick nod to me and Remo, left. I stood there for a full minute debating whether I wanted to upset Dr Carlo by not helping the other man.
C’mon, girl, you can do this and be quick about it.
Swallowing my nerves, I inhaled deeply then finger-brushed my hair into a ponytail.
“Leave it down.” About to secure the tie to my hair, his soft request stilled my fingers. Surprised, I glanced at him. “It’s prettier open,” he added when I said nothing.
Defiant, I made point of securing my hair while he watched. His eyes darkened, his hawkish stare unrelenting. Clearly, he didn’t like to be challenged.
Well screw you, Mr. Rossi.
Despite the false bravado, a heavy weight of foreboding sagged my shoulders, telling me I shouldn’t be alone with him. Ignoring it, I trudged into the private treatment room attached to Dr Carlo’s office. There, I proceeded to sanitize my hands.
My back to the entrance, I was drying off my hands when I heard the tap of Remo’s shoes enter the room followed by the door closing. The soft click had me praying for strength. I’d encountered every kind of man since I began studying medicine, why was I so rattled by this one?
You can do this.
Just as I counted to three, a strong arm wrapped around my waist and tugged me back against a hard chest, stealing the breath from my lungs in a sharp exhale.
Adrenaline kicked in a second later. Fists clenched, I elbowed him, first left then right, pushing all my strength into the action.
Any normal man would’ve reacted by releasing his hold and doubling over with a groan.
All Remo did was chuckle. “Your fight has my cock real fucking hard.” Annoyed, I bit his arm until my teeth hurt. “Harder,” he hissed, amused.
I saw red. My elbow slamming into his ribs, I stomped on his foot. His grip loosened just enough for me twist free. I didn’t run. Swinging around to face him, my fist connected with his jaw, pain shooting up my arm. I gritted my teeth.
He staggered back half a step. “Feisty,” he sniggered, lunging forward.
I tried to sidestep him, but he was fast. Grabbing my wrists, he pinned them above me, his body crowding me, his weight a threat all on its own.
Anxiety slamming against my ribs, I didn’t give in.
Instead, I kneed him as hard as I could, catching his thigh.
The impact jolted down my leg, bone to muscle, a sharp, ugly shock that stole his breath, sending a savage thrill of relief through me.
This time he grunted for real, his forehead dropping briefly to my shoulder as he absorbed it and releasing my hands. For one clean second, I wasn’t trapped or cornered or afraid. I was force, a momentum.
Then he looked at me again, his eyes alight with undisguised challenge. “I was worried you’d disappoint me, little fox.”
“Did you think you can just what? Touch me, take me?” I snapped, voice shaking with adrenaline, my right hand slipping into my coat pocket.
He laughed softly. “I will take you.”
“Over my dead body.” My fingers curled around the ring knife I carried, always.
“Eventually.” He winked.
Knife in a death grip, I slashed out, fast and sharp. He reacted instantly, catching my wrist mid-swing, twisting hard. Pain detonated up my arm. I winced, driving the blade forward anyway, clumsy, desperate.
He flipped the knife from my hand easily, metal hitting the floor with a disappointing clang. “Too slow,” he mocked.