Ruthless (The Mafia Code #1)

1. Sara

Sara

“Trauma incoming!”

“Clear the hall! We need a doctor. He’s agonal!”

I snap the privacy curtains shut around my current patient’s bed as shouts echo down the corridor.

My legs move instinctively, and in seconds, I slap an ABD gauze pad from the triage desk onto a man’s bare abdomen as blood soaks through at an alarming rate.

He only just made it through the ER’s sliding glass doors before collapsing on the weathered vinyl composite tile, naked as the day he was born.

An orderly tosses some blue-and-white pads onto the floor and thrusts more gauze at me. I switch out the crimson pad with a fresh one, briefly revealing the mangled flesh above his navel.

Mid-fifties male. Gunshot to the abdomen. Breathing shallow. Looks like the bullet went through-and-through, but with this much blood, it may have nicked the midline aorta.

“Sir, can you hear me? What’s your name? Sir?”

No response as his eyes roll back into his skull.

“It’s a Level One. He needs the trauma bay. Now!” My confidence masks the nerves that always attack in these situations. That initial stomach swoop as adrenaline floods my system.

I may not be a doctor, but people’s lives still depend on me.

“Code Transfusion, Trauma One. Code Transfusion, Trauma One.”

The calm, automated voice crackles over the speakers, contradicting the chaos unfolding around us.

I apply pressure on the man’s wound for what feels like hours. In reality, only a few seconds pass before the surgeon shoulders me aside and his team rushes the patient away. A dark red smear trails them across the floor.

Oh boy. Environmental Services will just love that.

A short while later, I trudge to one of the industrial-sized stainless steel sinks.

Located at the edge of the Upper West Side in Manhattan, Mount Dinaric West is one of the premier hospitals in the tristate area, if not the entire East Coast. A far cry from the hole-in-the-wall medical center I worked at in Ohio.

Now that my brother and I have returned to New York and I’ve spent the past year at this hospital, I’ve come to appreciate the little things, like the unlimited supply of chloroxylenol soap and the fancy espresso machine in the break room.

After scrubbing my hands and forearms raw with antiseptic to extinguish the metallic odor, I pad down the hallway to swap out my scrubs. As I enter the locker room, I wrinkle my nose at the blood droplets sprinkled all over my top.

Great. Leave it to me to cover my brand-new scrubs in biohazard before my first coffee break.

I’m spinning my combination lock when the door to the locker room swings open, so I pause to peer over my shoulder. “Angela?”

My friend startles, obviously surprised to find me here. “Oh. Hey, Sara.”

Cell phone in hand, Angela brushes past me to her locker, twisting the knob until the door pops open. She tosses the device onto one of the shelves before slamming her locker shut.

I raise an eyebrow as I grab my drab gray backup scrubs. “Could have used your help a minute ago.” I peel off my scrubs, the stiff cotton snagging on my full bust and forcing me to wriggle to extract myself.

“Oh, were you on that? I heard the callout over the speakers.” Her sun-kissed maple brown hair swings as she inclines her head toward her locker. “I was on break outside. Had to take a phone call.”

I slip on the fresh top and press my lips together. “Raoul, again? I thought you were done with him.”

She sinks onto the wooden bench with a loud snort. “Can you blame me? I know he’s kind of toxic, but his dick… It’s…” She touches her lips in a chef’s kiss motion, and I bark out a laugh.

Angela Maldonado has been my best friend since we first met at nursing school as fresh-faced optimists.

Five years ago, when I packed up my then seventeen-year-old brother and relocated us to Toledo last minute, I worried she’d never forgive me.

I wouldn’t have blamed her. Abandoning her without so much as a word was a shitty thing to do.

At the time, I felt like I had no choice if I wanted to keep Jeremy safe.

Angela welcomed me back with open arms, though. Heck, she’s even the one who contacted me with the job opening for an ER nurse. We picked up where we left off, as if the half-decade separation never happened. So while I can’t account for her truly horrendous taste in men, I can’t judge either.

Not when some of my past choices make hers look like the height of intelligence and responsibility.

I toe off my clogs, strip off my pants, and grab the clean pair. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Her hurricane-force exhale promises yet another argument. She’ll ask why I won’t let her set me up with one of the many dateable guys she knows, and I’ll remind her of my responsibilities toward Jeremy.

She always follows with a lecture about how my twenty-two-year-old brother has a full-time job and can worry about himself, to which I lovingly reiterate my complete disinterest in dating, hooking up, or even interacting with the opposite sex outside of work.

Then we agree to disagree until she broaches the topic again and we repeat the process.

Angela smirks. “Who knows, maybe I’ll find Mr. Right at the club tonight.”

My shoulders droop a little. After this shift, I just want to go home and watch TV on the couch with Jeremy before conking out. A noisy, crowded dance club full of drunk people sounds like torture.

Especially today, of all days. “About that. Are you sure—”

“Don’t even think about trying to back out.” Angela props her hands on her hips. “You promised. Besides, when’s the last time you cut loose and had some fun?”

Best not to reply, given the extremely depressing answer. “A club, though?”

“If you don’t meet me there, I swear I’ll march straight to your apartment and drag you out. You need this, and I don’t want to go to a new club all by myself.”

I cave, mentally berating myself for my selfishness. “I don’t want you to do that either. I’ll be there.”

If I’m lucky, maybe Angela will meet someone soon after we arrive. I can hang out for a few songs to ensure he doesn’t give off psycho-killer vibes, ask to snap a photo of his driver’s license, and then leave after issuing dire threats about Angela’s safety.

A girl can dream, anyway.

When my shift ends that afternoon, I gather my belongings and head outside toward the subway station.

As I slip into the crowd, the back of my neck prickles.

I glance over my shoulder to find nothing but a bunch of tourists and white-collar workers hurrying down the sidewalk as if a monster nipped at their heels. None of them seem interested in me.

Okay, that’s it. No more horror movies for me. Ever since that last one that Jeremy picked about demons hunting travelers in an Airbnb located over a portal to hell, I’ve been feeling like someone’s watching me. No one ever is. Probably because it’s all in my head.

Then again, you can’t be too careful in the city.

I rub my neck and continue walking, but the sensation persists all the way to the station.

When I arrive home, the apartment’s empty, but by the time I’ve showered and donned into the scandalously short green dress Angela loaned me, the TV’s playing.

“Hey, Jer, you home?”

He hollers back from the living room. “No, it’s just your friendly neighborhood burglar, watching an episode of Big Bang Theory before I ransack the place. You don’t mind, right?”

I can almost hear Jeremy’s eye roll from here. “Smartass.”

“Yes, but you love me anyway,” he quips.

I huff but don’t bother to deny it as I inspect my reflection.

The full-length mirror, like most of our furniture, is thrift store chic because of the ludicrous price tag of shipping all our belongings back to New York.

Upon our return, Jeremy and I spent most of our weekends at secondhand shops and estate sales in search of deals.

The resulting hodgepodge of colors and styles combines Jeremy’s fun-loving personality with my more practical taste.

If we didn’t live together, I wonder if he would have remembered to buy curtains for the windows or a living room rug.

I splurged on the mirror, the ornate gothic frame well worth the extra cost.

After one last tug at my skirt, I grab my purse and venture out. Jeremy’s sprawled on the couch with his feet kicked up. My brother and I have the same honey blond hair as our late mother, and I have to refrain from reaching out to fix his cowlick like I used to when he was younger.

He glances away from the screen and whistles. “Damn, sis. Hot date?”

“Please. I promised Angela I’d meet her at a new dance club.”

His eyes bulge comically wide. “You? Go to a noisy club and stay out past your bedtime? Who are you really, and what have you done with my sister?”

I scowl. “I’m not that old, you know. Is it really such a stretch for me to go out dancing late?”

He snickers before his expression softens.

“Yes. But I’m happy you’re getting out. I have news too.

Guess who talked to the CEO of SilverTech today?

” Without giving me a chance to reply, he steamrolls on.

“He came in for a board meeting and called me aside, by name, to tell me how impressed he was with my analyses of our last several programs. He wants to introduce me to the president of the company. The actual founder, Sara. They might even take me off nights!”

“Oh, wow.” I give him an encouraging smile. “That’s great, Jeremy.”

My brother highlights every win he experiences at SilverTech to justify that returning to the city was the right decision.

I don’t hate living in Brooklyn, but I worked hard to build a life for us after we escaped, and our little condo in Toledo was infinitely more comfortable than this cramped two-bedroom apartment.

My nursing schedule usually consists of four twelve-hour days on and then four off. These past few weeks, I’ve also been picking up extra shifts to bring in some extra money.

I don’t mind the brutal workload. Witnessing the bright sparkle in Jeremy’s eyes as he waxes poetic about his job is more than payment enough.

Meeting his gaze now, I’m momentarily stunned by how much he resembles our dad, Charlie.

The same hazel eyes, the same tall, gangly build.

I wonder if Jeremy sees the likeness, then shake my head at the absurdity of the thought.

Of course not. He doesn’t even remember the man who walked out on us.

That happened years before our mom died in a car accident, so after she passed, Jeremy and I only had each other.

Thank God the courts granted me custody.

My heart squeezes. For the most part, Jeremy was an easy teen.

We hit rough patches, of course. Engaged in screaming matches that ended with both of us crying on the floor of our shitty little studio apartment.

Our living situation wasn’t ideal, but the studio was the most I could afford while putting myself through nursing school and working as a receptionist at the Staten Island Teaching Hospital.

Sometimes, I still catch glimpses of those two orphans, alone in the world with nobody but each other.

“…and I’m getting promoted!”

His exclamation snaps me back to reality. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

I pull him into a hug and playfully ruffle his hair.

He swats my hand away before squirming free. “I guess putting in all that overtime paid off.”

“We should celebrate. I can call Angela—”

“No way! You aren’t using me as an excuse to cancel your night out. We can celebrate another day.” He shoos me toward the door. “Now, go. Have fun for once.”

“We’ll see,” I mutter before calling for a ride and meandering toward the lobby to wait.

The Sara from five years ago knew how to have a good time. Sara 2.0, not so much.

But maybe Angela and Jeremy are right. Maybe it’s past time to start.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts that motion outside the window startles me. Two men in suits hurry past, paying me no attention.

As my pulse settles, I roll my eyes at my skittishness. Clearly I’m still a little freaked out by that eerie sensation of someone watching me earlier, but that was probably all in my head too.

Even so, I spend the rest of the wait for the Uber rubbing goosebumps off my arms.

The End

To be continued…