Luciano stands over him, sighing.
"I've done what I can do, the rest is up to his father," he says lowly.
My father in law, stands over him next, selecting from some tools on a cart.
I shake. "Shouldn't—shouldn't a real doctor do this?" I tremble.
He sighs. "The day he was born, I died." He starts calmly, wiping down Giuseppe's chest. "I ingested something I'm allergic on purpose, and died of anaphylactic shock."
The room is silent except his words, and the clack of his careful selected tools.
"I did it to escape prison, and a madman who wanted to kill me. I wanted to get home to my wife. To my daughter, and to my new son, who I'd only seen a blurry photo of."
He takes a scalpel, opening his chest.
Isn't this supposed to be disinfected? Shouldn't he be wearing more than gloves?
"I
