The Don's Doctor

Her World

Vincent's POV

Never have I felt so insignificant. Chiara sits in front of me sipping her watery hospital coffee with lustre, as if it has been imported from Italy. It is her break time, although twenty minutes seems very little time after the morning she has had so far. It didn’t escape my notice that she always keeps all her promises, to the children who she speaks to as they are taken down to surgery, her father, who she promised she would take the burner phone from, and she has even managed to gain my sister’s trust. I had only made one promise to Renzo-that I wouldn’t make her mine, and that was the first accidental lie I ever told him. Doubts and good judgement have crumbled by noon, because it is exactly at midday that I decide I can never let her go. I love her. She hates what I am, but not who I am, and I know I can change for her, and because of her. It wouldn’t be too difficult, because if I was really being honest, I hate what I have become as well.

After she had humbled Dr Harris, she walked into the ward as if she was towing sunshine behind her. The entire mood of the ward is uplifted with her arrival, with very little coaxing, the children were telling her all about the days she had missed while she had been away. Parents, who seemed grey with worry, smiled at their children who were chattering away. Before long, the first young child was wheeled down to the operating room. Watching her from the viewing gallery, I was stunned by the mood of the theater. Chiara set the tone, and all her colleagues stood a little straighter. A quick nod to one of the nurses, and Puccini started to glide through the speakers. Just like the day I first saw her operate, she was in her own world, performing miracles at her fingertips. Hours had passed, the entire opera had played before Chiara stepped back, meticulously checking the nurse’s notes. I was in awe. Desperate to emulate her pure goodness, I allowed myself to retract my promise to Renzo, I would give up my hold on the city and make my businesses clean. I would strive to be as moral as she was. I would do everything to make myself worthy of her.

After her second surgery of the day, I was enraptured by her grace and humbleness. Desperately, I found myself wanting to know everything about her life. The travels she had been on, the people she had called friends, and the ones she classed as adversaries. Every time she went to sip her coffee, someone else would call out her name and wave. People gravitated towards her in contrast to the way they ran me.

“Why are you able to oversee the operations this morning, but not the one this afternoon?” I ask her, deeply curious about her gift.

“Well, as you know, my father tried to dissuade me from coming home for as long as he could, so in my third year of residency he suggested that I should travel, and take my skills to the places that needed them most. I joined the charity group Doctors without Borders. I saw many atrocities in my time with them, and it really did change my perspective on life. In one of my final placements there were a number of children with facial injuries that required surgery. It was more than cosmetic repair, although that was a major part of it, but they struggled to eat comfortably and speak clearly. With permission from the charity, I opened the surgery on the weekends, and helped as many children as I could. It was only for a limited time, so I learnt to be accurate and fast. That’s why I could do those two procedures this morning. When I came back to America, I wanted to still be of use to those abroad who needed me, so I continued my training. Now, I have a specialism as a cleft surgeon, and when an Out Reach programme is available I sign up, and I’m glad to do what I can.”

She flicks through her photos showing me the recovery of the children she will never see again, but who she has helped. I’m besotted with her. She doesn’t even realise how incredible she is.

Throwing her cup in the bin, she makes her way to the bathroom, frowning at the observation that I am waiting by the sinks for her. Perturbed, but accepting what she can’t change, she explains the afternoon surgery to me.

“Doctor Harris is a cardio surgeon. I will assist his operation, but it’s his theater, and he has the final say. Generally, I think I was asked to help, so that I could compensate for his poor bedside manner.” She explains, and I note the judgement in her tone.

“Doctor Harris is a jack-ass!” I reply, as she leaves the cubicle with tissue paper stuck to her heel.

“We can agree on that!” She laughs.

Kneeling down, I hold on her ankle a moment longer than I need to, resting my hand on her toned calf, before I finally remove the paper from her shoe. Shocked, she looks down at me, while I bow before her. I’ve been in this position since the day she told me to help put her gloves on, but this is the first time she has ever noticed my subservience to her. She has made me find strength in what I thought was my weakness, she will always be my superior, and I obviously hadn’t made that clear enough in our exchanges based on her reaction.

“May I ask you a question?” I nod, even though I’m dreading what might come from her intelligent mind.

I know I can’t lie to her, even if it makes her more disgusted by me, and by the things I do. Standing up I brace myself for the force of her assessment.

“Is there any good in your –business-in the life that you lead?”

She stuns me. I think of my enemies' business that I burnt down, the people I’ve threatened, and the people I’ve killed. There’s no good in that. While I struggle to answer, I see the disappointment cloud her face. It’s a reminder to her that we are impossible, our life agendas are facing opposite directions. She offers life and I promise death. Despite her best efforts, the good she is looking for isn’t there.

“One day soon, I’ll take you to the street of my childhood, where our dreams began. The story of my family is written in stonework. I’m not sure if you will find the decency you are hoping for, but perhaps you’ll find an explanation of why it is lost.” I tell her earnestly, and she seems satisfied.

Resuming my position in the viewing platform, I watch a very different scene from this morning. Chiara comforts the patient. A mother, who I can see is shaking under the blanket in fear. The operation was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, but Doctor Harris hasn’t arrived, and the waiting is increasing the patient’s anxiety. The double doors finally swing open, and the ‘lead surgeon’ walks in with his hands in the air, presumably expecting a nurse to put on his gloves. His hair is ruffled, and there is a sheen of sweat on his forehead that I doubt has come from his rush to be here.

“Proceed!” He declares, never looking at the woman’s face as the anesthetist sedates her. He only ever looks at her exposed skin where he will placing his first cut. Finally, the woman can resist no more, and is carried into oblivion for a few hours.

“That took long enough.” He criticises, before demanding his instruments be placed in his hand one by one. It dawns on me that we have too much in common, for he too looks at those in front of him like meat rather than humans.

Often through the process, he looks up to gauge my reaction: showboating. The fact that I don’t flinch at the gore makes the lie that I am a CEO more believable. It is far better for him that I am not able to influence his career, because to me, it is blatantly obvious that he is a bully wrapped in a white lab coat. His team cowers when he glares at them, and when he demands his brow to be dabbed, the tissue shakes before it retreats. Chiara seems unfazed by his demeanour. Rather, she is watching his every step closely. I imagine that Doctor Harris thinks she is observing his skill, but it is more intense than that, it is a look of criticism. Interestingly, he suggests that Chiara closes for him. Although she assumes a position, she examines the wound carefully before requesting the forceps. Carefully, she extracts some material from the cavity. The room is silent.

“Who left that in this patient?” Doctor Harris aggressively accuses.

Silence points in his direction. He was the only one that was working on the woman the entire time. Raising his hand, it seems he is about to accuse some innocent staff member, the silence stretches waiting for the lies to spill from his mouth.

“Let’s not add more unfounded accusations to the notes, we were lucky that Nurse McEvery was diligent, and had counted the towels on the floor twice. Needle holder please.” She requests, managing to end a public humiliation before it starts.

Within half an hour, the patient is in the recovery room, and Chiara has spoken to the family. Feeling that she would be safe sharing the news, I sit on the chairs in the hallway, reluctant to intrude. Checking my messages, it seems that all had gone well. Renzo said that there hadn’t been any trouble at Amore, and I am glad about that. Maybe that business is one of the good things I have done, but one of the things I couldn’t tell her about.

It wasn’t the soft closing of the ward door that alerted me to Chiara, but rather the heavy footsteps that seemed too laborious for her soft tread.

“Doctor Ricci, did you purposely try to embarrass me in front of the CEO of one of the largest medical conglomerates of the world? I checked your father’s notes, and he discharged himself. Be warned, I do not appreciate someone undermining me, you are still a fellow after all, you have a few months before you become an attending, and a lot can happen in that time?” Doctor Harris’ words are scathing and threatening, as if each one had to be forced out on delivery.

“I would have thought, you’d appreciate us pulling the towel from your patient. In future, I will remember that such a watchful eye is unwelcome in your theater. How many mistakes will you make before you are taken to court, I wonder?” Chiara replies, and her tone made him appear childishly churlish.

“Don’t you…”

I have packed a small blade in my pocket, and every grip of control and logic is urging me not to reach for it. Nobody threatens her, not in the world where I am still living. Having faith in all the management techniques she taught me, I stand next to Chiara, glaring at Harris, with a barely contain fury.

“I’m just going to stop you there, Dr Harris. In my company, we speak to colleagues with the upmost respect, and we thank anyone who has just saved our career, because we were too busy grandstanding.” Staring at him, I can see he is beginning to feel unsettled by my presence. We all have instincts, and his are telling him that he should run.

Chiara pulls at my hand to get me to leave, but I won’t until I get what I need to hear from him. I hold her still, and I’m damned if I care who sees it. Let everyone know she is under my protection.

“Say it…” I snare at him, irritated by his delay.

He turns fearfully, to look at Chiara. “I’m very sorry for the way I spoke to you.” My scowl pressurises him to continue. “Thank-you for…for…” He hesitates once more, and my anger begins to seep into my vision.

“For fixing your mistake…you are very welcome, Doctor Harris.” Chiara completes his sentence for him, and I see the satisfaction on her face lasting until well after we leave the hospital.

She was able to have a little taste of the power I use, and I’m glad to see that she enjoyed it.