The Doctor And The Don

When Danger Comes Calling

Two nights later, my car had a flat tire in the hospital parking garage well past midnight, and I found myself surrounded by three men who were far more interested in my purse than in respecting personal space.

I did the only sensible thing, screaming loudly enough to bring security running, and the slightly less sensible thing, calling Marco before I called anyone else, which I would later blame entirely on adrenaline.

He arrived in under ten minutes, which felt statistically impossible given Miami traffic, and by the time he got there, security had chased the men off and I was sitting on the curb shaking more from anger than fear.

“You are hurt,” he said, crouching in front of me, hands hovering like he was not sure he was allowed to touch me.

“I am fine. Furious, but fine.”

“Furious is good. Furious means you are not in shock.”

“Did you send those men, Marco?”

The accusation was out before I could stop it, and something flashed across his face that looked genuinely wounded. “No. I would never do that to you.”

“Then who?”

“I do not know yet. But I intend to find out.” He helped me to my feet, his hand staying wrapped around mine a beat longer than necessary. “You are staying somewhere safe tonight.”

“I have my own apartment.”

“Which nobody was watching until an hour ago. Humor me.”

I told myself I agreed because arguing took energy I did not currently have, and not because some reckless part of me wanted to see what his world looked like after dark, quiet, without an audience.

The guest room he gave me had a better view than my entire apartment building. Around two in the morning, I heard him in the hallway, pacing, talking low and urgent to Rafael, and I understood, with sudden clarity, that whatever had happened to me tonight had rattled him far more than he wanted me to know.