The Doctor And The Don

A Complication

Teresa found me alone in the hallway a few days later, arms crossed, watching me with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for actual criminals rather than doctors carrying medical bags.

“You should stop coming here,” she said.

“I am his doctor.”

“You are a complication. This organization does not survive complications well.” Her voice was flat, careful, the tone of someone choosing every word on purpose. “I have seen what happens to people who get too close to this family without understanding what they are actually part of.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a warning. There is a difference, Doctor, though I understand why you might not know that yet.”

I wanted to laugh it off, wanted to make some joke about nobody getting close to anybody, but the words caught in my throat because I was no longer sure they would be a lie.

“Noted,” I said instead, and walked away with my pulse hammering.

I found Marco in his office and, against my better judgment, told him exactly what Teresa had said. His expression darkened in a way I had not seen before, something cold sliding into place.

“She had no right to say that to you.”

“Is she wrong, though?”

He came around the desk, closer than usual, close enough that I had to fight the urge to step back, and an equally strong urge not to step back at all.

“Teresa lost someone she loved to this life, a long time ago. She is not wrong to be careful. But she does not get to decide who I let close to me.” His voice dropped lower. “That decision is mine. And I have already made it.”

“Marco.”

“I know what you are going to say. That this is dangerous. That I should let you walk away while you still can.” He studied my face like he was trying to memorize it. “I am telling you honestly, Andrea, I do not want you to.”

I should have walked out right then. Instead I stood there, close enough to see the small scar above his eyebrow I had never noticed before, and thought that I was in far more trouble than any bullet wound had ever put him in.