After Damian left, life fell back into its old rhythm.
Gunshot wounds. Car accidents. Infections. Malnutrition.
Every day, new patients came in. Every day, someone left.
No one here cared that I used to be married to some Yorkshore godfather. They only cared about one thing: whether my hands were steady, whether we had anesthesia, and when the next shipment of blood bags would arrive.
That reassured me.
Three months later, I became the head of the mobile trauma program.
The Bellini Medical Foundation was officially removed from my father's control and taken over by an independent board.
The lawyer told me Carlo was so furious he landed himself in the hospital for two days.
I only asked, "Is the foundation's account all right?"
"It's fine."
"Good."
As for Damian, I caught glimpse
