Chapter 2 - The Shot That Made No Sense
Nico stopped six feet away.
His expression gave me nothing.
“You should be inside.”
“So should you.”
A smile touched one corner of his mouth.
“I’m not a doctor.”
“Neither am I.”
“That isn't what Marco thinks.”
“I've survived worse reviews.”
His gaze dropped toward Luca's wallet in my hand.
“You found something.”
It wasn't a question.
I slipped the wallet beneath the folded blanket on the stretcher before the orderly pushed it through the operating-room doors.
“His identification.”
Nico watched me for one second too long.
Then he stepped aside.
“Save him, Danielle.”
Hearing my name from him bothered me.
I hadn't introduced myself.
My badge was visible, but his eyes had never dropped toward it.
At least not when I was watching.
I went into surgery.
For the next two hours, mystery became irrelevant.
Luca's abdomen was full of blood.
The bullet had torn through tissue, clipped a vessel, and lodged where removing it carried its own dangers. Dr. Shah worked quickly while the surgical team replaced blood nearly as fast as Luca lost it.
I assisted where needed, transported supplies, communicated with the blood bank, and tried not to think about Nico's phone call.
At 2:18 a.m., Luca's pressure stabilized.
At 2:41, Dr. Shah finally stepped away.
“He's going to ICU.”
“Prognosis?”
“If he makes it through the next twelve hours, better than when he arrived.”
That was surgeon language for we had bought time, not victory.
Dr. Shah scrubbed blood from his hands.
“You noticed the stippling?”
I looked at him.
“So you saw it too.”
“Close range.”
“Marco said across the street.”
“People lie in emergency rooms.”
“Usually not six armed people at once.”
He sighed.
“Danielle.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't. I've lived in Chicago longer than you.”
“So?”
“So Moretti isn't a patient whose friends you interrogate.”
“I didn't interrogate anyone.”
“You looked curious.”
“I am curious.”
“Try looking tired instead.”
I almost smiled.
“I am tired.”
“Perfect. Lean into that.”
Then his expression softened.
“You kept him alive long enough for me to get here.”
“Team effort.”
“No. That man would be dead without you.”
I looked through the glass toward Luca.
“Don't tell his friends. They'll be devastated to discover the fat nurse can do her job.”
Dr. Shah's face darkened.
“Who said that?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Save your outrage. We have actual problems.”
He knew me well enough not to argue.
Luca went to a private ICU room.
His men took over the corridor.
Hospital security protested for approximately eight minutes before administration became involved. Administrators were remarkable creatures. They could transform ethical principles into vague policies whenever expensive lawyers were nearby.
By 3:10, the hallway belonged to Moretti's people.
I should have gone back to the emergency department.
Instead, Marco found me.
“He asked for you.”
I stared at him.
“He's sedated.”
“He woke up.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough to say your name.”
That made no sense.
“Why does he know my name?”
Marco glanced at my badge.
I wished I hadn't asked.
I followed him.
Luca looked gray against the pillow.
A ventilator wasn't necessary, which was encouraging.
Lines disappeared beneath the blanket.
His eyes opened as I approached.
“Danielle.”
His voice was rough.
“You're awake.”
“Apparently.”
“You were lucky.”
“No.”
His eyes stayed on me.
“I wasn't.”
I checked his monitor.
“You need rest.”
“Door.”
“What?”
“Close it.”
Marco was still behind me.
Luca looked at him.
“Outside.”
Marco froze.
“Boss—”
“Out.”
That was the first moment I understood power.
Not the guns.
Not the bodyguards.
Not newspaper stories.
Power was a man barely strong enough to lift his head telling another dangerous man to leave—and being obeyed immediately.
Marco closed the door.
Luca looked toward the glass.
“Can they hear?”
“No.”
“Good.”
His hand shifted on the blanket.
“You saw.”
“The wound?”
“You saw it was close.”
I said nothing.
“That means yes.”
“Who shot you?”
His mouth tightened.
“I don't know.”
“You looked at someone in the trauma room and told me not to let him near you.”
“I remember.”
“Who?”
He closed his eyes.
“That's the problem.”
“You don't remember?”
“I remember everyone.”
His eyes opened.
“And one of them shouldn't have been there.”
A chill traveled through me.
“Which one?”
Before he answered, someone knocked.
Three taps.
Luca's entire expression changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“Wallet,” he whispered.
“What about it?”
“Parking stub.”
My pulse quickened.
“B-4?”
He stared at me.
“You read it.”
“It fell out.”
“Where is it?”
“With your belongings.”
“Get it.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever shot me thinks I don't have it.”
“What is B-4?”
He looked toward the door.
Three more knocks.
Slower this time.
“Not what.”
His voice dropped.
“Who.”
I stood still.
“B-4 is a person?”
Luca looked at me.
Then the door opened.
Nico stepped inside.
Luca's face became unreadable.
Nico smiled pleasantly.
“Good. You're awake.”
I looked between them.
Neither spoke.
Then Nico reached into his jacket.
I instinctively stepped toward Luca.
Nico stopped.
For the first time that night, genuine surprise crossed his face.
“Relax, nurse.”
He pulled out a phone.
“I was going to tell him the police are downstairs.”
Luca never took his eyes off Nico.
“Which police?”
“Organized Crime.”
“Detective?”
“Calder.”
Luca's fingers tightened beneath the blanket.
That reaction was tiny.
But I saw it.
Nico saw me see it.
Again.
Too much looking.
Too many things noticed.
I backed toward the door.
“I'll get your belongings.”
Nico turned slightly.
“Why?”
“Hospital policy.”
He smiled.
“Of course.”
I left.
The wallet was no longer where I had put it.
The folded blanket remained on the transport cart.
The plastic belongings bag was there.
The wallet was gone.
I checked the floor.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the bag had been cut.
Not opened.
Cut.
A clean slit along the bottom.
Someone had removed the wallet without breaking the evidence seal.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
DON'T GO TO B-4.
A second message appeared before I could move.
HE KNOWS YOU HAVE THE KEY.
I had no key.
I stared at the screen.
Then something hard pressed against my hip inside my scrub pocket.
I reached in.
A small brass key.
Someone had placed it there.
A piece of white tape wrapped around the head.
May you like
Written in black ink were two characters:
B-4.
