Page 137 of Salvatore

“Sir?” The nurse who called security on me earlier approaches with a man in scrubs.

“Salvatore?” He outstretches a hand. “I’m doctor Alan Griffiths. I’m told you requested an update on the young woman who was brought in. Are you family?”

“Her fiancé.” I clasp his offering, on the tip of the fucking edge with impatience.

“Oh.” He shoots a questioning glance to the nurse. “That’s good to know. We have very few details on file for her.”

“Tell me what’s going on.” I release his hand before I break it.

“Well, she’s stable.” He smiles with brittle reassurance. “The procedure went smoothly. And we’ll be able to take you to see her as soon as she wakes from sedation.”

“I want specifics.” I’ve rerun the night’s events a million times, trying to figure out how the fuck Ivy could’ve fallen anywhere, let alone sustained puncture wounds because of it.

“Our main concern was her abdominal and flank injuries and the potential for intestinal perforation. But we went in laparoscopically and determined there was only a minor intestinal graze and superficial damage to the muscle wall which required minimal suture repairs. We then cleaned and sutured the remaining four puncture sites without issue.”

I wait for sweet relief to sink in. It doesn’t fucking show. “Do you know how her injuries were inflicted?”

“Um, not entirely, sir.” He gives another cautious glance to the nurse. “But given their size, nature, and number, police have been informed.”

I want to kill him, wrap my hands around his motherfucking neck and squeeze until my fingers ache. “When will they arrive?”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Given the early hour, I’d say it won’t be until after the day shift takes over.”

That buys me some time. Not a lot. But enough.

“What else?” I bark.

Clearly there’s more, seeing how he’s shifting from foot to foot like a fucking clown.

“I, ah.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to address your fiancé’s concerns about a possible pregnancy, and how her injuries may affect the fetus.”

I stare at him. Stareright throughhim.

“Although her abdominal wound wasn’t a reproductive risk, we did go ahead and run a blood test which confirmed her HCG levels are consistent with early pregnancy.”Ivy’s pregnant?“Surgery during the first trimester isn’t advisable when the danger of miscarriage are high. But we will keep an eye on her and do our best to make sure no undue stress is placed on her or the baby.”Ivy’s fucking pregnant?“Right now we’re focused on helping her recover as quickly as possible. Which is where you come in. Unfortunately, from my understanding, either due to the pain of her injuries or other reasons, we haven’t beenprovided with her name, which limits our access to important medical records that could be critical for her ongoing care.”

The woman beside him raises an electronic tablet and poises her finger to type. “What is your fiancée’s name, sir?”

Ivy’s goddamn fucking pregnant?

I scrub a rough hand over my face, fighting to keep my fury in check.

“Sir?” the woman asks. “If you can please provide her name we’ll be able to access her health history, medications, and any allergies on her record that will ensure we make the most informed decisions for her recovery.”

She’s having a goddamn motherfucking baby?

“Sir?” the doctor prods.

I snap my gaze to his, my stare lethal. “I’ve already gone through this with your admin staff. I can’t give you those details.”

The doctor’s mouth works like a fish, all gaping and spluttering lips. “I don’t understand.”

I’m sure he does.

They know who I am. I’ve seen the staff whispering as they gawk. And although I didn’t catch anyone informing the security guard at the nearby doors, his beady stare and the constant hand on his holstered gun is a blatant giveaway he’s up to speed.

I might not have made a name for myself yet, however I’m assuming Lorenzo’s reputation proceeds him in Virginia Beach enough to have rubbed off on his nephew.

“Sir.” The doctor recovers from his floundering. “If this is a financial issue?—”

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