Page 138 of Salvatore

“Call me sir one more fucking time and you’re going to be drinking through a straw for the unforeseeable future.” I cut my gaze to the nurse. “You already know my name is Salvatore Costa. I’ve given you my billing details. I’ll handle the medical expenses.”

“This is about your fiancée’s care,” she argues. “We need to make informed decisions.”

“You’re informed enough,” I snarl. “Now take me to her.”

The doctor shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s too soon?—”

I step closer, getting in his personal space. “Let’s not pretend you don’t know what my family are capable of.”

He stiffens. The nurse beside him follows suit.

“If I need to spell it out—you can’t get her name because her safety is in jeopardy. And you will take me to hernowfor the same reason. Understood?”

He stands taller, as if finally finding his balls. “She’s yet to wake from sedation. She won’t be returned to the ward until?—”

“Take. Me. To. Her.” I enunciate the words slowly, far more patiently than my restraint should allow. But I’m pretty sure it’s the venom in my tone that has him blinking in startled panic.

Finally he gives a subtle nod. “Follow me.”

I’m escorted through the hospital, the chaotic hum of the ER fading as we pass curtained off bays where patients moan and complain. Nurses hustle by, barking instructions, while the scent of antiseptic grows suffocating.

A sharp turn takes us past imaging rooms with warning signs under fluorescent lights until finally, the hall opens into a quieter space, where rows of beds are lined against the walls, curtains drawn around some, while nurses check vitals on patients stirring from anesthesia.

The doctor leads me to a small portable work station where a female nurse stands beside a bed with a sleeping goddess resting beneath a crisp white sheet in a hospital gown.

Ivy’s regained some of her coloring, her left arm now bandaged in two places, her beauty unsurpassed given the circumstances.

She moans, her eyes remaining closed as she murmurs, “I’m so tired.”

The nurse chuckles. “She’s said that five times already. But hey, I got a name. Thank anesthesia withdrawal for the win.” With a celebratory shoulder shimmy that bumps the woman up my mental hit list, she hands her tablet to the doctor. “Meet the lovely Ivy Diaz.”

Griffiths grabs the device, his anxious gaze on me.

“Did you add those details to your system?” I snarl.

The nurse slowly loses her obnoxiously bouncy energy. “Yes. Just now… Is that a problem?”

My nostrils flare as I cut my attention back to the bed.

“I’m so tired.” Ivy shifts uncomfortably, her eyes stretching wide for brief seconds before they drift closed again.

The nurse shuffles forward. “It’s normal, honey. It’s just the sedation wearing off.”

Ivy groans, her eyes shooting open to take in the room as if she’s a junkie trying to see through a major binge. “Did the surgery go well?”

“Yes.” The nurse pats her sheet-covered thigh. “Everything was perfect.”

“Good.” Ivy relaxes into a gentle smile, her eyes softly closing while she nods in approval. “I’m so tired.”

Something’s not right about her.

I approach the side of her bed, peering down at her with fingers that twitch to touch.

She wiggles slightly as if in discomfort. “Did the surgery go well?”

I shoot a threatening glance at the doctor. “What’s wrong with her?” She’s fucking glitching.

“Nothing.” He hands the tablet back over the bed to the nurse. “It’s a completely normal reaction when waking from anesthesia.”

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