Page 24 of Broken Vows

"Among other things." I take a sip, grimacing at the bittersweet taste. "How do you know when you're making the right choice versus just the practical one?"

Elena raises an eyebrow. "That's a loaded question. We talking about your career or your personal life?"

"Personal." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "Say someone offered you security, protection, everything you needed for your future. But it meant giving up your independence, your autonomy. Would you take it?"

"Depends on what I was being protected from."

"People who want to hurt you. People who see you as a means to an end."

She studies my face with the same intensity she brings to trauma cases. "Melinda, are you in some kind of danger?"

Before I can answer, the doors burst open. Two paramedics wheel in a gurney, blood soaking through the sheets. "GSW to the chest and abdomen," one shouts. "Lost consciousness en route but vitals are stable."

Elena and I spring into action, professional instincts taking over. But as we transfer the patient to the table, I freeze. The face is familiar—Joey Castellano, a low-level soldier from one of theminor families under my father. I haven’t seen him in almost a decade. But he knows me. He looks directly at me, recognition flickering in his pain-filled eyes.

This isn’t good. I’ve been lucky here, working as a regular doctor without a mafia past. But Joey being here feels like wearing a banner over my head that announces I am connected to the mafia.

"You," he whispers hoarsely. "Didn't expect to see a Mastroni here." His eyes rake down my body in a calculating way. “Your brother never said his sister left the family business for something legit.”

I thrust the oxygen mask on the man’s weathered face, glaring at him as discreetly as I can.

My blood turns to ice as I tear my eyes off of Joey. Elena watches the exchange but doesn't comment, too focused on keeping him alive. We work in silence, removing bullets, stopping bleeding, stabilizing vitals. Professional, efficient, saving a life. But all I can think about is how quickly word will spread. A Mastroni was seen wearing scrubs and playing at a legitimate doctor here today. By tomorrow, every family in the city will know exactly where to find me, my father’s missing daughter who so recently made an appearance at a family event.

Shit. My privacy as Doctor Mason is ruined.

Three hours later, my shift ends with Joey stable and transferred to surgery. All he managed to say to me around the strong pain meds was again that Max never said a word that his big sis was a doctor. Jackass needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.

Elena walks me to the elevator, her expression troubled.

"That patient knew you," she says quietly. “He looked like he’d been in a gang shootout, Mel. How do you know a man like that?”

"Old family friend."

"Melinda." She stops, facing me directly. "Whatever's going on in your life, whatever danger you're worried about—maybe it's time to accept help. Even if it comes with strings attached."

The elevator arrives before I can respond. As the doors close, I see her watching me with concern and something like understanding. Elena's seen enough violence in this ER to recognize the signs of gang related violence, much of it being mafia, too.

My ankles feel swollen. My breasts feel tender. I can’t wait to get home and just relax. The parking garage is dimly lit, shadows stretching between concrete pillars. My footsteps echo as I walk toward my car, keys ready. I'm almost there when I see him—Vince, leaning against my nondescript Honda like he owns it. Like he owns everything.

"We need to talk," he says without preamble.

"I told you I needed time to think."

"Time's up." He pushes off from the car, moving toward me with that predatory grace I remember.

My stomach drops but I jut my chin at him. "You don’t own me, Vince."

"I own that child inside you. I have a right to you through it."

He's right in a mafia alpha male way, and I hate him for it. "What do you want?" I ask.

"Come with me. Now. My penthouse is more secure than anywhere else in the city."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Melinda." His voice drops, urgent and commanding. "Look around. Really look. Tell me what you see."

I scan the garage, noting details I should have caught immediately. A black sedan with tinted windows parked near the exit. Two men in suits who don't belong in a hospital parking structure. Movement in the shadows that suggests more watchers.

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