The Don's Doctor

Rule The World

Chiara's POV

The bruising is a very pale yellow now, but still noticeable and, given that today is a big event, I put on my turtle-neck thermal, knowing that I can still wear it under my scrubs when I go to work this morning. For some inexplicable reason, the atmosphere lately had been suffocating, and, as usual, Viviana and I weren’t given a reason for the additional security, and cautious scrutiny of the necessaries that we had to order. Given that the tension was tangible in the house, and had been for the past week, I didn’t mention that I had to go to work today. I was hoping that giving everyone less time to process my actions would work in my favour. I pull my cream trousers over my legs and slip my feet into my chunky heels, knowing that I will be taking all the uncomfortable choices off when I go to my locker in work where my trainers are waiting.

Anxiously, I enter the dining room. Renzo is demolishing his steak, and I am sure that man is fuelled on protein alone. Viviana is trying to coax her son into eating some porridge, but it seems he is going to be as stubborn as his uncle. My father is buttering his toast, but Vincent’s eyes are fixed on me, suspiciously.

“Are you going somewhere today?” He asks, making everyone else stop mid-masticating action.

“Yes, I need to go to work today. I have prior obligations that I must appear for.” Instantly, the same void expression that I have only seen when he is furious masks his face.

“Come with me!” He demands.

Having little say in the matter, I follow him out of the dining room, and into the utility room. He may be the kingpin of New York, but when it comes to work, I am no striking violet, and this is one argument that I’m not going to lose. I can see his hands are shaking as he struggles to regulate his fears. I’m not scared, I know that he will never hurt me, but I am worried about his state of mind and what could have caused this reaction.

“You’re not going to work today.” He repeats, as if making himself believe the truth of his own commands.

Before I knew him as I did now, I might have cowered from his words and actions, but instead I take his hands in mine. Placing my fingers on the pulse in his wrist, I count each rapid throb. As we have practised in our sessions together, he matches his breathing to mine, and soon his beats regulate.

“I’m not arguing with you, but I have to go to work today. I have pro bono surgeries scheduled, and I can’t let down the patients who depend on me.”

Hands that had been steady in my own moments ago are torn from my grasp. His eyes are erratic as he searches in his mind for reasons to stop me helping people. Running his hand through his hair, he must be listening to how ridiculous his opposing arguments sound.

“You can’t go to work, remember what happened last time!” He pulls my neckline down as if I would need a visual prompt for such traumatic memories, but his fingertips brush over my skin and the horrendous fear is made tolerable by his touch.

I stare at him more determined than ever.

“It’s worse now, Chiara. I didn’t want to tell you, but they went to your father’s house and trashed his home, then sent images of your severed head from his prized photographs in an envelope to us as a message of what would happen if they were to ever catch you. It is the reason I rang the hospital up and asked for your extended compassionate leave. I can’t let you go where you won’t be safe.” He insists.

Taking a step back from him, I hold my palm up, urging him to stay where he is. A myriad of feelings overwhelms me. Anger: that he didn’t tell me of the photographs sooner. Worry: that I will let all of my patients who are depending on me down. Fear: that I will be killed, and only Vincent can stop that from happening to me.

“I have three operations to perform today, and they have been arranged by global charities. I am leading two of those surgeries and aiding in another. All the patients are under the age of five, Vincent. I am petrified that Barone will be waiting for me, but if I don’t go into work today, the surgeries will be cancelled. The choice I have is to go to work and give some incredible children the help that they need to improve their standard of living, or stay in this room not doing what I love because I was too scared to leave your house.” I entreat him, in the hope he will relent, because as much as I hate it, he does have jurisdiction over my life.

Before I have finished my last sentence, the tears are rolling down my face. His face has lost its harsh edge, and he steps towards me, brushing the tears off my cheek with his thumb.

“Why are you crying?” He asks.

“The only part of me that hasn’t changed since the first night I met you, is my talent as a surgeon. Please don’t take it away from me by not letting me go to work today.” I plead with him, shaken by the truth of my confession.

He opens the door of the utility room, pulling me by the hand back to the dining room. The scene looks as though it’s been in a freeze-frame since we walked out, with the only noticeable changes being that Renzo is putting the last of the steak in his mouth, and Valentino is covered in porridge.

“Renzo, step in as me today. I have some meetings in the morning. You know what I want from them. In the afternoon, I need you to look at the progress on the Casino repairs, and check on the girls at Amore. I’m going to the hospital with Chiara for the day.”

Reaching over, he takes a buttered piece of toast from my father’s plate and pulls me to his garage, handing me the stolen breakfast.

“Best keep your energy up, you’ve got a busy day ahead.” He smiles.

Enjoying his attentiveness, I sit on the passenger side of his Porsche, trying to catch the crumbs in my hand. Struggling with the seat-belt, he reaches over and clicks me in, I nearly choke on the crumbs in my mouth. Now that we are committed to a plan, his face seems more open, his body language more approachable.

“When you saw Barone standing over me at the hospital, why didn’t you kill him? It would have saved you a lot of problems now. Not that I’m supporting that plan, I am just curious.” I quickly amend.

“When I saw how hurt you were, my only priority was to get you out. I cared more about you than I did about punishing him. That’s the same reason that I’m coming with you today. Keeping you safe has redefined many of my plans, but it is worth it as long as I know you are OK.” He looks at my shocked face, and I see his smile of self-assurance. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it this morning, but you look beautiful, you look as though you could rule the world.” He compliments me.

“You already do.” I say, admiring the way he dominates the space, despite the fact that all my senses tells me to ignore the attraction I feel for him.

I hear his first audible laugh at my words, and it stills me. A sublime rarity. With a happy temperament between us, he drives us to the hospital.

Leading the way to the locker room, I insist he doesn’t need to follow me in, but he does anyway. My white coat feels comforting as I put it on, the outward sign that I am the expert gives me absolute confidence. I feel more like myself than I have in weeks. The weight of the stethoscope keeps me grounded. I smile. This is the best place for me. When I turn to look at Vincent, I see that he knows it too.

We leave the staffroom, and I head to the children’s ward to check on my first patient, and her family. Standing at the threshold of the door is Doctor Harris, parading his interns on his rounds. I can already tell they are tiring of his unwavering self-adulation.

“You finally made it in, how good of you!” He sarcastically acknowledges me.

Even though Vincent is behind me, I feel him stepping forward. Discretely, I hold on to his wrist, for this is one enemy that I need no help with.

“Thank-you for your concern. I’m sure you heard of our terrible news. It’s so kind of you to ask about my welfare.” I deliberately misinterpret his meaning, and watch him become flustered about what could have happened.

“I was so sorry to hear of your father…” He begins.

“Why, Doctor Harris, do you have such little faith in your own surgical skills? My father is having a brilliant recovery. After all, as you said, it was a very simple procedure, and you discharged him three weeks ago.” I interrupt, Harris blushes, and his interns try to muffle their giggles.

“Who have you brought with you today?” Harris asks, trying to distract the attention from him.

Quickly, I run through possible, believable answers: student doctor, charity executive, or doctor on interview. My extended pause is noticeable. All of these answers would have been appropriate, but instead the introduction of ‘He’s the CEO of Mega Medical, a prospective buyer for our hospital,’ blurts out of my mouth. Vincent reaches forward, and shakes Doctor Harris’ hand with unnecessary force.

“I asked for the best to give me the tour, so I’ll be following Doctor Ricci all day.” Vincent smiles at him, easily stepping into his new role.

Harrison blinks as if salt has been thrown in his face, but even as he walks off, I know this won’t be the last I hear of it. Harris is aspiring to be chief of surgery and the thought that anything would happen without him hearing about it is certain to irk him. Fortunately, I am able to put it to the back of my mind. It seems that an unexpected positive of having a vendetta issued on your life is that problems like Doctor Harris seemed very trivial.