Chapter 6 - THE NURSE WHO SAID NO TO THE MAFIA BOSS
Alessandro spent another eleven days in the hospital.
He hated every one.
He improved.
Slowly.
Chest tube removed.
Oxygen reduced.
Walking began with physical therapy.
The first time he stood, his knees shook.
Marco looked away.
I didn’t.
Not because I wanted him embarrassed.
Because recovery deserved witnesses too.
Alessandro gripped walker.
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“You look terrible.”
“Better.”
He took three steps.
Then five.
By day nine, he reached hallway.
By day ten, he insisted on wearing real pants.
This somehow became more important to him than pulmonary function.
Men.
Meanwhile, the conspiracy continued outside.
Carlo remained in custody during expanding investigation.
Victor Rinaldi was arrested near Milwaukee.
One shooter cooperated.
The story became clear.
Carlo wanted Alessandro wounded enough to trigger leadership uncertainty.
Vanessa knowingly provided route believing it would be intimidation.
Thomas Vale financed a disruption to pressure waterfront negotiations.
Rinaldi turned “warning” into attempted killing because he had old hatred of Rossi family.
Everyone had contributed a piece.
Nobody owned whole disaster until bullets landed.
That was how terrible things often happened.
Not one mastermind.
A chain of selfish people assuming someone else would control the danger.
Vanessa returned once.
Not to Alessandro’s bedside.
To apologize to me.
Hospital administration offered a conference room.
I almost declined.
Then accepted.
She looked smaller without performance.
“I’m sorry.”
I waited.
“For calling you a bedpan cleaner.”
“Yes.”
“For threatening your job.”
“Yes.”
“For trying to make you feel ashamed of caring for him.”
I nodded.
Then:
“I hated that he reached for you.”
“That happened after.”
“I know.”
She wiped eyes.
“I think I already knew he felt safer with you.”
I stared.
“He was my patient.”
“Yes.”
“That’s different.”
“I know now.”
She looked at hands.
“I was jealous of competence.”
That was surprisingly honest.
Then:
“I helped keep him sedated.”
My expression hardened.
“That is much bigger than insulting me.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“I was scared of what would happen when he woke.”
“Because he would leave you?”
“Yes.”
“And Carlo promised delay.”
“Yes.”
I sat.
“You nearly kept a critically injured person from participating in his own care.”
She cried.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
No forgiveness speech.
I said:
“I believe you understand more than you did.”
She nodded.
That was enough.
When Alessandro prepared for discharge to private rehabilitation facility, he asked me into room.
No entourage.
“Come work for me.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You didn’t hear salary.”
“Don’t need to.”
“Double.”
“No.”
“Triple.”
“Still unethical and weird.”
He almost smiled.
“I need a nurse.”
“You need a rehabilitation team.”
“I have one.”
“Then use them.”
He stared.
“You don’t want money?”
“I very much want money.”
Good.
“My water heater is still broken.”
He laughed.
“Then why?”
“Because I’ve been your nurse while you were unconscious, confused, frightened and dependent.”
His face changed.
“I don’t want to become financially dependent on you immediately afterward.”
Silence.
That landed.
“And?”
“I like my job.”
“Even coffee?”
“No.”
“I like patients.”
He looked almost offended.
“I am patient.”
“Debatable.”
He laughed and winced.
Then:
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“You’re irritating.”
“I hear that from powerful men.”
He grew serious.
“Can I see you again?”
I paused.
“As?”
He looked caught.
Good.
“I don’t know.”
“Then no.”
He nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
I softened.
“When you’re not my patient anymore…”
His eyes lifted.
“…maybe you can ask a clearer question.”
Something changed in his face.
Hope.
I immediately regretted being charming.
He left the hospital next morning.
Marco carried one bag.
Alessandro wore Giuseppe’s watch.
Not Carlo’s.
His own.
Vanessa’s ring was gone.
At elevator, Alessandro looked back at nurses’ station.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“Water heater.”
“What?”
“Send landlord repair bill.”
I laughed.
“Go recover.”
He left.
My life became normal again.
Mostly.
Night shifts.
Rent.
Broken vending machine.
Mr. Dawson in room 412 who flirted with every nurse despite being eighty-six.
I liked normal.
Then two men appeared outside my apartment building.
That was not normal.
My landlord called.
“They asked whether Emma Carter lived here.”
I immediately called police.
Then hospital security.
Only afterward did I call Marco.
Not Alessandro.
Marco answered:
“Emma?”
“Two men asked about me.”
His voice changed.
“Where?”
I told.
“Stay inside.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m at work.”
Pause.
“Of course you are.”
He sent no Mafia convoy because I explicitly told him not to.
Police reviewed lobby cameras.
One man was connected to Rinaldi’s old crew.
Not there to attack me apparently.
He wanted to know whether I would testify about Vanessa and sedation.
Intimidation.
Still serious.
Authorities handled it.
Alessandro learned anyway.
He called.
“You should move.”
“No.”
“Temporary.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“My landlord finally fixed water heater yesterday.”
Silence.
Then Alessandro laughed.
“You’re using plumbing as security rationale?”
“Yes.”
He became serious.
“I don’t want you dragged into my world.”
“You don’t get to decide that after your people already showed up in my ICU.”
He went quiet.
“Fair.”
“I’ll cooperate with police.”
“Yes.”
“Hospital security walks me to car.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not moving into one of your buildings.”
“I did not offer.”
“You were about to.”
“Yes.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then he asked:
“Are you scared?”
Honest question.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to do anything?”
Different.
Not:
I’ll handle it.
“What do you want?”
I thought.
“Tell Marco anything investigators learn that directly affects me.”
“Done.”
“And don’t send flowers.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Liar.”
He laughed.
The intimidation attempt faded after Rinaldi’s crew realized authorities were watching.
I testified to hospital investigators.
Later prosecutors.
I described medication irregularities.
Nothing more.
I did not testify about Mafia structure I did not understand.
Good.
Three months passed.
Then four.
One afternoon, a black sedan stopped outside hospital.
I braced.
Alessandro stepped out.
No walker.
A cane.
Dark coat.
Thinner than before.
Alive.
He walked into lobby carrying a cardboard coffee tray.
No flowers.
Good.
He handed coffee to nurses’ station.
Then one to me.
I looked.
“Is this a bribe?”
“Hospital coffee traumatized me.”
“Reasonable.”
He looked nervous.
Alessandro Rossi.
Feared man.
Nervous.
That delighted me.
“I’m not your patient anymore.”
“No.”
“I’m medically cleared.”
“For?”
“Dinner.”
I stared.
“You asked rehab doctor?”
“I asked myself.”
“Dangerous.”
Then he said:
“Emma Carter, would you have dinner with me somewhere that does not belong to me?”
Clear enough.
I thought.
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“But one dinner.”
“Yes.”
“No bodyguards at next table.”
“Across street?”
I sighed.
“Fine.”
He smiled.
Six months earlier I had held his blood pressure in my hands.
May you like
Now he looked almost more frightened asking me to dinner than he had facing seven captains.
I liked that too much.
