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Chapter 7
The next day, Lori got a call from Marco Bacci. At first, she didn’t recognize the name, then she remembered he was the passenger she’d saved. His issue wasn’t pain-related, so she wasn’t sure why he was contacting her. Maybe it was to thank her, but that was unnecessary.
Marco wanted a favor, but not for himself. He’d raved about her skill as a doctor, and an important client of his wished to see her. For some reason, coming to the clinic wasn’t an option. Lori wasn’t in the habit of doing house calls, yet she felt obligated.
Saving a man’s life had strings attached. Lori felt responsible for Marco and didn’t have the heart to refuse to help. Instead of meeting at the Bacci law office, the client’s preference was to meet at his home. Despite her misgivings, Lori agreed.
That afternoon, Lori put aside other tasks and drove to Brentwood to meet the client. She took medical supplies with her, not knowing what she’d be dealing with. All she was told was that the client had pain in his shoulder.
The home was a mansion, hidden away in the hills. Lori had trouble finding it, since it was secluded behind a thick grove of trees. At street level, she buzzed to signal her arrival and the iron gate opened. She stopped halfway up the long paver driveway to gawk at the place.
It was an enormous white stucco two-story mansion. Lori guessed that it cost multimillions, based on what she knew of Brentwood. The neighborhood was a favorite of sports stars and entertainers. She wondered what Marco’s client did for a living to afford such luxury.
Lori hadn’t been in a mansion of that quality before. Her uncle lived in an expensive home, but it wasn’t in the same class as the house that towered before her. The opulence was intimidating, making her wish that she had worn nicer clothes. Since it was a medical visit, she wore a white lab coat.
Off the circular drive was a parking area, where Lori found a spot. The paved area was large enough to accommodate many vehicles. When she got out of the car with her medical bag, a burly man startled her. He had silently appeared at the entrance to the lot.
The man had a dour expression and was dressed in black. His dark image contrasted with the brilliant white of the home and the luxurious grounds. He was in a guard’s uniform, which was alarming more than reassuring.
“I’ll show you in,” the man said, without introducing himself. He wasn’t friendly or welcoming, giving Lori second thoughts about agreeing to come. Without another word, he ushered her inside.
The interior was just as impressive. The home had high ceilings, rich wood paneling, and expensive décor. Lori would have liked a tour, but she was there for business. She followed the guard down the hall, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.
Lori entered an expansive room where several men were seated. Marco rose then walked toward her, and it was a relief to see a familiar face. He looked different than the last time she’d seen him. He wore an expensive suit and his hair was neatly groomed—plus, he appeared healthy.
“Doctor Waters, it was kind of you to come. These gentlemen are clients of mine,” Marco said, indicating the other two sitting in padded chairs by a stone fireplace.
The introductions were made, and Lori shook hands. The older man was Lorenzo Cambio. He had dark hair, thick brows, and creases lining his forehead. He scrutinized Lori, making her nervous.
The middle-aged man was Flavio Zucco. He had dark hair and eyes like Lorenzo; their appearances were so similar that they had to be related. His posture and attitude gave him a tough-guy persona. And his muscles strained against his shirt, making him more threatening.
The men were Italian, so spoke English with an accent. Politely, Lori inquired about their business. It was a sensible question, since Marco was their attorney. Their answer was vague. They were independent distributors and had “done well with investments.”
Their expressions prohibited Lori from asking more. She was curious, but they didn’t seem inclined to share anything private. The mansion, their Italian heritage, and their demeanor indicated a mob connection.
“I trust that you haven’t had another incident?” Lori said to Marco.
“I’ve stayed clear of peanuts,” Marco said.
“Which one of you requires treatment?” Lori said.
“That would be me,” Lorenzo said. “Marco speaks highly of you.”
“Thank you,” Lori said. “I was only doing my duty as a doctor.”
“I appreciate you making a house call,” Marco said. “It wasn’t convenient to travel to the clinic.”
Lori regretted agreeing to treat a patient outside the clinic. There were risks involved, as she had to cope without the clinic procedures, and she didn’t have all of her equipment available.
“Are you experiencing pain?” Lori said.
“It’s my left shoulder,” Lorenzo said. “It aches at night and is a nuisance.”
Lori stood beside his chair, despite her trembling. She put on a brave face. Her role was to help the patient if she could. “How did you injure it?”
“It’s an old sports injury.”
Lori knew that was all she would get from him, even though she suspected he hadn’t played sports. His gangster appearance didn’t fit with an athletic past—unless street fighting qualified as sport.
