Page 9 of Sacred Blood

“First name?” he demanded.

“Gaby.”

My name hung in the air between us, making me more uncomfortable with every breath I dragged in through my labored lungs. There were questions that needed to be asked and answered, but waiting until we were in private offered me a few minutes to get my body’s sexual reaction under control.

“Let’s go, Gaby Cala, and decide if your career is worth saving.”

I watched him leave the operating room.

“You better follow him,” the anesthesiologist said. “The fact he hasn’t fired you yet is a small miracle, don’t push him by not following instructions.”

I scurried out of the operating room, tossing my scrubs into the bin as fast as I could and raced out in time to join him at the elevator. The doors were open, and he held them at bay waiting for me to step on.

Despite the press of bodies, there was a healthy distance between us and the other passengers, as if Dr. Vitale’s very presence demanded it. Were the staff and patients picking up on his barely contained anger and wanted as much distance from him as possible, or was this deferential treatment due to his position at the hospital?

“Who are you exactly?” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud until a gasp from another nurse had me looking from him to her.

He didn’t answer though; she did. “This is Dr. Gaetano Vitale, our CEO and chief surgeon. How could you work here and not know that?”

Yikes! My heart was pounding so hard, how could it not be heard in the sudden silence that followed? And now I knew why he looked so familiar, not just from the restaurant, but from the framed photos of him I’d seen around the hospital. He looked so different than in that stiff profile picture.

“That’s okay, Cynthia. I suspect Miss Cala is very new and has yet to meet all of the staff here at Mercy Hospital.”

That seemed to satisfy the nosy woman, who gave me a dirty look before turning around to face the doors once more.

At the next stop, the elevator emptied except for me and Dr. Vitale. The lack of sleep, my massive mistakes in the surgical suite, and my unfortunate attraction to him played havoc with my emotions. I wanted to scream, cry, run, and hide. None of those things were appropriate, so instead of caving to baser instincts, I bit down on my tongue and kept my mouth shut.

Because losing this job wouldn't merely be inconvenient.

It would be catastrophic.

I was building a new life around Mercy Hospital. Not just a new life, but mine. One I'd chosen for myself.

The apartment.

The paycheck.

The identity.

If Dr. Vitale fired me, I couldn't simply walk across town and apply somewhere else.

There were complications.

Too many questions led to too many records.

Too many records led to people looking.

And people looking was the one thing I couldn't afford.

For twenty years, I'd reigned queen supreme as a mafia daughter, never having to hold my tongue unless I was dealing with my parents. Here, I was a nobody, new to the food chain and accountable for my own actions.

I blew out a frustrated breath, unaware I'd vocalized my irritation with the rush of air.

“Do you have something to say, Miss Cala?”

The floor pinged and when the doors opened, I scurried out. “No, Sir,” I told him, trying not to accent the Sir sarcastically, but my ability to control myself was near breaking.

He didn’t remark then, but when we passed his secretary, he barked, “No interruptions,” before slamming and locking the door that led down a long hallway and opened into a massive space with a huge bank of south-facing windows. I was sure you could see my apartment from here, but gazing out the window wasn’t on the agenda. I was here to be taken down a notch and punished for my multiple infractions.