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She hesitates. “I’d have to check—”

“Then check it,” I bark.

While she reads aloud from the tablet, I take notes on my phone.

“Was this the first seizure, or has there been activity they weren’t telling us about?”

Another hesitation. Longer this time. “I… don’t have access to that information, sir. You’d need to speak with Dr. Chen.”

“Is this neurology unit equipped for the level of care Paige actually needs?”

The question lands like a stone. The nurse’s face changes—something defensive flickering behind her eyes before she smooths it away.

“We have a fully accredited neurology department. We treat patients with conditions similar to Mrs. Adams’ every day.”

I look at her for a beat. Long enough that she shifts her weight.

“I’ll have Dr. Chen come speak with you,” she says. “If that’s alright with Mrs. DeLuca.”

Kira nods immediately. “Please. Yes.”

As soon as the nurse’s gone, I open my messages and text Gio.

Me

Get Dr. Ruth Morgan here. Tonight. No excuses and tell her I’ll triple her normal fee.

14

Domenico

The door swings open around midnight, and in walks Dr. Ruth Morgan. She’s wearing a white coat over a plain blouse and dark pants, and a leather satchel hangs from one shoulder like she’s ready for a fucking lecture.

My arm is wrapped around Kira, who’s been asleep against my chest for the past hour. Her breathing is deep and even, her fingers curled into my shirt.

I told her about the brilliant Dr. Morgan—neurologist extraordinaire, and the relief on my wife’s face was worth whatever this woman is costing me.

Now Kira’s asleep, and Dr. Morgan is standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and an expression that says she doesn’t give a shit about anyone’s comfort.

I shift, and Kira stirs. Her eyes open slowly, blinking in the dim light. She sees Dr. Morgan, and the confusion on her face sharpens into alertness.

“Dr. Morgan,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Let’s step outside.”

Kira slides off my lap, her movements stiff from sitting so long. She doesn’t take her eyes off the doctor, who’s already turning toward the door without waiting for us.

The corridor is quiet. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting everything in a sickly pale glow. Vinny’s still where I left him, leaning against the wall, his eyes tracking us as we emerge. The night-shift nurses move between rooms with hushed footsteps, and somewhere down the hall, a machine beeps at regular intervals.

Dr. Morgan stops a few feet from Paige’s door and turns to face us. Her arms are still crossed.

“I need you both to leave,” she says.

Kira’s face drains of color, and she physically rears back. “What?” Her voice cracks. “You can’t be serious. I’m not leaving my mom.”

She plants herself between the doctor and the door, arms crossing over her chest the same way Dr. Morgan’s are. The two of them stand there, mirror images of stubbornness, and something in my chest tightens. Not anger—something warmer, sharper. Pride, maybe.

My wife doesn’t back down.

“I’ve brought two of my best colleagues with me,” Dr. Morgan says, her tone clipped and precise. “They’re reviewing your mother’s charts downstairs. I need time to evaluate her, speak with the nursing staff, and form my own conclusions without interference.” She pauses, adjusts her glasses. “If you’re not willing to give me that, I’m wasting my time, and I’ll leave.”