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She must have used her phone to snap photos.

Three minutes later, my own cell buzzes with a text from her.

One more thing I didn’t tell you. Bruno Caruso, your trainer, is somehow related to this case. My brother mentioned his initials to me with his dying breath. I think we need to talk.

My heart stops. The name Bruno Caruso hits like a fist beneath my ribs, knocking loose a decade of buried rage.

Madonna santa.

This just became personal.

Chapter 5

Lucia

On Tuesday evening, I’m working through my shift in the ER, which has been filled with strange cases, like two separate elderly ladies with angry hemorrhoids, suppositories gone wrong, and a belligerently drunk person who broke their wrist after getting into a fistfight with their reflection in the bar’s bathroom mirror.

I’m gloved up and attending to a man who, after what I can only assume was a catastrophically misguided bet, managed to wedge his penis through the center hole of a five-pound weight plate. He came to the hospital with the plate still attached.

He refuses to meet my eyes. His friend in the waiting room, who apparently filmed the whole thing, can’t stop laughing. I’ve already requested a ring cutter from maintenance and made a mental note to never ask how this happened.

As I tear my eyes away from the spectacle, they catch on an interesting figure striding down the hall. Through the glass partition that separates Trauma Bay Two, beyond the reflection of the fluorescent lights and my own exhausted face, the tattooed Russian patient I treated for the gunshot wound struts past like he wasn’t flat on one of our gurneys days ago and bleeding into the sheets.

He’s a towering man, with gray, distinguished streaks in his beard. He appears fine now, and I would’ve ignored this foray as an inconsequential night stroll if not for the visitor’s lanyard that clearly belongs to someone else hanging off his neck.

My hand goes absolutely still.

“Dr. Romano?” Noah draws up beside me, bright with the eagerness that first-year residents wear like a badge of honor. “Everything okay?”

I don’t answer. I’m too busy watching the man shuffle down the back corridor with deliberate nonchalance and steal glances over his shoulder to check if anyone is following him.

Is there trouble? How did he get past security?

A cold knot of dread tightens in the pit of my stomach. I don’t need to debate the thought in my head…something is going on, and this is my chance to find out what.

I press my gloved palm flat against my patient’s arm, then turn to Noah. “Please finish the examination.”

His head snaps toward me. “I don’t usually do that…”

I steer Noah out through the curtain and lower my voice. “I know you can handle this one. Assess blood flow to the appendage, check for warmth and degree of swelling, and ask if he can urinate. You need to rule out urethral compromise. Once you’ve assessed, apply lubrication and manual technique to remove the weight, then a cold compress to bring down the swelling. Refer him to Urology for follow-up.”

I squeeze his shoulder once. “And Noah? Maintain a straight face. That man is embarrassed enough without his doctor looking rattled.”

He watches me strip off my gloves, his brow furrowed in confusion. I almost never hand off a case mid-procedure, but Noah will take good care of the patient.

I drop the gloves into the biohazard bin as I waltz past the bay. Before I’ve gone even ten feet, Jenna falls into step beside me, matching my pace with ease.

“You have your worried face on.”

“Go back to the nurses’ station.” My voice is firm, and I don’t break my stride.

She snorts. “Hard pass until you tell me why you ran out of there.”

“You’re not my supervisor, Jen.”

“I’m your emergency contact, though.” She crosses her arms. “That’s basically a legally binding right to tag along.”

Despite everything, a hysterical voice in my head wants to laugh. Instead, I round the corner into the back corridor and level her with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.