Chapter 3 - The Doctor's Needle
The secondary study on the second floor of the Rossi mansion did not resemble an executive office; it looked like a high-end, sterile private surgical suite disguised behind antique walnut paneling.
Norah lay back on a soft leather examination lounge, her left arm resting on a raised, sterile stainless-steel tray.
Standing beside her was Dr. Arthur Marcello—a tall, immaculate man in his late fifties with silver hair, wearing a dark suit under a pristine white lab coat. He was Gabriel Rossi’s personal physician, a man who had spent twenty-five years patching up high-ranking syndicate members, gunshot victims, and tactical operatives far away from the prying eyes of state medical boards and law enforcement agencies.
Standing in the shadow of the doorway, his broad arms crossed over his chest, was Gabriel. He had not left the room for a single second.
Dr. Marcello adjusted his round glasses, carefully examining the high-resolution digital X-ray displayed on a tablet screen mounted near the lounge.
“A complete transverse fracture of the distal radius,” Dr. Marcello stated dryly, his tone purely professional. “Accompanied by a minor greenstick fracture of the ulna. The displacement is significant—roughly four millimeters off alignment. She’s extremely lucky the jagged bone fragments didn't tear through the radial artery.”
He looked down at Norah, his eyes softening slightly with pity. “You carried this injury for over eighteen hours without analgesics while performing manual physical labor?”
Norah nodded weakly, her face buried deep into a plush leather pillow. “I... I didn't have a choice, Doctor.”
Dr. Marcello sighed, reaching into his metal medical trunk and pulling out a pre-filled glass syringe containing a clear, viscous liquid. “I am going to administer a heavy nerve block at the brachial plexus, followed by a light dose of propofol to sedate you while I reduce the fracture and apply a fiberglass cast. You won't feel a thing, child.”
Norah looked past the doctor, her eyes finding Gabriel standing near the dark door.
“Mr. Rossi,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air purifier. “Please... don't do anything to Ray. He’s... he’s dangerous. He’s spent time in state prison. If you touch him, his friends—”
Gabriel cut her off with a slow, single raise of his hand. He took three long strides toward the lounge, stopping right beside her head. He reached down and gently tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, his large hand surprisingly warm against her ice-cold skin.
“You don't need to worry about Raymond Miller’s friends, Norah,” Gabriel said softly, his voice smooth as silk. “Raymond Miller doesn't have friends. He has debts. And tonight, I am collecting all of them.”
Dr. Marcello stepped forward, swabbed the skin of her upper shoulder with a cold alcohol pad, and smoothly slid the thin needle into her vein.
“Count backward from ten for me, Norah,” Dr. Marcello said gently.
Norah stared up into Gabriel’s gray eyes.
“Ten...” she whispered.
“Nine...”
May you like
The world began to soften around the edges. The agonizing, white-hot fire in her arm faded into a dull, distant murmur. The dark leather lounge felt as light and weightless as a summer cloud.
The last thing she saw before the heavy black curtain of anesthesia pulled her under was Gabriel Rossi turning toward the door, pulling a pair of thin, black leather driving gloves onto his massive hands.
