Page 69 of Breaking Rosalind
I turn around to meet Dr. Brunelli’s smiling eyes. We used to call our family physician Dr. Mario because his mustache looked just like the video game character, only thicker and bushier. It’s now streaked with gray, but his blue eyes still hold the same friendly twinkle.
“It was just a bullet wound,” I mutter.
He chuckles, the sound rich and deep. “You still have a talent for surgery, but your bedside manner could use a little work.”
I shift on my feet, my gaze dropping to the floor, already knowing what will come next.
“Isn’t it time you returned to medical school?” he asks. “Twenty-four is still young?—”
“No.”
“Last time we talked about this, you were waiting for Roman to be released from death row. What’s changed?”
“I can’t leave the family when Samson Capello is still out there, paying assassins to scout the grounds for an opening,” I reply.
“It’s only a matter of time before the final Capello dies. Then you’ll need a purpose.”
The message behind his words hits like a punch to the gut. I’m not a necessary member of the Montesano family. I don’t fit in.
Roman is the leader, who’s been running our operation from prison since Dad died. Benito is the diplomat who rubs shoulders with the dignitaries too afraid to be seen with Roman. I’m the black sheep they keep in the background.
Even Mom thought the same when she caught me with a sliced-open rabbit and assumed I was a psychopath. Nobody believed me when I told her I’d found my pet murdered, but she, Dad, and Dr. Brunelli decided between them that I should be a surgeon, so I wouldn’t become a serial killer.
He sighs. “Cesare.”
“This morning, Roman beat Dominic half to death because Samson Capello paid him a million dollars to kill his special guest,” I say.
He nods. “I treated Emberly today. She’s recovering nicely in the pool house.”
“I can’t leave my brothers to be outnumbered. We still don’t know if Dominic had any accomplices.”
Dr. Brunelli cups the side of my neck, his touch firm and warm. “Your brothers are strong, capable men who can handle themselves.”
Before I can look too deeply into what he’s implying, the doors burst open. The two of us part, just as Roman steps in, dragging a man in body armor.
It’s cousin Leroi, looking feverish, pale, and a hair’s breadth away from death.
TWENTY-SEVEN
CESARE
My jaw drops. I step backward, my calves bumping into the chair.
What the fuck happened to Leroi?
Our cousin grimaces, his face drenched in sweat. He’s clinging to the same tiny woman he brought to the Phoenix, only she’s no longer wearing a sparkly gold dress.
Her face is pale. Too pale for the deep coffee shade of her hair, more aligned with her huge, cornflower blue irises. Our gazes lock, and the expression crossing her features borders on terror.
“Bring him here.” Dr. Brunelli flings open the door to his operating room, letting Roman sling Leroi onto the unoccupied cot.
“I’m fine,” Leroi grits out between clenched teeth.
The doctor scoffs. “Is that why you’re hemorrhaging from the stomach?”
Leroi tries to rise, his body trembling with fatigue and pain. He reaches out for his little girlfriend, but Roman pushes him down.
The doctor attaches restraints. If I had to guess, it looks like the wound Leroi sustained earlier has made him disorientated and delirious. He’s losing blood at an alarming rate and is too far gone to realize he needs urgent help.