Chapter 38: Summoned
The world seemed to tilt. My name felt too loud in the sterile air, sharper than the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. My throat tightened, and every heartbeat echoed in my ears like a drum.
Jennie blinked, startled, then glanced at me. “That’s her,” she said, her voice slow with confusion.
Raymond stepped slightly in front of me, his shoulders tensing like a shield. “Why? What do you need her for?”
The doctor looked impatient, tugging at his gloves. His scrubs were streaked with crimson, a reminder of the man bleeding just beyond those ER doors. “The patient is asking for her. By name.”
The words hit like cold water down my spine.
Raymond’s jaw dropped. “What? That can’t be right.” His eyes snapped toward me, sharp with suspicion. “Why would someone like him be asking for you?”
Jennie’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her brows furrowed as she studied my face. “Wait… you know the guy on the stretcher?”
I couldn’t answer. My lips parted, but my voice betrayed me, caught somewhere between fear and denial. The hallway pressed in, every whisper, every stare from staff around us digging deeper into my skin.
“He's the one who saved us,” Raymond said.
The doctor’s gaze hardened. “We don’t have time for this. He’s unstable, and if he’s calling for someone, it matters. Come with me.”
He reached for my arm, but Raymond stepped in, his voice low and dangerous. “Hold on. She’s not just going in there blindly.” Even if he helped us, I can’t trust him now that I know he is the city's most dangerous person. That was why he refused to tell me his name. Isla is acting weird too, ever since that day she saw him, does she think I didn’t notice. He thought to himself.
The security men at the door shifted at once, their movements sharp, like predators sensing a threat. One of them spoke for the first time, his tone flat but lethal. “If Mr. De Luca wants her, she goes.”
The words brooked no argument.
Raymond froze, the air between him and the guard thick with unspoken challenge. His jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might crack, but even he wasn’t reckless enough to move.
Jennie’s fingers slipped into mine, warm but trembling. “Isla…” she breathed, her voice unsteady. Her wide eyes searched my face, desperate for answers. “What’s happening? Who is he to you? I know he helped us before, but… it doesn’t make sense.”
I squeezed her hand once, then gently pulled free. My body felt heavier with each step, dread pressing down on me like lead. “Stay here,” I managed, my voice thinner than a whisper.
Because deep down, I already knew what was waiting beyond those doors.
\---
Inside the ER
The moment I stepped inside, the air changed. The smell of blood was sharp and metallic, mingling with the bitter tang of antiseptic. Machines beeped in rapid succession, each one counting down time I couldn’t measure. Nurses moved quickly, their faces tight, their voices clipped as they handed off instruments.
And in the middle of it all.
Lorenzo.
He lay on the operating table, shirt cut open, bandages half-secured, crimson blooming across the white gauze. His skin was pale, his chest rising shallowly with each breath. But his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, were open.
And they were on me.
The room, the chaos, the rushing staff, all of it blurred. His gaze pinned me in place, heavy and unrelenting.
“Out, everyone,” he rasped suddenly, his voice rough, broken but commanding. The sound of it scraped across the air, quieting the room.
The nurses hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances.
“I said out.” His voice cracked but carried an authority that brooked no question.
Slowly, reluctantly, the staff obeyed. Even the surgeon hesitated, his mouth opening to protest, until one of Lorenzo’s men appeared in the doorway. A single glance silenced the doctor.
Within moments, the room was empty. Empty but for me.
My breath caught, my heart hammering so loudly it filled the silence.
I was alone with him.
\---
The Weight of His Gaze
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath a struggle. Sweat slicked his brow, strands of dark hair clinging to his temples.
But his eyes, still sharp, still unbearably intense, never left mine.
“You came,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
I swallowed, my mouth dry. “You asked for me.”
His lips curved, the faintest shadow of a smile, though pain tugged at the edges. “I knew you’d be here.”
The words coiled in my stomach, a mix of dread and something I didn’t dare name. I should have turned and walked out. I should have demanded answers. Instead, I stood frozen, caught in the gravity of him.
“You shouldn’t… ” My voice cracked. I forced the words again. “You shouldn’t be talking.”
He chuckled, low and broken, before coughing, crimson staining the gauze. “And yet here I am.”
I moved instinctively, grabbing a clean cloth from the tray and pressing it gently to his side. The warmth of his blood seeped through instantly, hot against my palm. My breath shook.
“I don’t understand…” I whispered, more to myself than him. “Why me? Why call for me?”
His hand moved suddenly, weak but deliberate, catching my wrist. His skin was fever-hot, his grip trembling but strong enough to hold me still.
“Because,” he rasped, his gaze burning into mine. “You’re the only one I wanted”
“The only nurse I want to attend to me… is you.”
The words struck deep, knocking the air from my lungs.
The door behind us clicked softly. I stiffened, my eyes darting to the sound.
One of his men stood there, broad-shouldered, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, but his presence was heavy, like a warning.
Lorenzo didn’t release my wrist. His grip, though weak, tightened slightly. His gaze held mine with unyielding force.
And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.
Whatever storm Lorenzo De Luca had dragged into this hospital.
I was already standing in the eye of it.
The weight of his hand still clamped around my wrist made my pulse stutter. His grip was trembling, weak with blood loss, yet it carried enough power to hold me there, anchored to him. The beeping machines and the faint hiss of oxygen blurred into the background, swallowed by the intensity of his gaze.
My throat tightened. The words spilled out before I could stop them, sharp with desperation.
“Why are you still in my life?” I asked.
The question cracked in the air, brittle and trembling, but it carried the truth I’d buried for months.
Lorenzo’s lips twitched faintly, the shadow of something between amusement and pain ghosting across his pale face. “Hey,” he rasped, voice gravelly but mocking, “you’re not even going to ask who shot me?” His eyes, glassy but unwavering, stayed locked on mine. “You hate me that much?”
The words cut, dragging something raw to the surface, but I forced myself to stand taller, even as dread coiled around my ribs.
“Please…” My voice cracked, breaking like thin glass. “Stay away from my friends.”