No preamble or questions about what happened.
He simply observes the gunshot wounds on Ronan’s shoulder and thigh and then launches into treating them.
I step back and watch from the sidelines, my arms wrapped around myself, as he extracts surgical tools from his bag.
Ronan grits his teeth as the doctor removes the bullet from his shoulder then eventually moves onto his thigh.
My husband might keep the real pain bottled up inside, but I can tell by how the muscle bounces in his jaw and his fist balls that it’s extremely painful.
At least half an hour passes. Possibly more.
I lose track of time, standing on the sidelines as a private physician patches up my husband.
Finally, Dr. Hino straightens up and packs his tools back into his bag. “All good. Bullet is out. Thigh was only grazed—fragments removed. Stay out of trouble.”
Ronan manages a half-grin, wan and exhausted. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
Dr. Hino simply nods, his bag in hand as he promptly pivots and then marches out the door.
Silence settles over the apartment in his wake. I’m still standing in the corner, thrown by how abrupt and efficient he was.
All with no questions asked or information requested.
“You wondering why I called him instead of letting you dial 911?”
I glance over to find Ronan’s vivid emerald gaze on me, tired but alert.
“I guess… it makes sense. He didn’t ask questions. Which I’m guessing is a good thing to you. But the cops?—”
“The cops are useless,” he interrupts. “I never go to them. Why would I? I’m a gangster, Simone. I show up at a hospital with bullet wounds, suddenly me and my whole family are under an even bigger microscope than we already are. Besides, when have the cops ever really helped somebody?”
“Our vacation home in the Hamptons was robbed once. The local police solved the case within forty-eight hours?—”
“I mean people like me,” he cuts in. “Hardened criminals. Gangsters. Not respectable families like yours.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
“I’ll have you know we’re still Black,” I say indignantly. “It’s not as if historically the police didn’t?—”
“I know that you and your family are Black. I’ve got eyes,” he says bluntly. “But in case you haven’t stepped outside your bubble, you’re treated as part of the elite echelon in Manhattan. Your father’s respected, and that comes with perks, even with his complexion. Then there’s crime families like mine.”
I fold my arms and stay mute, debating if I want to even attempt to counter what he’s said. He seems to sense where my headspace is, because his eyes gleam like emeralds, the corner of his mouth slightly quirked.
“Besides… we’ve got more in common than you think, princess—the Irish weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms in this country,” he points out. “We were treated as less than for decades. We were looked down upon as dirty and impoverished. Our family rose above that and proved those cocksuckers wrong. Something tells me your family has a similar history, does it not?”
He’s right, though I’m a little too stubborn to let him know.
Dad built his empire after growing up in poverty and experiencing hardships and discrimination. He vowed he would find a way to provide his future wife and children a better life.
Hungry for success, he found a way to make it happen. He did so growing up at a time where opportunities weren’t always available for a man of his complexion…
Before our conversation can continue, there’s heavy pounding at the door. Nothing like the single sharp knock of Dr. Hino. This is aggressive and demanding, the kind of knock that expects immediate obedience.
I freeze, staring at the door like it’s a ticking time bomb. Ronan attempts to push himself up. His thigh gives out and he collapses back with a curse.
“Don’t move,” I say. “I’ll… I’ll get it.”