Chapter 2 - THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES
“My name is Gabriel Romano.”
That was how the most feared man in Chicago introduced himself to me.
Not with a threat.
Not with a title.
With his name.
I stood beside his armored SUV while rain hammered the underground entrance, wondering whether getting into a car with a suspected criminal was somehow more reckless than watching my mother lose her surgery because I was afraid.
My phone displayed 37 minutes.
I got in.
Gabriel sat beside me. Luca took the front passenger seat while another vehicle followed us from the garage.
“St. Agnes,” Gabriel said.
The driver nodded.
Nothing else needed explaining.
The SUV moved.
I called the hospital.
“Nurse Collins? I’m coming.”
“Emily, they need authorization for the deposit.”
“I know.”
My voice cracked.
Gabriel held out his hand.
I stared at it.
“What?”
“The bill.”
“I said I’m not taking your money.”
“And I heard you.”
“Then why do you want it?”
“So I can understand the problem.”
I hesitated before giving him the paper.
His eyes moved over it.
“Twenty-eight thousand?”
I hated hearing the number aloud.
“The insurance company denied part of the procedure. They’re appealing it, but Mom doesn’t have time for appeals.”
Gabriel looked toward Luca.
“Call St. Agnes.”
I grabbed his wrist.
Every man in the vehicle went still.
Luca turned around.
Even the driver glanced into the mirror.
Only then did I understand what I had done.
I released Gabriel immediately.
“Sorry.”
Gabriel looked at the place where my fingers had touched him.
Something unreadable passed across his face.
“Don’t pay it,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because I cannot owe you $28,000.”
“You don't.”
“That isn’t how money works.”
“It is how gifts work.”
“Men like you don’t give strangers gifts.”
His mouth almost curved.
“Men like me?”
“You have four bodyguards.”
“Five.”
I looked behind us.
The second SUV.
“Wonderful.”
That actually made him smile.
Barely.
But Luca saw it.
And judging by his expression, Gabriel Romano smiling was approximately as normal as the moon falling out of the sky.
Gabriel handed the paper forward.
“Call.”
“Gabriel—”
“My mother died waiting for surgery.”
Silence swallowed the vehicle.
His expression had changed.
“She was 43. I was 17. We had money, but money was tied up where a boy couldn't reach it quickly enough. I spent 6 hours promising her I would fix everything.”
His eyes met mine.
“I didn't.”
My anger disappeared.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Luca was already speaking quietly into his phone.
I looked out the window.
“Is that why you’re helping me?”
“It’s one reason.”
“What’s the other?”
Gabriel did not answer.
Twenty-three minutes later, we reached St. Agnes.
I jumped out before the vehicle completely stopped.
I ran through the emergency entrance, Gabriel and his men behind me.
At admissions, Nurse Collins looked up.
“Emily!”
“Is she still scheduled?”
The administrator beside her looked uncomfortable.
“We haven't received—”
His telephone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Yes, sir.”
Pause.
“Yes. Immediately.”
He hung up.
“The deposit has been cleared.”
I turned toward Gabriel.
He stood 20 feet away.
He hadn't moved.
“You paid it.”
“No.”
The administrator interrupted.
“Actually, Romano Medical Foundation issued an emergency assistance authorization.”
I stared at Gabriel.
“You have a medical foundation?”
“My mother’s name is on it.”
That somehow hurt more.
Because he had found a way to help me without turning my desperation into a debt.
A surgeon came through the doors.
“Emily Bennett?”
I forgot Gabriel.
I forgot everything.
“Your mother is being prepared now.”
“Can I see her?”
“For 2 minutes.”
I ran.
My mother looked impossibly small beneath the hospital blankets.
Margaret Bennett had spent my entire childhood pretending exhaustion was temporary. She worked two jobs after my father disappeared, cut her own hair, repaired appliances with internet videos, and once ate crackers for 4 days so I could afford a school trip.
When she saw me, she smiled.
“You made it.”
I held her hand.
“I made it.”
“Your father?”
I could not lie fast enough.
Her smile faded.
“No.”
“No.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“I’m sorry you had to ask him.”
“He said he didn't know me.”
Pain crossed her face.
Then the anesthesiologist entered.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you more.”
They rolled her away.
I stood alone until the doors closed.
Then my knees failed.
Someone caught me.
Gabriel.
I pressed both palms against his chest, trying to stand.
“I’m okay.”
“No, you aren't.”
“My mother might die.”
“Yes.”
I looked up sharply.
Everyone else had said she would be fine.
Gabriel didn't.
He gave me the truth.
“But,” he continued, “she has a chance now.”
My fingers tightened against his jacket.
“Thank you.”
“You don't owe me.”
“I know.”
It was the first time I believed him.
Three hours later, the surgeon appeared.
“The procedure went well.”
I cried so hard I laughed.
Gabriel was still there.
I hadn't realized he had stayed.
Neither had I noticed Richard Bennett standing at the opposite end of the corridor.
My father stared at Gabriel's hand resting lightly against my shoulder.
His face had gone white.
He approached.
“Emily.”
I froze.
Gabriel felt it.
His hand dropped.
Richard looked between us.
“I heard about Margaret.”
“From whom?”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“I came to help.”
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“You had your chance.”
Richard's gaze moved to Gabriel.
“Mr. Romano. This is a family matter.”
Gabriel's expression became glacial.
“She was not your family when she needed $28,000.”
Richard stiffened.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
Then another voice came from behind him.
“Dad?”
Celeste.
She stood near the elevators, still wearing her silver ballroom dress.
Her expression was no longer smug.
She looked terrified.
She held a folder against her chest.
“I found this in Mom’s suite.”
Richard's face changed.
“Celeste, go home.”
She didn't.
Instead, she walked directly toward me.
“I think you need to see it.”
She handed me the folder.
Inside was an old photograph.
My mother.
Richard.
And another man.
A much younger Gabriel Romano stood in the background.
On the reverse, someone had written a date from 12 years earlier.
Underneath were 6 words.
Margaret knows what Richard did.
I looked up.
Gabriel was staring at the photograph.
For the first time since I had met him, the mafia boss looked shaken.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
Celeste swallowed.
“My mother's safe.”
Gabriel turned the photograph over again.
Then he looked at my father.
“Richard.”
My father stepped backward.
May you like
Gabriel's voice became frighteningly quiet.
“You told me Margaret Bennett was dead.”
