at her. Cindy was thirty, while the Grinch—real name Geraldine—had to be pushing fifty. Both had seniority over Gabriella, at barely twenty-six, but neither seemed to have a lick of compassion.
Cindy, at least, had the sense to appear ashamed at being overheard, but the Grinch just rolled her eyes, like Gabriella's intrusion was a mere annoyance to her.
Before Gabriella could say anything, chaos erupted in the ICU, security rushing onto the floor, escorting a tall, thick-built man wearing a black suit. Gabriella recognized him, shock running through her.
Primo Galante.
Oh my God.
It can't be.
Security showed him to the waiting lounge across from the information desk, trailing him. Whether they did it for his protection or everyone else's safety, Gabriella wasn't quite sure. Probably a bit of both. But his sudden presence on the floor meant one thing—his son had survived surgery.
"I've got other things to take care of," the Grinch said, keeping her head down as she scurried away. Cindy, on the other hand, couldn't stop staring as the man feverishly paced. It wasn't until the elevator doors opened again, the patient wheeled in, that Cindy sprinted from the hallway, ducking out of sight. Friggin scaredy-cat.
At once, Primo was back out in the hallway, barking orders at everyone. Do this. Do that. Don't just stand there. Do something! Security intervened, to calm him, but the man was determined… Gabriella had to give him that.
"Nurse?" the attending on duty shouted. Dr. Michael Crabtree. He was a frigid little man, one Gabriella was never particularly fond of working with, but he was at least good at what he did. The doctor looked around, his face scrunching from annoyance. "Where did the nurse go?"
Gabriella sighed. The Grinch was on point. She'd been assigned that room and whatever patient ended up in it. But it was obvious from the disappearing act that she hadn't been kidding about not treating him.
"I can take this one,” Gabriella said before the charge nurse had to intervene and go hunt down the Grinch, who clearly wouldn’t be any help to the patient. "I'll switch rooms with Gr—uh, Nurse Geraldine. Not a problem.”
Monica Burns, the charge nurse, eyed her warily before shrugging it off and switching their rooms on the board, giving Gabriella the patient.
"What is she, a teenager?" Primo bellowed, glaring at Gabriella as she approached. "I want a real nurse, not some girl playing dress up!"
Gabriella let him have that one. She did look young.
"Nurse Russo is exceptional at her job," Crabtree said, shooting her a look that said he might not believe his own words. There was panic in his eyes, something that wasn't good coming from the doctor in charge. "She's fully capable of looking after Mr. Galante, as capable as every other nurse on staff."
"Maybe you're all incompetent!"
Gabriella ignored their back-and-forth, sliding past the men into the room. It cleared out as staff got the patient hooked up to all of the machines. The ICU worked like an assembly line in a factory. Everyone had a specific job and they did it efficiently. In, out, away. Until a problem arose, it mostly all fell on the nurse. Her job was to make sure he stayed alive. To make sure his heart kept beating. To make sure he kept breathing.
No big deal, right?
"If you mess up, so help me God, you're going to regret it," Primo growled. "Every single one of you will pay. I'll see to it. I'll have your jobs. I'll have your lives!"
Worried glances were exchanged between some of the staff as security again stepped in, attempting to calm the man down. Gabriella tried to shut it all out, focusing her attention on the patient. She paused when she looked down at him, her stomach clenching at the sight of his battered body.
Dante Galante.
Crabtree joined them, clutching a chart, the glass door to the small room sliding closed behind the doctor as Primo grudgingly stayed out in the hall.
Right away, they went through his diagnosis, listing a host of problems, a laundry list of wounds that had been inflicted. Gabriella listened, taking it all in as her eyes stayed glued to his face.
What in the world happened to him?
He was intubated, not breathing on his own, the whole gauntlet of intervention done. While alive, yes, she wasn't sure he would stay that way. Death knocked on his door, begging to be let in, and judging from the look of him, it wouldn't be hard for Death to pull off some breaking & entering,