He offered an awkward smile, the kind men give when they're delivering a death sentence wrapped in clinical language.
"I know you trained in the Family's medical network yourself, so... I'm afraid you'll never be able to hold a scalpel again."
The words hung in the sterile air like smoke after a gunshot.
"Perhaps you could speak with the Young Don? The Volpe Family has always controlled the finest medical operations on the Eastern Seaboard. If you sought treatment through their European contacts, there might still be a chance."
I shook my head.
I looked down at my right hand, swathed in white bandages like a burial shroud.
I couldn't even bend my fingers.
Once, these hands had been my ticket out. My value. The only thing that made Isabella Mancini more than just a pawn in an alliance marriage. Now they were nothing but dead weight wrapped in gauze.
"Could you help me get a new phone? I need to contact—"
The authorities, I almost said. But what law existed for women like me? What cop would take a statement against the Volpe Syndicate?
Before I could finish, the door slammed open with a bang that echoed off the walls like a warning shot.
Nico had arrived.