The Groom (12 page)

Katrina groaned as his thumb
caressed her lips, biting down on the tip as her tongue made contact with the
thick digit. She wanted that too. If Lyle were to dive into her right now on
this desk, she’d let him. He was cradled between her spread legs, his hips
resting against hers as he leaned over her on the desk. It took everything in
her not to reach down and untie the strings holding those scrub pants up around
his hips. Something told Katrina that a man who turned beet red at the prospect
of singing karaoke at a bar wasn’t quite ready for a quickie on his desk.

Next time,
she promised herself with a grin.

“Later,” he promised, as he
offered her a hand and lifted her from the desk. “First, I owe you lunch.
Besides, the interns are always in and out of here and most of them don’t
knock.”

Katrina stood on shaky legs,
reveling in the few seconds Lyle’s hands lingered at her waist before letting
go.

“I’ll just go change and then we
can get out of here,” he said, reaching for the glasses hanging from his shirt.

“Don’t,” Katrina urged. “I like
the scrubs.”

Lyle looked down at himself and
cringed. “I think I got splattered with a little blood earlier.”

Katrina shrugged. “Now I like
them even more. Come on, where I’m taking you, we don’t need to dress fancy.”

“All right,” he relented,
slipping his glasses on before clipping a pager and cell phone to his hip.
“First, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

A few minutes later, Katrina
found herself standing in the doorway of a hospital room. A reed-slender girl
reclined against a mountain of pillows with a book in her lap and a table on
wheels in front of her. The remnants of a picked-over lunch lay on a tray and a
stack of celebrity gossip magazines were spread over the foot of the bed.

“How’s my favorite patient?” Lyle
asked the girl as he stepped into the room, grasping her medical chart from the
slot in the door. He motioned for Katrina to follow. She stepped just inside
the door and set down her guitar case, watching as Lyle approached the bed with
a wide smile on his face.

The girl sighed. “Bored out of my
mind. Finished that book you gave me plus two others. I’ve discovered that
there’s a stain on the ceiling that looks like Zac Efron.”

Lyle frowned. “There is not.”

“There totally is, right there,”
she replied, pointing above her head.

Lyle bent his head back to
inspect said stain. “You’re losing it. That just looks like a splotch to me.”

“Would you back me up here?” she
directed at Katrina.

Katrina laughed and came farther
into the room.

“Oh sorry,” Lyle said, glancing
back down at the occupants of the room as Katrina perched on the other side of
the bed near the girl’s feet. “Katrina Giordano, this is Yolanda Gutierrez.
She’s waiting for a heart.”

“Nice to meet you.” Katrina
recognized the girl from the cafeteria and her little impromptu concert. She hadn’t
planned on singing to the crowd in the cafeteria, but when one of the young
cancer patients asked to see her guitar and then more came over to request a
song, she couldn’t help herself.

“You have a beautiful voice,”
Yolanda said with a shy smile. “I wish I could sing like that.”

Katrina smiled. “Honey, everybody
has a voice and a song inside of them. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just
has to be yours.”

Yolanda’s grin widened as she
turned to Lyle. “Wow, I like her.”

“I do too.” Katrina’s face flushed
as he said it, his eyes swiveling toward hers from the other side of the bed.
“We were just headed to lunch,” he continued after a beat of silence, turning
back to Yolanda. “Thought I’d see if you wanted me to smuggle anything in for
you.”

“Iced mocha latte with whipped
cream,” she said as she leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“You know, they say coffee can
stunt your growth.”

“Doc, I’m already a twelve year
old that looks like she’s eight. I think that ship has sailed.”

Katrina winced inwardly as she
studied Yolanda. She had a bright and bubbling personality, but outwardly it
was obvious that she was fading. Skin that should have been an earthy brown was
tinted with a grayish cast, further amplified by dry, chapped lips. She did
appear years younger than twelve, and her eyes were sunken in and rimmed by
dark circles. Her hair hung in a limp, straight curtain to her waist.

“Iced mocha it is,” Lyle answered
softly. He stood and circled the bed to the screen displaying her vitals. The
heart monitor beat in a steady rhythm. “Your stats are looking good. The LVAD
is doing its job. Are you in any pain?”

“No more than usual,” she
answered with a shrug. “Hopefully your little magic machine will keep me alive
long enough to see a day without constant pain.”

Lyle gently ruffled the hair on
top of her head. “Hey, I’ve kept you alive this long, haven’t I?”

A lump rose in Katrina’s throat
as she watched the two exchange a glance filled with history. How long had this
poor girl been suffering? Their exchange spoke of years of doctor/patient
history as well as friendship. Lyle’s concern for her went beyond a doctor’s
call of duty.

Yolanda nodded. “That you have.
I’m counting on you to get me well by Senior Prom.”

“Not only will I get you there,
I’ll ensure you’re well enough to dance the night away.”

“I’m holding you to that,”
Yolanda responded as she leaned back into her pillows and reached for the
remote. She pointed it to the small TV hanging from the wall and turned it on.
“If you could hook me up with a plastic surgeon to help me out with a pair of
nice boobs, that would be a nice bonus.”

“Why don’t we just stick to the
heart for now?”

Yolanda’s response was drowned
out as the blare of a newscast filled the room. She turned to find herself
confronted with video footage of a familiar street in the city. Gunshots and
the sounds of screams could be heard beneath the newscaster’s succinct speech.

“This is breaking news out of New
York City,” the female reporter said as the footage continued. “I warn you that
what you are about to see is extremely graphic. We are receiving reports that
there were shots fired in front of the Gramercy Park Hotel, resulting in
several injuries and as many as five fatalities. The footage you are watching
was captured by a pedestrian’s cell phone. As you can see, he has captured the
incident in a stunningly clear video.”

Katrina’s mouth fell open as she
watched Victor’s signature black Mercedes idling at the curb. The faceless
goons surrounding him and Salvatore Carini—Victor’s right hand man, or
Consigliere—were dressed in nondescript black suits and ties, sunglasses
shielding their eyes from view. Typical. Victor was a fashion plate, as usual,
in navy pinstripes, a fat cigar sticking out of the side of his mouth as they
emerged from the Gramercy Park Hotel. The restaurant there was one of her
father’s favorite places to meet for business.

“Dude,” the touristy cameraman
was narrating as he held his cell phone up, his voice full of awe, “I’m
chillin’ outside the Gramercy and all of a sudden these dudes roll up. Italian
Mafia, maybe? I can’t believe it. It’s like something out of
The Godfather
!”

In the background, other male
voices jumbled in a mess of sounds but Katrina’s eyes were glued to another
black car—a limousine—as it crossed slowly on the other side of the
street before inching to a stop.

“Jesus!” Lyle gasped as the
sunroof slid open and a figure in black popped out of the top at the same time
three more appeared through its windows. Semi-automatic weapons made an
appearance and shots rang out. The camera jolted and shook as the tourist
operating it ran to hide behind a car, cursing and shouting but keeping his
phone raised to capture the moment.

After a few more moments of
gunfire, the footage ended, but not before Katrina saw her father’s guards fall
before a burst of red exploded across his starched white shirt. She gasped,
clapping a hand over her mouth as the reporter droned on and on about how the
shooters had gotten away before police had arrived on the scene. The four faceless
bodyguards had been left on the street to die as Victor and Salvatore made
their escape in the Mercedes, the driver tearing down the street before
disappearing around the corner.

“The injured party has been
identified as Victor Giordano, the rumored boss of the Giordano Family crime
syndicate. The police are tightlipped on whether or not this random act of
violence is part of a turf war between the Giordanos and another crime family.
But, our anonymous sources say that it is highly likely. Could it be that
retaliation will follow this brutal attack?”

“Hey!” Yolanda squeaked as
Katrina choked down acidic bile and fought the urge to vomit all over the
hospital room’s floor. “Didn’t Lyle just say your name is Giordano? Wouldn’t it
be cool if you were related to those guys?”

Katrina’s eyes widened as Lyle’s
surprised glance fell on her. She was saved from having to answer when her
phone began to chirp at the bottom of her purse. She cursed under her breath
when Alessandro’s name flickered across the screen. “I have to take this,” she
mumbled as she fumbled for the phone. “I’ll just step out into the hall, Lyle.
Yolanda, it was nice to meet you.”

Katrina nearly ran from the room
and skidded across the slippery tiles as she fought to keep her balance on the
bright orange platforms she was wearing. “Sandro, now isn’t a good time!” she
hissed into the phone.

“Sorry, Gattina,” his voice
answered from nearby. Katrina gasped as she came up short just before slamming
into his chest. “You are no longer calling the shots.”

Before she could protest, two
pairs of wide shoulders were flanking her, and strong hands gripped her arms.
In a flash, she was hustled down the hall, around the corner and out of sight.

_________

LYLE DID
HIS best to focus on the task at hand. After all, four bloodied men full of
bullet holes had been wheeled into the ER not long after Katrina’s mysterious
disappearance. He had been in the middle of calling to see where she’d run off
to when he was paged to the Emergency Room. Two of the gunshot victims had
bullets in their chests and were going to need surgery.

“Katrina, I’m not sure what’s
going on or where you ran off to, but I hope everything’s okay,” he said to her
voicemail as he trotted toward the elevators, mentally preparing himself to
deal with the chaos that was about to ensue. With only two victims sustaining
gunshot wounds to the chest, he and Dan could take the lead on each patient.
With any luck, the others wouldn’t present any heart or lung problems in the
interim. “Those gunshot victims from the Gramercy Hotel are being brought
here,” he said as he stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the
right floor. “So I will likely be in surgery until late tonight. Please just
text me or something so I know you’re okay. Sorry our lunch date didn’t happen.
Talk to you soon.”

Maybe she had a family
emergency or something
, he told himself as he stood
over his victim’s cracked chest in the OR.
Family? As in the Giordano
family?

Lyle thought back to the bizarre
encounter on the street when he and Katrina had almost been mowed down by the
speeding car. The men who had showed up out of nowhere to hustle her inside had
called themselves her “family.” Surely she couldn’t be related to members of
the Sicilian Mafia? While he wasn’t up on all of the details, most people who
ran in his parents’ lofty circles knew about the various crime families of New
York, the Giordanos and the Pirellis being among the most wealthy and powerful.
Victor Giordano owned several corporations that worked as fronts for money
laundering and trafficking of everything from weapons to exotic animals and
people. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

He’d once had a college friend
end up in the hospital, beaten half to death after failing to pay hundreds of
thousands of dollars worth of gambling debt to what was believed to be an
illegal gambling ring run by the Giordano family. He shuddered at the thought
of Katrina battered and bruised and half dead. Was she somehow involved in all
of this?

“Can I get more suction here?”
Lyle forced his focus back to the heart beneath his hands. He focused on its
healthy color and its order and perfection; one organ, four chambers, all
working together in faultless timing and coordination. When nothing else made
sense to him, Lyle knew he could always depend on the human heart. It had a
rhythm, a timing, an order, and he appreciated that. Questions about Katrina
would have to wait until later.

For hours he lost himself in his
work, his fingers moving along with the instruments in a coordinated dance
until the last suture had been tied and cut.

“Beautiful,” he murmured softly
as the heart was disconnected from the bypass machine and began to beat on its
own. “Close him up, monitor him overnight, and page me if anything
earth-shattering happens,” he said to the intern to his right before removing
his gloves and gown, disposing of them before snatching off his mask and cap.
As he left the OR, he checked his phone and found a text message from Katrina.

Sorry about earlier. We should
talk. Meet me at Bow Bridge in Central Park tonight. I’ll wait.

Lyle checked the time. The
message had been sent at five p.m., and it was now eight. He hoped she hadn’t
been waiting long. It took him minutes to change and make his way down to the
street before hailing a cab. His stomach growled loudly in hunger, but he
ignored it. Despite the fact that he’d skipped lunch and hadn’t had dinner, he
was more concerned about Katrina’s hasty exit today than anything else. That
and appeasing his curiosity over the Giordano name. The cab seemed to take
hours to reach Central Park, and by the time he made it there his nerves were
frazzled and his hair was standing on end from the combing of nervous fingers.

He found her standing on the Bow
Bridge as promised, leaning against the railing with her gaze locked on the
lake stretching beyond. They were mostly alone in the now approaching twilight.
Only a few pedestrians interrupted the solitude, as well as a few strategically
placed men Lyle could only describe as bodyguards. They reminded him very much
of the man he’d just operated on, as well as the others that had been brought
in that afternoon full of holes. Two stood at either end of the bridge,
watching him closely as he approached. A few others dotted the landscape
nearby, and though they watched carefully, none spoke or approached.

Katrina turned her head as he
stepped up onto the bridge, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck and exchanged her
bright platforms for sneakers. A simple white tank top met the waistband of the
same skin-tight jeans she’d been wearing earlier.

“I brought dinner,” she said,
gesturing toward the white paper bags sitting on the bridge’s stone railing
next to two bottles of water. “My way of making up for ditching you earlier.”

“Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to
do,” he said with a smile as he leaned against the balcony, taking up one of
the paper bags and peeking into it. “What’s this? No burger?”

She laughed as she reached for
her own bag, extracting a plastic carton from Ki Sushi and a paper-wrapped pair
of chopsticks. “I know you’re trying to watch your manly figure,” she said,
popping the clear lid off of her container as he did the same.

“Salmon’s my favorite,” he said
as he plucked one of the rolls from his container. The two ate and chewed in
silence for a while, and Lyle was content to enjoy the moment. With the last of
the sun’s rays waning on the horizon, Katrina’s complexion was like burnished
bronze. A soft breeze sent loose curls whipping gently against her face and
neck. It was nice to pretend that they were on an almost normal date, but the
Italian muscle standing guard nearby reminded him of the events of the
afternoon. “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?” he asked after they’d
finished and repacked their garbage in the white bags. Lyle opened his water
bottle and took a swig, grateful that his stomach was now mostly at ease.
“After seeing you attacked in an alley, then almost mowed down by a car, I
thought you might be accident prone. But you disappearing right after seeing
that news story about the Giordano shooting and then reappearing here with
these guys tells me none of this is a coincidence.”

She sighed, replacing the cap on
her bottle. “Wanna walk a little bit? The guys will stick close, but they won’t
interfere.”

“Sure,” he said, taking her bag
and his before starting off across the bridge with her. Once they reached the
end, he dropped their bags in one of the garbage cans nearby and continued on.
After a few moments of silence, Katrina finally took a deep breath and spoke.

“Victor Giordano is my father,”
she said in a frantic rush. She cringed as his head whipped around toward her
and his eyes widened.

“Victor Giordano? As in . . .?”
He fumbled and gaped, at a loss for words.

She nodded, her ponytail bobbing
against her back. “Yeah. The Boss.”

Lyle took a deep breath as he
processed this information. “Well that’s . . . interesting.”

Katrina snorted. “More like
devastating. It’s ruled my life since the day I was born, and even after I
decided to stop letting it, shit like this happens and I’m right back where I
don’t want to be. Part of the Family.” She spat the word “family” like it was
an epithet.

“Katrina, what’s going on? Are
you in some kind of trouble?” It felt natural to allow his palm to caress hers.
Their fingers intertwined and she held on tightly.

“The Giordanos and the Pirellis
are in an all out turf war. It’s been brewing for years. There’ve been a few
skirmishes and way too many casualties.” Lyle didn’t miss the way her voice
hitched when she mentioned casualties, but he let her continue, offering the
silent support of his hand wrapped around hers. “It escalated about a year ago,
and now things are getting ugly. Salvador Pirelli wants to break my father by
hitting him where it hurts. I’m the only child he has left.”

Lyle’s mouth went dry as they
paused on the path they’d been taking, his grip tightening on her hand. The
silent men following them came up short, watching him again as if they were
ready to pounce at any second. He loosened his grip and that seemed to placate
them.

“Are you telling me there’s a hit
out on you? That the mugging, the runaway car, were both attempts on your life?
Katrina, you have to go to the police!”

“Didn’t you hear anything they
said on the news?” she snapped, pulling her hand out of his. “The police
know
who my father is. They probably have boxes full of case files with evidence
that very vaguely points to him as the head of some very shady activities, but
they can’t pin him with anything substantial. Pirelli is the same way and the
soldiers who attacked me . . . well, let’s just say there are plenty more where
they came from. Even if those guys got arrested, they’d just send more. That’s the
way it works, and no one can pin it on Salvador. These men at the top, they
sacrifice the pawns without second thought. Each and every one of them is
willing to do whatever is asked to gain favor with the Boss.”

Lyle shivered as he reached for
her again, grasping her arms and pulling her against his body. One of the men
closest to him—the one who had yelled at him on the street the other
day—tensed visibly at the action but Lyle ignored him.

“Let me help you,” he whispered.

“There’s nothing you can do,”
Katrina said with a soft smile. “The best thing for you to do is stay away from
me. I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt because of all this. You came really
close with that car the other day.”

“No,” he protested firmly, his
hands running up her arms in a gentle caress. He rested them on her shoulders,
his thumbs tracing slow circles on the smooth skin of her neck. “What kind of
man would I be if I turned my back on you now?”

“A smart one. No one could blame
you.”

“I can’t,” he said softly. “You
were there for me when I needed you.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she
glanced up at him. “What are you talking about?”

Lyle sighed, leaning down to rest
his forehead against hers. His fingers dug into her shoulders, massaging
gently. “Your voice,” he whispered. “It pulled me out of one of the darkest
times in my life.”

Katrina’s eyes widened in
understanding. “That ring . . . you said it was meant for someone.”

“The day I first saw you singing
at Parson’s, that someone had left me standing at the altar holding that ring.”

Katrina gasped. “Lyle!”

“I came to that bar hoping to
drink myself into a stupor. I was lost and angry, and you were there like some
kind of beacon, drawing me in toward you.”

“A siren,” she said with a soft
giggle.

Lyle smiled. “Yes, like a siren,
pulling me in with your song. It’s not fair, Katrina. You can’t just pull me in
and promise me things and then tell me to leave you alone.”

“I didn’t promise you anything,”
she said, her voice bubbling with laughter again.

Lyle licked his lips and leaned
in close, his insides quivering for another taste of her mouth. She was so
close, all he had to do was move another inch and she was his. He didn’t give a
damn how many Italian Mafia soldiers were watching.

“Yes you did,” he said as his
lips brushed hers. “Your eyes promised me things even if your mouth didn’t.” He
smirked. “And your mouth did a little promising too, if I recall correctly.”

Katrina trembled against him and
his smile widened. He couldn’t help feeling a bit of satisfaction that he
wasn’t alone in his feelings. She wanted him, if nothing else. It was enough
for him for now.

“Lyle, you should run,” she said,
pressing her hands against his chest and pushing gently. Lyle felt an ache in
his gut as she stepped away once, and then again.

“I won’t,” he warned, his fingers
still grasping at her. He didn’t care how desperate he looked. She couldn’t
just fill him with an urge to be a different person and then just leave him. He
needed her.

“You should,” she answered,
shrugging his hands away and removing herself from the circle of his arms
completely.

“I
won’t
,” he said,
although he didn’t try to stop her from backing away. She’d lowered her eyes
and wouldn’t look at him.

“Then I will.”

Before he could stop her, she’d
turned on her heels and started off the way they’d come. Her bodyguards fell
out one by one, trailing her at a discreet but close distance. The last one to
leave was the same one that had reacted so strongly to him grabbing Katrina. He
paused near Lyle and shot him a murderous look.

“She’s been through a lot,” the
man said. “You’re a complication she doesn’t need right now. Do yourself, and
her, a favor and stay away like she said.”