Chapter 3 - The Coldest Replacement
Saturday morning brought no relief from the storm. Against his better judgment, Adrian allowed the private medical firm to send their premier physical therapist to the estate.
Her name was Dr. Evelyn Vance, a tall, impeccably groomed woman in crisp white clinical scrubs who spoke in measured, academic tones. She carried a tablet and spent the first twenty minutes reviewing his surgical charts while Adrian sat stiffly on the examination table in his therapy room.
""Your previous therapist was remarkably unconventional, Mr. Ferrante,"" Dr. Vance noted, scrolling through her digital files. ""The records indicate an aggressive manual therapy regimen that deviates from standard post-operative protocols.""
Adrian stared at the wall above her head. ""Did the regimen work?""
""Well, your mobility is extraordinary given the extent of the comminuted fracture,"" she admitted, setting the tablet down. ""However, professional boundaries must be maintained. We will begin with controlled isometric contractions. Lie flat on your back, please.""
Adrian lay down. But the moment Dr. Vance’s gloved hands touched his knee, a wave of revulsion swept through him. Her touch was cold, clinical, and completely detached. There was no warmth, no intuitive understanding of where the pain radiated, none of the instinctive gentleness that Delia possessed in her fingertips.
""Breathe in,"" Dr. Vance commanded, pressing her weight down on his kneecap.
The joint locked instantly. A sharp, blinding spasm tore through Adrian's quadriceps, causing his entire leg to jerk backward.
""Relax the muscle, Mr. Ferrante,"" she instructed, her voice tinged with mild impatience. ""You're resisting the treatment.""
""Get your hands off me,"" Adrian said, his voice deadly quiet.
Dr. Vance paused, her eyes widening in surprise. ""Pardon me?""
""Take your equipment, walk out that door, and do not return to this property."" Adrian sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table, his breathing harsh and ragged.
""Sir, I am the chief of rehabilitation at Northwestern Memorial. If you refuse this session, your recovery—""
""Marco!"" Adrian roared.
The door flew open within two seconds. Marco stood on the threshold, hand resting near his jacket holster.
""Escort Dr. Vance off the premises,"" Adrian ordered, reaching for his cane with white-knuckled fury. ""Pay her full contract for the month. If another agency sends someone to this gate, fire the head of security.""
Dr. Vance gathered her tablet with shaking hands, casting a bewildered, terrified look at the mob boss before scurrying out the door behind Marco.
Adrian remained alone in the room, his chest heaving. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, staring at the empty space where Delia’s notes used to hang.
He was losing his mind.
He was the undisputed head of the Ferrante syndicate, a man who had survived three assassination attempts and built an empire through cold, calculating logic. Yet here he was, sabotaging his own physical survival because another woman's touch felt like an insult compared to the memory of Delia Hayes.
His mind dragged him back to that night outside County General.
Why had she been crying? Delia was the strongest person he knew. When he had hurled cruel insults during his initial weeks of recovery, trying to push her away, she had simply crossed her arms over her generous chest, raised an eyebrow, and told him that self-pity was an ugly look on a handsome man. She never cried. She never broke.
Yet beneath those ambulance bay lights, she had looked utterly shattered, clinging to that leather-jacketed stranger like a drowning victim clutching driftwood.
The jealousy that had burned inside him for four days suddenly shifted, cracking open to reveal a gnawing, uneasy doubt.
May you like
He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his head of private intelligence.
""Frank,"" Adrian spoke into the receiver, his voice hard as flint. ""The surveillance footage from County General's emergency bay on Monday night between nine and eleven PM. I want every angle, every camera feed, and a complete facial recognition scan on the man Miss Hayes was with. You have one hour.""
