Chapter 4 - The Scalpel and the Pry Bar
They arrived at an underground garage beneath a financial district high-rise and took a secure elevator up to a private, sterile medical suite. Dr. Hayes, a tired-looking physician on Leo’s payroll, stood waiting.
“She needs an X-ray. Clavicle, left side. Check the ribs too,” Leo said.
When Hayes approached with shears to cut the apron, Sadi gripped the canvas defensively.
“Stop,” Leo murmured, stepping in.
Gently, he reached around her back and untied the strings with two swift motions. Then he carefully lifted the heavy canvas loop over her head without letting it drag against her broken bone.
With the apron gone, the damage was stark and undeniable: the midshaft clavicle tented the skin at an unnatural angle, surrounded by a violent storm of purple and black bruising spreading up her neck. Leo’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscle leaped, his expression hardening into pure ice before he stepped out into the hall.
Thirty minutes later, the light board confirmed a clean midshaft clavicle fracture and two cracked ribs. Hayes fitted Sadi with a rigid immobilizing sling, wrapped her chest, and administered an IV painkiller.
“No surgery needed, but eight weeks of total immobilization,” Hayes advised.
Leo brought her to his vast, minimalist penthouse overlooking the harbor. He provided clothes, showed her to a guest room, and left soup and pain medication on the counter.
“Lock the door if it makes you feel better,” Leo told her as he slipped his coat back on. “I won’t be here tonight. I have an administrative task to handle.”
Across town, Leo used a steel pry bar to force the door of Rey’s crumbling second-floor apartment. He sat in a wooden chair in the dark living room, waiting.
Forty-five minutes later, Rey stumbled in, reeking of whiskey. When he flicked on the light, he froze.
“Who the hell are you?” Rey barked, reaching toward his waistband.
“My name is Leo.”
Rey’s posture withered; even corner bagmen knew the name of the man who controlled the docks. “Look, Mr. Leo, I work for Moretti—”
“I bought your contract from Paulie Moretti twenty minutes ago for fifty thousand dollars,” Leo said softly, rising to his feet. “I bought your debt. I bought your life.”
“Wait—I ain't crossed you!”
“You live with a woman named Sadi.”
Rey scoffed. “Sadi? My girl? What does that—”
Leo moved with terrifying, instantaneous speed. He grabbed Rey by his lapels, pivoted, and hurled him across the kitchen.
Rey struck the sharp granite edge of his own kitchen island—the exact impact point where Sadi had been injured. A sickening crack shattered the air, followed by a high, agonized scream as Rey collapsed to the floor clutching his crushed ribs.
May you like
Leo knelt, gripping Rey’s face in his leather gloves until the man looked directly into his cold eyes.
“She is not your girl,” Leo whispered. “If you speak her name, if you look for her, I will take you to a warehouse on Pier 4 and spend three days taking you apart. You have until tomorrow morning to leave this city. If you are here by noon, you’re dead.”
