Chapter Five

"Who the fuck did that to you?" Matteo demanded the next morning. All the jovial greetings he'd given her the past couple of days fell away. In his place was someone cold. Lethal. Macy blinked at the anger, and for a moment she wasn't sure if it was directed at her or not.

"I was mugged," she replied, very aware of what her face looked like.

Matteo stormed up to her, around the counter, but his touch was soft. Concern filtered through his eyes, easing that flash of fear she'd felt. He carefully tilted her hand so he could inspect her wound better. At that moment, her boss came from the back office.

"Excuse me, you're not supposed—" Amanda immediately shut up after Matteo pinned her with a look. Wariness flashed over her face as she looked between them. "Oh. I see you're helping Macy."

"I am," he said. "Do you know who did this to her?"

"No, she doesn't," Macy answered instead of her boss. "You can ask me, you know, since I was the one that got punched in the face."

Matteo pinned her with a glance. "Very well. Where did this happen?"

"In the courtyard of my apartment complex," she said sighing.

He blinked. "What? Where the fuck do you live?"

She was shocked at his intensity. "Um, south side."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "What did the doctor say?"

"I didn't go to a doctor," she said.

His dark eyes flashed. "Why not?"

Macy took a step back from him and lifted her chin. "Because I can't afford it or missing a day of work. Because I have a catastrophic deductible. Because it's just a cut and a black eye."

"You could have a fractured cheek."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I'm not willing to risk it." Matteo looked at her boss. "I'm going to take her to my physician."

Amanda nodded quickly. "Of course. And don't worry about your pay, Macy. You'll get the full day."

"But who's going to help you?"

She waved her hand. "No worries. Not the first time I've been here by myself. Let me get your purse."

When she dashed to the back, Macy arched an eyebrow at Matteo. "Being a little bossy, aren't you? And I still can't afford going to the doctor."

"Don't worry about the money."

"Only a person who has money can say that."

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. "Would you please let me take you to my personal physician? He tries to do pro bono work whenever he can."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't want your money or your charity, Matteo. I don't care how rich you are, I always pay my way."

"Noted," he said, sounding amused. "But this is not charity. That's not how I think of you. I'm concerned, and since I can't find the asshole who did this to you, I can at least calm my inner demon by making sure you have proper medical care."

"What can I possibly say to that so it doesn't make me sound ungrateful?"

"Nothing," he replied, smirking. "How about I promise my wallet stays in my pocket. We have a deal?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Then I guess it's a deal," she said grudgingly. Her boss came back at that moment, holding out the purse and Macy took it. "Thank you."

Once more, Amanda flashed a guarded look at Matteo, and it confused her. Making a mental note to ask why when she had a chance. As the bell above the door dinged, Matteo took hold of her hand and led Macy from the shop. Her eyes widened when she saw a tall, muscled man open the back door to a beautiful sleek sedan, which she knew instinctively had to cost more than the gross national income of some third-world countries.

"Macy, this is Rocco," Matteo said, introducing her.

Rocco whistled when he caught sight of her. "That looks like it hurts."

"No shit, Captain Obvious," Matteo muttered. "We're going to the doc."

Rocco raised a brow, clearly surprised. Was it because he didn't think her worthy of seeing Matteo's private doctor? He settled his questioning gaze on her, and a flash of sympathy entered his gaze. Macy wondered what the look was all about.

Matteo helped her inside before sliding in next to her, while Rocco got behind the wheel. Then they were off, to where Macy hadn't a clue. Had she just made a massive mistake? Was her boss leery because Matteo was a serial killer or something? Then again, how would Amanda know if he was one or not? Her own thoughts confused her.

"So, Macy," Rocco said, breaking through her nervous thoughts. "Tell us a little about yourself."

She glanced at Matteo who cocked his head, waiting. "Maybe I should be asking you that."

"Sure," Rocco said good naturedly, ignoring the fact she didn't ask him. "I'm twenty-eight. A Virgo, but not a virgin. Born here in Chicago. I totally believe in UFOs. And my favorite movie is The Notebook."

"The Notebook? Really?" Matteo demanded sarcastically. "Who are you?"

"It's manly to cry."

"I'm manly and I don't cry."

"I remember you crying once," Rocco said.

"When?" Matteo asked, scrunching up his forehead.

"When Puppers died."

"Oh, my God," Matteo muttered. "I was six."

"Hey, don't hate the messenger. Tears are tears."

Matteo sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Macy couldn't help herself. She giggled at their bickering.

"Come on, Macy, back me up," Rocco urged. "The Notebook is classic."

"Sorry, I'm more of a Marvel girl," she admitted.

He gasped and clutched the material by his heart. "Traitor!"

She turned to look at Matteo, cocking her head as she waited.

"What?" he asked.

"Your turn."

"Yeah, your turn," Rocco taunted.

"You," Matteo pointed at him, "shut up. And you," he turned back to her and huffed. "I am twenty-seven, a Leo, born in Italy but raised here in Chicago, I don't care about UFOs, and I have no favorite movie. Happy?"

She laughed, and then groaned as her cheek started to throb.

"So," he continued. "Why are you working two jobs? And the truth."

"Well, I have the coffee shop job for the crappy insurance and I work at the arcade to afford to live."

"Is that what you're going to do the rest of your life?" Matteo asked.

"The arcade? Hell, no. I used to like arcade games, and now I can't stand them. Coffee I still like, though."

"What are your long-term plans?"

She thought for a moment. Truthfully, she hadn't really thought of the future, only concentrating on getting through each day.

"I don't know," she admitted softly. "I kinda live day by day. How pathetic is that?"

Matteo gently cupped her face. "You're not pathetic, and I know you'll find a path."

She smiled.

"We're here," Rocco announced. He pulled up to a small brick building that had the classic Palladian design of symmetry, proportion, and balance. Each side of the building mirrored the other, with a pediment holding four pilaster columns. It screamed class and money, and her stomach dropped.

"When you said personal physician, I thought you meant stopping by his home to check my cheek out," she muttered. "This is too much. Does he even take insurance?"

"I told you not to worry about it," Matteo said.

Rocco opened up her door and held out his hand to help her out. As she stepped out of the car, she wondered what the hell she was doing. Why was she with these men who were used to money and prestige? This was such an entirely different world that, truthfully, it made her uncomfortable.

Matteo took her hand and led her into the clinic. Tasteful artwork hung on the walls of the waiting room. Patients sat on soft, buttery leather chairs. It was a far cry from her own doctor's office which had cracked vinyl seats and rain splotches on the tiled ceiling that probably contained asbestos.

The receptionist looked Matteo up and down, then gave him a Chesire Cat smile. "Hello, may I help you?"

The little inflection in her tone gave the words a double entendre.

"Doc is expecting me," Matteo said as he marched past her, opening the door that led to the rooms in the back.

"Wait!" the receptionist yelled. A moment later, she had grabbed Matteo's arm.

He froze and glared at her. "Remove your hand before I break it."

The woman blinked. "Oh. Um. You don't have an appointment."

"I won't warn you again," he snapped. "Remove your hand. You're being extremely rude to my girlfriend."

Macy raised her eyebrows in surprise, but she didn't contradict his statement. His words, or possibly his tone, seemed to do the trick. The woman let go of Matteo's arm and took a step back. Just then the man who must be the doctor stepped into the hall.

"Hey, Doc," he said. "Thanks for meeting us. This is Macy."

The tall, thin man had a balding head and wire-framed glasses. She relaxed immediately when she saw the gentle compassion in his gaze.

"Nice to meet you, Macy," he said, then he looked at the receptionist. "It's okay, I knew they were coming." Then he stepped closer to Macy and peeled off the bandage. "Oh, I see what you mean. Follow me, my dear. Let's take a look at that cheek."

He led her to another room that held a large x-ray machine. Doc went around turning things on before positioning her so he could get the perfect picture. Then he told her and Matteo to wait in his office while he read the scans.

They sat in the chairs in front of Doc's desk, and Matteo placed his finger under her chin to lift her cheek to the light. "Fuck, baby. I think you might scar."

She gave a one shoulder shrug. "What can you do?"

"You can move into a better section of town."

Macy lifted her chin off his finger and eased back. "I'm thinking you don't know what the word poor means."

He scowled. "There has to be reasonably priced apartments in a better neighborhood."

She didn't reply because Matteo was so out of touch with reality it wasn't even funny. Not that she held that against him. There were many people who were born with a silver spoon in their mouth, and she'd bet every dollar in her bank account that he was one of those privileged with money.

Doc rushed in with an x-ray photo and held it up to the light. "You have a very small fracture of the cheek bone, but I'm fairly confident it's going to heal on its own."

She gave a sigh of relief.

He grabbed his prescription pad and filled out a couple of sheets. "Are you allergic to any medicines?"

"Not really," she replied. "But I have eosinophilic asthma."

"Ah," he said and then tore up one of the prescriptions. "Then I'll write you something that doesn't trigger an attack, and you can just take some acetaminophen for pain."

"Wait," Matteo said. "What is eosin…whatever-you-said asthma?"

"It's a type of asthma where the person has high levels of white blood cells called eosinophils," Doc explained. "How do you treat it, Macy?"

"I just have a rescue inhaler," she replied. "Back up prednisone if the sputum gets too much."

"There are better treatments," he said. "Biologics. Corticosteroid inhalers.

"I know," she replied. "But I can barely afford my bronchodilator."

"I see," he said. "Well, I know a few pulmonologists. I can get you samples if you'd like."

Even though she declared to Matteo she didn't want to be a charity case, she was logical enough to not turn down free medicine. Especially inhalers that cost hundreds of dollars.

"Yes, please," she said quickly. "Thank you!"

Doc smiled and nodded. "I'll pass it along to Matteo so he can get them to you. As for your cheek, since the skin broke, I want you to take the antibiotic. Clean gently. You can ice it alternating with heat to help reduce swelling."

"I can't thank you enough," Macy said. She rose and held her hand out to Doc. "You can send me a bill. I might have to pay in increments, though."

"It's fine, my dear. I've been taking care of Matteo since he was in diapers. Any friend of his is a friend of mine."

Macy smiled and nodded because she knew a losing case when she heard one. Matteo stood, smoothed out his suit coat, and held out his hand to her. She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and after saying her thanks once more to Doc, she and Matteo left.

Back in the car, Matteo instructed Rocco to take them to some Italian restaurant.

"You'll love this place," Matteo said. "Authentic Italian cuisine."

"You said you were born in Italy?"

"Yep, but my father moved my mother and I back to the states for his business," he explained. "I spent my summers in Italy. Calabria, actually, in the southwest. At the bottom of the peninsula. What about you?"

"I've never been to Italy," she said, smiling. "I'm the same as Rocco. Chicago born and bred."

"All right, girl," Rocco said, bringing his fist back and she leaned forward to bump it with her own.

"Down, boy," Matteo muttered.

Rocco looked at her through the rearview mirror and winked.