Chapter 10 - Vlad

I couldn't fucking believe that the Italians wound up at the same hospital Emory took me to. Sure, it was the closest in the area, but those assholes must have been desperate if they even went to a hospital. They were fucking mafia, after all, and doctors tended to call the authorities once they figured that out.

They must have people on the staff.

I remembered Parker and how she still practiced. She stuck with non-ER situations, though, unless she was helping out the family.

Ugh, fucking perfect.

Emory's apartment wasn't far from the hospital, and it was at least on a higher floor so that I could look down at the street and still have time to move if I saw the Italians coming. I worried they had followed us even though I'd let Emory let me drive and taken a very roundabout way to get here.

"Hey, you. You have some answers to spill."

I held up a finger, trying to get her to chill for just a few more minutes so that I could be sure the apartment was secure. Walking from window to window, I checked the locks and the view of the streets below. There was only one way in and out, which could be a blessing and a curse, and I didn't see any signs of tampering with the locks or contents of her apartment.

We'd gotten her first, and the Italians had yet to find us. Good .

With the search over, the adrenaline keeping me upright ebbed, and I walked to Emory's couch, letting myself fall down into the cushions. My ass hit the seat hard, and I hissed as the stitches across my hip pulled.

"Jesus," Emory was at my side in a flash, looking up at me with beautiful brown eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

I grinned at her, leaning against the backrest and sighing. She rolled her eyes at me before shaking her head and sitting down next to me on the couch.

"Well, good. Now spill."

She handed me her phone, shoving the cell into my palm after pulling it out of her pocket. I looked down at the thing, cocking a brow as the memories of our first meeting pinged in my head. When I looked at her, Emory was raising her brow expectantly at me, her arms folded over her chest.

"Go on."

Chuckling slightly, I had Emory swipe open her phone, and then I navigated to the messaging app. Pulling up a message to me of all people, I started typing.

"What do you want to know?"

Emory glared. "Why we had to run out of the damn hospital? Who those guys were? Oh, and how about what on earth makes you believe that they're looking to shoot me, too?"

I took them each in order as I entered my response and then flashed Emory the screen.

"Because it wasn't safe. They're assholes who shot me. And because they shoot pretty much anyone they run across."

After reading over the text, Emory cocked her head, glaring all the more at me. She clenched her jaw, and I could see her actively restraining her temper. Once a moment or two passed, she licked her lips and shook herself.

"That's so not helpful, and you know it. Vlad, I'm not some wilting flower who can't handle the truth. I need you to be honest with me. Because I have certain duties I need to uphold as your therapist."

Tension pulled on my spine, and I just stared at her. This wasn't at all what I was planning on for the day, and with each passing second, it looked like I was getting more and more fucked by the universe. Emory was innocent in this situation. She was utterly unaware of my mafia connections, and I really wanted to keep it that way.

Hell, you're not even supposed to be seeing her again. No more, remember?

I looked down at the phone, typing the only thing I could say.

"You're not going to like the truth, Emory. No one does. Let's just leave it at that."

She shook her head as soon as she'd finished reading. "Absolutely not. You're going to be honest with me. I don't like a lot of things, but I deal with them. Understood?"

Cocking a brow, intrigue built inside me. I was very impressed with this little therapist and the balls she so clearly had. For as submissive as she'd been in the bedroom—and as restrained during our first session—Emory was quite the spitfire when she wanted to be.

Typing up one more question of my own, I flashed Emory the screen.

"That doctor-patient confidentiality thing still applies?"

Rolling her eyes again, Emory nodded once, looking so very done with my shit, which shouldn't have been as attractive as it was.

"Yes."

It was a stupid idea. I should just go and leave Emory hanging, stick to that never seeing her again thing, and cut my losses. There was no reason to tell her the truth, and there was every reason to lie my damn ass off. It wasn't like I was some suave CIA agent or something. I was a hitman and mercenary for the mob.

Far less romantic.

But I was still typing something on Emory's phone, which wasn't a fabrication.

Turning the screen toward her again, I let Emory have the half a second necessary to read the message, watching her eyebrows go up. She looked past the phone to me, and I raised my brows at her, the corner of my mouth lifting in my version of a "yeah, told you."

"You're…" Emory eyed me, blinking as she tried to wrap her brain around what I'd told her. "You're a part of the mafia? You…you can't be serious."

I just held her stare.

She shook her head, abruptly standing from her couch and pacing back and forth through her tiny living room. As I watched her try to process everything that had happened today, I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Why did I think this was a good idea?

Because you didn't think with your upstairs brain now, did you?

"So wait, who were those people in the hospital? Mafia?"

I nodded but also held up a finger, typing up the details.

"Yes, but they're Italian. I work for the Vadims. Russian. They don't get along well."

Emory stops pacing to read the screen, and then she's glaring at me. Her hands go to her hips, and she sucks in a deep breath as her eyes roll closed.

"And you got me mixed up with all this. Dammit, Vlad. I have responsibilities, and I'm supposed to call the authorities if I find out one of my patients is doing something that could threaten another human's life."

Standing up from the couch with a quick shove, I shake my head at her.

"Yeah, yeah. I know you don't want me to call." Emory pinches the bridge of her nose, turning away from me. "You're going to need to do a lot more explaining, though. And I need a drink."