Chapter 3 - The Surgeon’s Arrival**
Sweat stung Clara’s eyes, but she refused to blink. Her fingers worked frantically inside the surgical cavity, navigating slick tissue and pulsing vessels until her gloved fingers finally found the torn artery.
“Got it,” she whispered hoarsely, securing the vascular clamp.
The rapid spurt of dark blood slowed, then stopped. On the monitor, the erratic, crashing waveform began to stabilize, climbing slowly back toward a steady rhythm. Toby’s chest rose and fell in a deeper, more sustainable breath.
Before Dominic could speak, the heavy doors banged open and Dr. Aris rushed back in, flanked by Dr. Vance, the veteran trauma attending surgeon on call, along with two surgical nurses.
Dr. Vance took one look at the secured clamp, the steady monitor, and Clara’s blood-spattered scrubs, then shifted his gaze to Dominic Gallo standing motionless against the wall.
“Who clamped this?” Vance demanded, stepping up to the table.
“I did,” Clara replied, stepping back to let the attending take over. Her knees suddenly felt weak, the adrenaline wearing off to leave a hollow, shaking fatigue in its wake.
Dr. Vance assessed the work with a sharp, approving nod. “Clean placement. You saved his life, Hayes. If you’d waited for me, he would have coded out in the hallway.” He turned to the nurses. “Get him prepped for OR 1 immediately. Let’s move.”
As the medical team swarmed the gurney to wheel Toby toward the operating suites, Dominic remained frozen in place. He watched his brother’s face as the gurney rolled past him, his jaw set in a hard line. As the bed passed, Dominic reached out and briefly, gently brushed his knuckles against Toby’s pale hand, murmuring something too low for anyone else to hear.
Then he turned his attention back to Clara.
Clara was peeling off her ruined latex gloves, tossing them into the biohazard bin, and scrubbing dried blood from her wrists with a paper towel. Her hands were still trembling—not from the adrenaline of the surgery, but from the lingering phantom memory of the raised hand that had never struck her.
Dominic stepped closer, stopping a respectful two feet away. The harsh fluorescent lights caught the sharp angles of his face, the dark smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes, and the lingering residue of grief.
“You’re shaking,” Dominic noted, his voice remarkably gentle compared to the cold demands he had barked earlier.
“It’s been a long shift,” Clara avoided his gaze, tossing the paper towel away and reaching for a fresh pair of gloves to reset her station.
“That wasn’t from the shift,” Dominic said softly. He took another step forward, his dark eyes searching hers with unnerving intensity. “When I raised my hand earlier... you thought I was going to hit you.”
Clara froze. The air in the empty trauma bay turned to ice. She turned slowly to face him, her chin lifting with defensive pride. “People in my position see a lot of things, Mr. Gallo. Reflexes happen.”
“That wasn’t a reflex of someone who deals with street thugs,” Dominic countered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly timbre. “That was the reflex of someone who lived with a monster. Who taught you to flinch like that, Clara?”
Hearing her first name spoken in that deep, resonant voice sent a shiver down her spine. She clenched her jaw. “My life before St. Jude’s is none of your concern.”
Dominic held her gaze for a long moment, recognizing the impenetrable walls she had erected around her past. He didn't push further. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his ruined suit jacket and pulled out a heavy, embossed gold-leaf card, placing it carefully on the edge of the Formica counter.
May you like
“Toby lives because of you,” Dominic said quietly. “That means my life—and the lives of every man who wears my ring—belong to you. If anyone ever touches you, threatens you, or makes you flinch again, you call that number. Day or night. The world stops.”
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