Page 4 of Amadeo (Dark Legends #4)

Gia

I followed Amadeo down the hall then into yet another hall.

This one was wide with polished wood floors and rose colored walls.

I did notice some nice paintings as we walked by then some photographs.

I slowed down to look at those. Some were very old black and white.

Then some were more modern. It was hard to tell what timeframe they were, but as I focused on one in particular, I spotted a face in a group.

“Doctor?” Amadeo called to me as he came back over to where I stood.

“This is you?” I tapped the glass, pointing the obviously younger Amadeo out.

He leaned in to peer at the photo, then he chuckled. “Yes, and all my brothers, even Gio.”

“Even Gio?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

“He left at eighteen and was gone for ten years.”

“Wow, like where did he go for a decade?”

“That was the thing none of us knew. He up and disappeared.”

Super curious, I looked over at him now.

Shrugging, he explained, “Our dad wanted him to be a part of the business. But Gio, or Legend as he is known by now…Well, he wanted to be a doctor.”

I tucked my head back in surprise. “Really?”

Nodding, Amadeo went on, “He’s a doctor slash biker. Hence the road name of Legend.”

I shook my head. “Does he have a specialty?”

Amadeo paused and looked a little lost as he replied, “I don’t know. I never asked but I’ve only seen him a few times since he came back. I was so damned happy to see him that I never got to details like that, I guess?”

“Well, he never showed up in Mr. Walker’s room,” I told him. “So he didn’t consult with me on his case.”

Amadeo scoffed. “Oh, he wouldn’t…Um, consult with you.”

“And why not?” I crossed my arms over my chest defensively.

“He has other reasons that have nothing to do with you…I mean…He won’t be interfering or having anything to do with Deacon Walker.”

I relaxed a little and realized I had gotten defensive immediately. “Oh, I just assumed…”

“Look,” Amadeo said. “How much do you know about Mr. Walker’s past?”

I shrugged. “Not much. Only that he is ex-FBI, his age, his medical records and he had been in a small plane wreck. Which caused his current condition.”

“There’s a lot about him that…Isn’t good.”

I nodded but kept silent. I happened to know there was a lot about this family that wasn't good as well.

Amadeo stared at me. “I saw that,” he whispered.

I snapped my gaze up to him. “What?”

“That instant anger. Why do you have issues about us? Or mainly when it comes to me?”

Damn, I needed to be more careful. I opened my mouth to reply.

Reaching over, he pressed his fingers over my lips. “You hated me on sight. Looked like you wanted me dead in fact. I admit, it has gotten a bit better with maybe you only wanting me to be half dead now.” He smirked at me.

He stood so close I could smell his light cologne.

He smelled so good. Now that I was close up to him, I could see his features better.

His eyes were dark but they held a spark of something I couldn’t identify.

I think I could get lost in this man’s gaze.

In his voice too. I could understand it now.

The attraction women would have for him.

Oh hell, what am I doing here? I stepped back, so he had to drop his hand.

“I don’t hate you. I mean I don't even know you,” I told him.

“And I am sorry you got that impression.” I thought up a good reason for having shown my true feelings when I first got here.

Because he could never know the truth. “To be honest, I wasn’t happy with the hospital administrator sending me out of the ward I was in to be a private physician. It wasn’t personal.”

He stared at me as if assessing my answer. “I wasn’t aware—”

I raised my hand and cut him off. “And I would appreciate it very much if no one knew that I was pissed about it. I could lose my spot at the hospital. My work was going well there.” I dropped my hand. I hoped that would end the subject and this showed me that I needed to watch myself from now on.

“You mean with the comatose?”

Nodding, I replied, “It’s my life’s work.”

He cocked his head at me as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Amadeo!”

He paused and looked over.

His father stood in the hall about two doors down. “Tito said you were on your way.”

“We were,” Amadeo replied as he smiled. “I was just showing your favorite painting to the good doctor.”

I blinked at him then glanced over at Mr. Descalia. That was news to me. We had been looking at old photographs.

Mr. Descalia walked over and gave me a nod as he looked up at the wall behind us.

Turning, I stared at the painting I believed to be his favorite.

“Città dei Canali. Venice. I love that town…” He shook his head. “You can’t really call it a town though. It’s a place. An experience really.”

I stared at it and realized it was a stunning piece of artwork. This one was of a canal where the gondolas were. The brightly painted buildings were colorful. The artist had made them with bright yellows, blues, reds and greens. “Very beautiful.”

“Most people don’t know that Venice is an island, a collection of more than a hundred small, marshy islands, connected by over four hundred bridges and separated by a hundred and fifty canals.

And you cannot drive a car there. It is an actual car-free city with canals serving as roads and boats taking the place of vehicles.

Can you imagine going everywhere by boat?

I enjoyed that immensely last time I was there.

Then the world's first public casino opened right there in Venice. It would figure that Italians were the first ones to make money off of gambling!” He chuckled.

“I love that whole concept.” He then looked up at me and added, “The first woman in the world to graduate from a university was from Venice. History. Often it is made with small steps by unknown people. I make this a point as I know you are the only female doctor in our hospital and a brain surgeon, no less.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t bother me. I’m treated fairly.”

Mr. Descalia gave me a nod. “They’d better treat you fair. Magnelli made sure of that.”

I stared at him. Magnelli was the hospital administrator. “Are you saying that he threatened everyone?”

Mr. Descalia pulled his head back a little and said, “Threatened?” He smirked. “We don’t have to do that, Dr. Ribisi.” He smiled again. “We just state something and that is all. One and done.”

That hospital had lots of issues, like most I suppose, but politics butted its ugly head everywhere. Still. I wanted to leave this subject and fast. “So, were you born in Venice?”

He looked back over at me then motioned for us to follow him as he gave us a short art tour.

“No… but I was born in Italy as if you couldn’t tell.

I collect these. Rome, the Eternal City,” he announced each painting as he pointed at them.

“Florence, the Cradle of the Renaissance. Then Milan, the Fashion Capital. And Naples…You have never had pizza until you’ve had Neapolitan pizza in Naples.

” He gave us a nod. “Turin, Bari, and Bologna the Fat One, for its delicious cuisine. Palermo, and Genoa.” He stood still and stared at the last painting depicting Genoa and whispered, “Palazzo Ducale.”

The silence stretched out as I glanced at Amadeo.

Looking a bit pained, he slowly shook his head at me.

“My Bella was from there,” Mr. Descalia spoke softly.

“Her and I met in the plaza at one of the best places to eat in all of Italy. Basilica di San Nicola.” He looked over at us.

“Legend has it that St. Nick saved the lives of three young daughters of a destitute man, by giving the family a bag of gold coins and thus preventing the girls from being sold into servitude or worse. After his death, the bishop became a saint – the patron saint of sailors and children. I feel like he is the original Santa Claus, despite that other nonsense they came up with.”

“Sir?”

We all turned to see a tall man in a black suit and tails no less. I had been told before this that he was an actual British butler.

“Yes, Max?” Mr. Descalia replied.

“You have a five O’clock meeting coming up.”

Mr. Descalia gave him a nod. “I was wasting time by reliving Italy again, wasn’t I?’

Max did not answer as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

Mr. Descalia turned then strode back down the hall to his study.

We watched him leave then looked back at Max.

He was no longer there. The butler had been there just sixty seconds ago.

I turned my head to stare at Amadeo.

He shrugged. “That’s like…just the way Max is. I know it’s kind of weird but he moves fast. The man is a legend among us boys. He—”

“Amadeo!” His father interrupted.

“Crap.” Amadeo laughed as he motioned to the study door and gave me a nod of his head.

I went through the doorway past him. The room was stunning. Especially for a study. All mahogany and steel. It differed immensely from the rose hallway with the old paintings.

Amadeo led me over to the chairs in front of a massive desk. Surprisingly, it wasn’t modern like the rest of the room. I stared at it.

“It is beautiful, no?” Mr. Descalia asked as he noticed me staring at his desk.

I nodded as I sat down.

“And si, it is an antique. Belonged to my grandfather. Max went back over to Italy and had it shipped here. He rode with it in fact. All the way from Italy to America.”

“Your butler?”

He nodded. “Just to be sure nothing happened to it. You know how shipping is in the world nowadays. I could only imagine the scratches, chips and even cracks. Those idiota stronzos would have destroyed it.” He paused and added, “Pardon the language.”

“So your butler went to get your father’s desk?” I asked because this was interesting to me.

“Yes, I inherited Max from my father. And yes, I know that sounds odd to inherit a butler or an actual human being. Believe me…I fought it but to no avail as you can see. Then I had no idea about the desk almost being sold off. Max went and got it for me a few years back.” He paused and looked at me. “Amadeo says you need to speak to me.”

So here it was. I already knew this wouldn’t go over so well. I had only spoken to Stephano Descalia a few times and I did have to say, none of those talks had ever been this friendly. “I think Mr. Walker should be put back into the hospit—”

“No,” Mr. Descalia instantly cut me off.

“Father, at least listen to what—”

“I already arranged this,” he now cut Amadeo off.

“She is his doctor,” Amadeo went on. “You need to listen to her reasoning on this.”

I blinked a little. He sure was backing me up on this.

Mr. Descalia looked over at me and said, “Very well.” He leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead.”

I stared at him. “You mean we can take him back?”

He shook his head. “I meant go ahead and give me your reasoning.”

I nodded and I let out a long breath. “I have found that fifty-four percent of comatose patients never wake up.”

Amadeo nodded. “I read up on this.” He looked over at me.

“Well, if I could call Google reading up ,” he quipped.

“I mean I have to sit in that chair for six hours a stretch and I can only play shoot 'em up games on my phone for so long, ya know?” He smirked and raised his cell phone up.

“So, these are the facts.” He read from his phone screen, “A large proportion of comatose patients, potentially fifty-four percent, may not survive. Estimates suggest that between twenty percent and forty percent of comatose patients do not regain consciousness at all. Then a significant number of survivors may experience severe disabilities. And while the other forty-six percent will gradually regain consciousness, the time frame varies from days to months. Even among those who do regain consciousness, many will have significant disabilities and only a small percentage will return to their previous level of functioning.”

I stared at him.

He finally looked from his phone to me.

I slowly shook my head and snapped at him, “So why did I spend 13 years in med school? If you can just…Google IT ?”

Amadeo’s eyes rounded at my tone as he put his phone back into his suit pocket. “Look, I was just trying to help here.”

I shook my head and looked back over at his father.

The man looked highly amused as he raised his dark brows at me.

Reaching over, I plucked Amadeo’s phone up out of his pocket.

He gasped but simply sat back to stare at me.

I tapped the screen then spoke into the phone, “How many years of schooling is required to become a brain surgeon?”

Pressing the audio, his phone then used the near to Alexa voice to reply, “Undergraduate Education would be a four year bachelor's degree at a college or university, often with a pre-medical focus, is required. After completing the undergraduate degree, aspiring neurosurgeons attend medical school for four years to earn a Doctor of Medicine or Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine degree. Following medical school, a one-year internship in general surgery is usually completed. Neurosurgery Residency is a specialized training program that typically lasts seven to eight years. Many neurosurgeons choose to pursue further specialization through a fellowship, which can add one to two years to their training, depending on the area of specialization.”

Amadeo shook his head at me and said, “No wonder you don’t laugh or smile. You have been in school from the age of five until next year. That’s almost your entire life!”

I stared at him as my mouth popped open in shock. I never thought of it this way. I also never believed anyone would put it like he did. Slaving my life away?

Looking at us both, Mr. Descalia tilted his head back and let out a hearty laugh.