Page 67 of Forbidden Sins
My next standalone, Twisted Fate , follows the story of a virgin heroine caught in an age gap romance with a brutal hero—and it’s packed with a few of your favorite tropes:
Italian Mafia
Forbidden Love
Touch Her and Die
Now, keep reading for a sneak peek of Twisted Fate , or click here to have immediate access!
Chapter One
Charlie
“Charlie, let’s go. I need you with me,” Dr. Miller yells from across the nurses station. I toss the file I was working on down, and take off in a run toward him.
“What do we have?” I ask as we jog to the operating room. The smell of antiseptic not only in the air but lingering on our scrubs as well.
“Another gunshot victim. One in the stomach, one in the chest. This shit is getting ridiculous. I bet I’ve pulled a hundred bullets from people this week alone.
I have no clue what’s going on in the world today.
Wash up, meet me at the table,” Dr. Miller orders, he goes to the other side of the room to wash as well, another nurse waiting for him with his O.R. coverings and gloves.
Once we’re both washed and covered from head to toe, we make our way to the bed that holds a younger man, around twenty-five, if I had to guess, bleeding profusely.
Dr. Miller’s voice is clipped. “Clamp that artery, Charlie. It’s hemorrhaging.” Blood gushes from the wound in rhythmic spurts, a sickening reminder of how little time we have. My hands steady as I secure the clamp, the metallic snap echoing in the room.
“Pressure’s holding for now,” I say, glancing at the monitor. The beeping slows slightly, though it’s still erratic. I swallow hard and refocus.
“Good. Retractor,” he says, extending a bloodied glove toward me. I hand it over without hesitation, watching as he creates more space to work, the tissue pulling back to reveal the bullet’s glinting edge.
“There,” he murmurs, his tone triumphant as the forceps grab hold. He pulls the bullet free with a small, wet sound, the tray clinking as it lands. But there’s no time to pause.
“Chest wound is next, I say, already moving into position, The patient’s shallow breaths rasp against the oxygen mask, each one weaker than the last.
Dr. Miller’s hands work with practiced precision. “Make sure the suction’s ready. This one’s close to the lung.” I adjust the suction, clearing blood from the incision as he works. The room is filled with the wet squelch of tissue and the relentless him of machines.
“Got it,” he says at last, the second bullet joining the first in the tray. He nods toward the nurse assisting on the side. “Chest tube. Let’s inflate that lung.”
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as we stabilize the patient. Dr. Miller’s sutures are fast and methodical, each stitch pulling the wounds closer to closure. The room begins to calm, the tension dissolving with every purposeful movement.
“Charlie, he’s stable for now,” Dr. Miller says, pulling off his gloves with a snap. The exhaustion is etched into every line of his face as he meets my eyes.
I nod, my own adrenaline ebbing as I glance at the patient’s pale, but breathing form. “I’ll go talk to the family.” My voice is firm, but there’s a weight in my chest. These conversations are always the hardest part. Even when there’s good news to be told.
I make my way down the hall toward the waiting room, passing the nursing station and other patients heading to their rooms to be seen by a doctor for their ailments.
“Galli family?” I announce as I stand between the waiting room and the door leading into the actual emergency room. The waiting room is filled with so many people, I scan a couple of times over the faces of everyone, seeing if the name alerts anyone.
I glance down to the folder in my hand making sure I got the name correct.
When I’m about to recall the name, I don't get the chance.My breath catches as a man strides toward me—no, not just any man. The kind of gorgeous that makes your heart forget to beat. His hazel eyes lock onto mine, blazing with an intensity that has my knees trembling. He’s silent, but his presence says everything. Anger. Pure, raw anger.
“Good evening. Are you a relative of Mr. Galli, sir?” I ask, my voice shakes, terrified he wants to take the anger he has running through his veins out on me.
The gorgeous, olive skinned man gives a curt nod.
“My name is Charlie and I was an assisting nurse for Mr. Galli’s surgery.
Mr. Galli did very well through surgery.
The doctor was able to remove both bullets fully intact.
It’ll be a long road to recovery, but we’re positive he’ll make a full recovery, as long as he follows the doctor’s orders.
Do you have any questions or would you like me to take you back to his room?
” The man is standing so close, I can smell the cedar cologne he has on.
It’s comforting, but my body still trembles from the look on his face.
He still says nothing, all I get is a grunt. I’m assuming that means he just wants to see the patient. “Words would be great, rude ass,” I mutter under my breath.
Strong warm hands grab my arms, spinning me around, I flinch and gasp in a lungful of air. He immediately releases his hold on me, his brows furrowed. “He’s in room 254. You can go on up, your family member will be in shortly.”
“What did you say to me under your breath, passerotto, ” he growls, completely disregarding what I've just told him.
I pale, not wanting to repeat my words to him. The hospital is the only place I can let the brave part of me be free. I’d never say those words at home. I’d have more than bruised arms where Jeff grabbed hold of while he shook me violently wanting the money I didn’t have.
“Nothing, sir. Would you like an escort or are you able to make your way there?” My voice barely a whisper. I’m so scared of what this man could do to me—he looks as dangerous as he looks good.
Without another word, he gives me a puzzled look, like he’s trying to figure something out but can’t quite put his finger on it.
He turns abruptly and makes his way over to the elevator bank.
Well, I guess that answers that question , I say in my mind this time, not letting the sarcastic remark leave my lips.
I go back to the nurse’s station and get all my charting completed and gather my things to head home. This is the time of day when I really don’t want to go home. Jeff hates when I work doubles because he doesn’t have me around to use as his punching bag when he needs a fix.
He only likes me working all the overtime when I get paid.
Jeff doesn’t allow me to see any of it. He has the only bank card and he changed the password on the app for the bank so I’m unable to see the balance.
I learned my lesson calling and going to the bank.
When he found out, he tore the cord off the lamp in the living room and beat me with it, then locked me in the basement.
I was told it was because I was putting my nose in places it didn’t belong.
I’ve tried leaving many times in the past four years, any money I have stashed away, he always finds.
I had a bus ticket hidden in a tub that I kept with the cleaning supplies and he found it.
He took it to the bus station and returned it and used the money to buy meth.
I tried sneaking out while he was passed out, I didn’t even make it out of the yard before I was being dragged by my hair back into the house.
I’ve not tried it since the last time, which was about a year ago, it resulted in a broken arm and fractured nose.
Each day the beatings get worse and worse.
The bruises, cuts, and broken bones are getting much harder to hide.
I made the mistake of thinking I did well covering a cut above my brow before work.
The attending doctor saw it right away and began to question it.
I was more than nervous when he pulled me aside and asked if I needed help.
As usual, I lied and told him I fell. Now I just call in if I know it’s going to be too hard to cover up.
One of these days, my very own husband is going to kill me, I just know it.
I grab my lunch box and purse from my locker and make my way out, the dread covering my sterile smelling body.
I start digging in my purse for my keys as I make it outside, the summer nights here in Chicago are a little muggy.
I like to remote start my car, the air’s already on full blast from earlier, so it can cool off a little.
As I’m searching, my mind goes to the man that was here for the gunshot patient.
He must’ve just come from a meeting, he was wearing an expensive looking tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt.
He had cufflinks for crying out loud, if that doesn’t scream money, the way he carries himself gives him away.