Chapter 23: Domenico - Marrying the Mafia Daddy

Although Kira agreed to go see Dr. Morgan yesterday, she changed her mind when she got up this morning. Instead, she asked if Dr. Morgan could come here. Which is why the good doctor is now being greeted by Donna, who knows to bring her into the living room where we’re waiting.

“She’s here,” I murmur to Kira as I stand, ready to greet our guest.

As I glance down at her, I see she’s still staring out the window. Her eyebrows are pulled together as though she’s deep in thought. But honestly, I’m not sure she is.

“Kira.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” She still doesn’t look away from the window, just pulls her knees to her chest.

She looks so small, so vulnerable.

“Hello,” Dr. Morgan says as she joins us in the living room.

“Thank you for coming,” I say.

She nods once. Her gaze flicks to Kira, then back to me. “It’s no trouble at all.”

I gesture for Dr. Morgan to sit down in the chair, and while she makes herself comfortable, I sit down beside Kira again. My hand finds hers on the couch cushion, and I lace our fingers together. Usually, she curls hers around mine without thinking.

Today, they just lie there between my fingers, cold and limp.

Donna appears from the kitchen with a tray of drinks and a plate of oatmeal cookies. While she pours coffee for myself and Dr. Morgan, she keeps glancing at Kira. I know she’s worried, but right now I just want her to leave.

As soon as she’s gone, I turn to Dr. Morgan. “Say what you came to say.” My voice comes out flatter than I intend. It’s not rude per se, just stripped of patience.

Dr. Morgan sets her coffee down and opens her briefcase. She pulls out a folder thick with papers, some hospital-branded, others bearing the NovaGen Pharmaceuticals logo I’ve come to fucking despise.

“I want to walk you through this step by step,” she says. Her voice is measured. Careful. The voice of a woman who’s delivered bad news enough times to know that dropping it all at once is the quickest way to make sure none of it lands.

She lays the first document on the coffee table.

“These weren’t simply authorizations for unusual medication,” Dr. Morgan continues. She adds another document. Then another. Each one bearing Harry’s signature, each one more specific than the last. “Your dad repeatedly consented on your mom’s behalf to experimental drug trials run through NovaGen Pharmaceuticals. Including a drug called PermaDol, which was in phase two testing when these authorizations were signed.”

My hand tightens around Kira’s before I catch myself and ease my grip. The hatred I’ve carried for Harry Adams since he was in my office crystallizes into something colder. Something that sits behind my sternum like a shard of ice.

But Kira doesn’t squeeze my hand back. Doesn’t flinch when I tighten my hold or seem to notice when I loosen it again. That scares me more than anything Dr. Morgan has said so far.

My phone vibrates against my thigh. Once. Twice. Then again. I know it’s Paolo or Gio calling with an update. But they’ll have to wait until Dr. Morgan leaves. Even though I’m waiting for them to have completed their jobs, I refuse to leave Kira alone right now.

Dr. Morgan lays out the treatment records next. Dates. Medication changes. Dosage increases that correspond with the experimental protocols. She shows us how Paige’s seizures worsened after certain drug introductions.

How her responsiveness dropped. How, in the final weeks, her cardiovascular system began showing signs of strain that the regular hospital staff attributed to the underlying brain injury.

“Some of these records were kept separate from her ordinary hospital chart,” Dr. Morgan explains. Her fingers tap a column of numbers. “That’s why the full pattern was difficult to see until I reconstructed it from both sets.”

She pauses to look at Kira, but when she doesn’t react, Dr. Morgan looks at me and quirks an eyebrow. I nod for her to continue.

“There’s something else,” she continues.

My jaw tightens. “What?”

“I don’t believe the separation of these records was accidental. There are too many inconsistencies in what was documented in Paige’s ordinary chart compared to the NovaGen records.”

For the first time, Kira’s fingers twitch inside mine.

“You think they hid it from her?” I ask.

Dr. Morgan looks at Kira. “I think there were people involved who knew more than they let on.”

That tracks with what I found out about the nurse who answered to NovaGen instead of the hospital. I should have tortured the bitch for more information.

“So, are you saying NovaGen killed Paige?” I ask bluntly.

“I need to be careful about causation since I can’t truthfully say that one specific drug killed your mom, Kira. What I can say is that the experimental treatment placed additional strain on an already severely injured brain.”

“How much?”

Dr. Morgan looks at me.

“You said it placed additional strain. So, how much strain? How much worse did it make her?”

“The seizures became more frequent and more severe. The cardiovascular instability that preceded her death was consistent with the side effect profile of several drugs in the trial.”

“So this wasn’t just a possibility buried in a list of side effects.”

“No.” Her expression tightens. “There’s a clear enough pattern that I’m comfortable saying the treatment harmed her. I’m not comfortable saying which individual drug caused which complication, or that any one of them directly caused her death.”

I feel fucking sick.

Kira’s free hand moves to her lap. Her index finger finds the skin beside her thumbnail and starts picking. A small mechanical motion. Worrying at the cuticle until a thin line of red appears.

I reach over and cover her hand with mine, stopping the movement. She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t even acknowledge I’ve done it. Dr. Morgan falls silent, giving Kira room, but my wife won’t stop looking out the damn window.

When she finally speaks, her voice is so quiet I almost miss it. “Did he know?” she asks, still not looking at us. “Did Dad know they were experiments?”

Dr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. The authorization documents were explicit about their experimental nature. The risks were outlined in great detail, and he signed each one.”

Beneath my hands, Kira goes completely still. I rub my thumb over the back of her hand. Once. Twice. Still no reaction at all. Not even the tense stillness of someone holding something back.

No, this is the hollow stillness of something breaking that was already cracked.

I thank Dr. Morgan. The words come out rougher than they should, but she doesn’t seem to expect politeness. She gathers her papers, slides them back into her briefcase, and stands.

“Do you have any questions, Kira?” she asks.

My wife finally looks away from the window. “No. But thank you for coming.” Her voice is so monotone I want to shake her just to make sure she’s feeling something.

Dr. Morgan nods. “Okay. Well, I’ve emailed all of this to Domenico so you have the records if you need them. As for the hospital—”

“Please stop talking,” Kira interjects in a hollow tone.

Rather than looking offended, Dr. Morgan nods and follows me to the elevator. At the elevator, she turns. Her composure slips, just for a second. Something tired and genuine moves across her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. Just loud enough for me to hear her. “And Domenico?”

“Mm?”

“Keep an eye on her. She’s in shock, and she’s had an extraordinary amount happen in a very short period of time. If she stays this withdrawn, she may need more support than you can give her alone.”

I don’t particularly appreciate her assessment of my wife, and I’m even less interested in discussing Kira’s wellbeing with anyone else.

“Thank you again for coming.”

Dr. Morgan gets on the elevator and shoots me a stiff smile just before the doors close. Even though I should return to Kira, I stay in the hallway for a couple of minutes. I need to get my head straight before I go back in there.

My phone vibrates again. Fucking hell. I pull it from my pocket and answer with a gruff, “Yeah?”

“I’ve found it,” Paolo says. “I have everything you need, and Gio—”

“Text me where to meet you,” I interject.

Then I hang up and return to my wife, who’s now lying down on the couch with her back to the room.

“Baby?”

No reply.

I walk over to her and gently stroke her shoulder. Judging by her breathing, she’s fast asleep. I know I should leave her be, but I can’t. I promised her I wouldn’t leave without telling her, and I can’t not go.

“Kira.” I speak her name firmer, shaking her slightly.

“What?” she snips. “I just want to sleep.”

“I have to go out for a bit, but Vinny’s here.”

“Okay.”

I sigh. “Okay?”

“Mm.”

“You don’t want to know where I’m going?”

She pulls the blanket higher over her shoulder. “I don’t care, Domenico. Just let me sleep.”

The words hit harder than they fucking should.

I stare down at the back of her head, irritation flaring hot and immediate. Not because she needs my permission to sleep or because I expect her to interrogate me every time I leave the penthouse. In fact, that would be very unlike her.

But fuck, I hate leaving her when she’s like this. I crouch beside the couch and turn her face toward me just enough that I can see her.

“I’ll be back.”

Her eyes barely open. “Okay.”

Fuck.

I kiss her forehead, force myself to stand, and leave before I decide Paolo can wait too.