#Chapter 36 - Moretti Knows

Layla The stench of surgical-strength antiseptic burned my nose. My lashes fluttered against fluorescent lights that turned the room around me to blinding white. I was at work; had I fallen asleep in my office with all the lights on? Wouldn’t be the first time, I supposed. I shifted to try and find a more comfortable position—and pain shot through my shoulder, hard enough I gasped out loud. “What—” My eyes snapped open to take in the room. Not my office. Not at all. It was a hospital room, and I was lying in the bed. I was a patient at my own hospital. It all came flooding back in a wave. Marco. The kidnapping. Aldo rushing in. The gunshot—Eli. “Eli!” I tried to sit up, but a warm hand on my good shoulder held me down. “Layla. Take it easy.” Aldo. I knew the voice before I turned my head to face him. No, not Aldo. Vasco. The man seated beside my bed was so soft and human, worry etched into every one of the lines creasing his forehead and cheeks. He looked like he