If the devil did exist and had some plan for Abigail, he had chosen the right moment: when she had just escaped from Charlie’s — or rather Susan’s — house. Why the hell had she gone back there in the first place? She had promised herself she wouldn’t do it again after those greedy bitches had turned her down the first time. No, not her. Charlie was the one they had turned down. Abigail had always been on bad terms with Susan. But she had never expected her to refuse to pay for Charlie’s chance to survive. It wasn’t even Susan’s money; it was Charlie’s!

  She broke her promise and came to them again. Only to have one more scandal. Abigail was just as quick-tempered as her mother. And those two knew exactly how to take advantage of that.

  Why had Charlie, the kindest person on Earth, tied himself to such disgusting people?

  She had asked him once. When she was twelve, and he was just about to marry Susan.

  Abigail did not like it. She was smart enough to understand that Charlie would never be her stepfather. But she hated that Charlie would be a stepfather to someone else.

  Especially to Sarah Warren.

  “Why do you need them?” she asked.

  “Are you jealous?”

  She just frowned in response.

  “What if I am in love with Susan?”

  She looked at him, puzzled, then laughed.

  Charlie smiled at her.

  “Oh, I see. You're one of those young upstarts who are sure that love isn't for old people like me, right? And that a person becomes old immediately after twenty-five.”

  She shook her head.

  “You are young even if you are forty,” she said.

  “You're too generous, young lady.”

  “So, why?”

  “I have no other answer for you.”

  Did Charlie really love Susan? Even if he did, the woman had never loved him back. Neither had her daughter, who moved into Abigail’s room immediately after the wedding.

  It was not actually “Abigail’s room”; she only stayed there occasionally at night, when her mother had her episodes: when she walked around the apartment smiling, singing, even laughing. But if Abigail caught her eye, her mother's face would instantly turn bitter and full of disgust. From very early childhood, Abigail had learned that when her mother smiled and sang, she should keep out of sight. But there was a good side: on days like these, her mother did not prevent her from spending time with Charlie.

  It changed right after Charlie’s marriage. Susan believed that Charlie now had Sarah, and that he no longer needed Abigail.

  It was not true. Charlie did not have Sarah, and he did not even have Susan—not before their separation, not after it, and even Charlie’s illness changed nothing. Neither Susan nor Sarah ever visited Charlie in the hospital. As soon as it became clear that his stay in the hospital would be prolonged, they moved into his house. Even more, it turned out that while Charlie was incapacitated, it was Susan who managed all his affairs, including his finances.

  And she had no intention of spending even a penny on his treatment.

  “He has insurance,” Susan snapped at Abigail's tearful pleas. “If the insurance doesn’t cover his treatment, then he can’t afford it.”

  “But he will die without this damn surgery!” Abigail shouted.

  “It’s just because you doctors are so greedy,” Sarah pointed out sharply. “My mum believes we’ve already spent enough on you.”

  “It is not for us, and definitely not for me; it’s all for Charlie’s sake!”

  Mother and daughter exchanged glances.

  “How can we be sure it’s not for you, dear?” Sarah asked insinuatingly.

  “Just pay this damn bill!” Abigail shouted.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “We will think of it,” Susan said curtly.

  “No time for thinking!”

  “What percentage do you get from each transaction like this?” Sarah asked, curious.

  It was more than Abigail could handle. Sarah knew it perfectly. Abigail clenched her fists and looked around, as if seeking something she could use in a fight. Then she felt anger tears coming. She turned back and rushed out the door. She could hear Sarah following her across the lawn like a dog let off its leash. Only, instead of barking, insults and threats poured out of her filthy mouth.

  Abigail got into the car and burst into tears. When the tears ended, she was exhausted and devastated, and she did not notice the car that had pulled up and parked next to hers. She realized that something was wrong only when two men jumped out of the car and ran up to her. One of them blocked her driver’s door, the other got into the passenger seat.

  “Dr. Martinez? Abigail Martinez?” he asked.

  Before she could open her mouth, a bag was placed over her head.

  “Stay quiet, Doctor… You’ll be fine.”

  If she had been able to make a sound, she wouldn’t have screamed. She would have laughed. What an absurdity: to kidnap the person who not only had money for ransom, but needed money badly herself—and could have managed to get it.

  She held back a nervous chuckle all the way in the darkness.

  Her kidnapper had not deceived her—she was indeed treated well. They did not tie her hands. When she snapped out of her stupor and tried to fight, one of the men caught both her hands and held them gently.

  The way was surprisingly short. The car stopped, and they helped her get out.

  “Careful, Doctor, there are steps here… Turn right, please… Here you are. Sit down, Doctor, the chair is right behind you.”

  When the footsteps subsided, she pulled the bag off her head. It didn’t help much—the room was dark, although it was daytime outside and the sun was shining.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Footsteps were heard again, this time from the other side, and someone entered the room.

  “Nice to meet you, Doctor Martinez. Benvenuta.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer you in kind,” Abigail snapped back. “Not before I can see exactly whom I have met.”

  The man in the darkness chuckled.

  “Che bello! I was warned that you used to be a bit offensive when you are scared. But you have no reason to be scared of me, cara.”

  Abigail guessed, rather than heard, some movement in the room, and a floor lamp lit up against the opposite wall. The man, whose silhouette she could now see clearly, came closer and sat down in an armchair opposite her.

  He had a deep, resonant voice, but he turned out to be unexpectedly short and slender.

  “I would be happy to offer you something—a drink, or a chat, or both. But we cannot waste time.”

  He leaned forward and placed a credit card on the low table in front of Abigail.

  “What’s this?” she asked cautiously.

  “Your fee.”

  “A fee? For what?”

  “For the surgery.”

  “Am I supposed to do the surgery?”

  “Brava. You are supposed to remove a bullet from a human body. Can you?”

  Abigail couldn’t take her eyes off the light-blue piece of plastic. She wondered how much money was in there. Would it be enough for Charlie's treatment?

  “It is enough for your purpose, dottoressa,” the man said, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Even a bit more.”

  Abigail forced herself to look at her interlocutor, not at the piece of plastic that could save Charlie’s life.

  She sighed.

  “Actually, this is a misunderstanding. I am not a doctor. Not yet.”

  “We are aware of that.”

  “Then you understand that I'm not allowed to perform surgery on my own. It is illegal.”

  “It makes you a perfect choice, cara. It will prevent you from mentioning this operation to anyone.”

  “But it also means that something can go wrong during the procedure,” she snapped. “‘Removing a bullet from a human body’ can be tricky, you know. Even deadly.”

  The man nodded.

  “We are aware of this,” he repeated.

  “Then you’d better ask somebody more suitable for the job.”

  She tried not to look down at the card.

  The man sighed.

  “I told you, you are our best candidate. But I haven’t mentioned that you are the only one. If you refuse, we lose the man. We have no time to look for another surgeon.”

  “But… why not a hospital?”

  “A gunshot wound. Hospitals report such cases to the authorities. Per forza. But this is a family matter. They would like to avoid police involvement.”

  “So where will I perform the surgery?”

  “Here. You will find everything you need.”

  Her gaze fell on the card. If it could save the life…

  “Take it,” the man pushed the card toward her. “It’s yours.”

  She shook her head.

  “Not before the surgery is done.”

  “Is it some medical superstition?”

  “If something goes wrong and I lose the patient…”

  “In any case, you will earn this money.”

  She stared at him in puzzlement.

  “It’s very simple, cara,” he nodded toward the card. “Half of this amount was given by a person who really wants your patient to survive. The other half was given by the one who really wants your patient to die.”

  “Is it a kind of game for you?” she asked angrily. “And which part is yours?”

  He shrugged.

  “Both. Or none. If he survives, I’ll be happy for him. If he dies, I won’t be upset. No particular interest. I am just a go-between. If you think of it as a game, I am the arbiter.”

  Abigail carefully picked up the card from the table. The whole thing was so bizarre that she wouldn’t have been surprised if the card in her hands had burst into blue flames and vanished.

  “Is it some mafia matter?” she murmured to herself.

  The man burst into laughter.

  “It is just because I am Italian, vero?”

  She couldn’t help it—she liked him. He was so much like Charlie…

  She leaned forward, resting her palms on the table, and looked into his face.

  “Because if you are not mafia, you most likely are a devil,” she whispered.

  “You flatter me, cara,” he chuckled softly. “I’m just a minor clerk at his service.”

  “You deserve a promotion.”

  He leaned across the table and whispered back,

  “So when you meet His Darkest Highness in person, would you put in a good word for me?”

  Abigail resolutely shoved the card into her pocket and stood up.

  “All right then. Show me the man who put it on the table.”

  She could save the life. Isn’t it a doctor’s job, after all?