The Italian Doctor's Mistress

“Couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing!” one of them said breathlessly. “I mean, I know the boss is famous for keeping his cool in the face of just about anything anyone throws at him, but to be so unmoved when it’s his own daughter lying there! I feel sorry for her, poor little thing. My God, can you imagine having a father like that?”

“Are you kidding? He intimidates the living daylights out of me at the best of times, but I’ve always respected him. Put him on a pedestal, the way everybody else around here does. What we witnessed just now, though—that business about the socks being dirty—well, it was creepy! I bet if he were cut open, we’d find ice water in his veins! I feel…I don’t know…betrayed, somehow.”

“Most people do when the people they idolize turn out to have feet of clay,” Carlo said, stepping forward just as the elevator doors swished open. “That’s why it’s a mistake to turn ordinary men into gods. Enjoy your coffee break, ladies.”

He didn’t wait for their stammered apologies, or pay attention to their horrified, red-faced embarrassment. He had enough to contend with. His professional demeanor rigidly in place once more, he swept past them and back into the Emergency Unit just as Anita was wheeled in from Radiology.

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