“No, sir. She was just badly beaten. Do you know who did this to her? The police are going to want to know for their investigation.”
There was no way I could tell her what really happened. If I did that, police would investigate my family and Maxim Fedorov. The truce, friendship, whatever it was between us, was fragile. He had my sister, and there was no way I would endanger her life. So, like all the times before, I shook my head no. “No. I found her like that and got her here as fast as I could.”
“Where was she found?”
“In her apartment,” I lied. “I stopped by to bring her dinner.”
“I see,” the woman said, then added. “Alright, they will be moving her soon. When she has a room, I will come to find you.”
“Can’t I go with her?”
“No. Only patients.”
“I don’t want her left alone.”
“I understand that sir, but the hospital has regulations you must follow. I will find you in the waiting room,” she politely said, pointing to a room clearly marked ‘Waiting Room.’
A couple of hours passed as I found myself sitting in a room packed with people, each waiting to hear any news on their loved ones. I hated not knowing. I sighed at my watch, knowing she’d been out of my sight for a few hours now. God, if we were back in Chicago, I wouldn’t have had to leave her. The family corporation had been significant benefactors to the hospitals. Didn’t matter which one we were in. They knew the family.
Here in New York City, I was a nobody.
Just some random person.
This was not going to work for me.
I needed to change the narrative. I wanted to see Layla now. I’ve waited long enough. It was time to throw money on the situation.
Getting to my feet, I headed to the reception desk. Seeing a young man behind the desk typing away on the computer in front of him, I asked, “May I please speak with the Director of the Hospital?”
“He isn’t here,” the man said, never looking at me.
Sighing, I asked again. “Call him.”
Still ignoring me, he replied, “I don’t have his number. Go have a seat, and we will call you when we know anything.”
Anger billowed around me. Leaning on the counter, I growled, “My name is Giovanni Valentinetti. Get me the Director of this hospital right now.”
The young man looked up and paled.
That’s right.
He knew my name. My face was famous. I’d been in several magazines, on television, papers splashed my family across page six for years. More importantly, my company was a household name.
Why I didn’t think of this before, I didn’t know.
I never liked using my face or affiliations to get what I wanted. That was why I let the people I hired to take the reins. Illyria was the face of the family technically, but she wasn’t here to get me what I wanted.
For Layla, I would use any means necessary to get to her.
The young man nodded, picking up a phone and babbling into it. Leaning against the counter, I waited patiently for any response when an older man standing near to me asked, “You famous or something?”
Looking at the man, I shook my head and grinned, “No, sir. Money makes people move faster.”
“That’s the truth,” he nodded.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“My daughter. She should be here soon. Shocked her when I called. She thought I was dead.”