Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 2

Davina's POV:

My blood ran cold. "What? But... I just received a call. Someone said he had a heart attack and asked for me." My voice rose slightly, the sterile calm of the reception area suddenly feeling suffocating.

The nurse shook her head gently. "I understand you're concerned, but hospital staff hasn't made any calls regarding Mr. Wilson this morning, other than routine updates to his emergency contact. Can you give me your name?"

"Davina Wilson, I'm his daughter" I said with a trembling voice.

She turned her attention back to her monitor and started punching some buutons on her keyboard. She stopped and looked bac at me. "Ms. Wilson, you are not Mr. Wilson's emergancy contact and we never contacted you."

"But... who else would call me?" The question hung in the air, heavy with a dawning unease. If it wasn't the hospital, who knew he was here? And why would they lie about a heart attack, only to say he asked for me? A shiver, colder than the air conditioning, ran down my spine. The simple narrative I had constructed in my frantic rush was beginning to unravel, replaced by a gnawing feeling that something was terribly wrong.

The nurse, after confirming my identity with a hesitant glance, directed me down a sterile corridor, the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment a stark soundtrack to my rising unease. Room 312. The numbers seemed to mock me, a destination I was both desperate and terrified to reach.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door. The room was dimly lit, the blinds partially drawn against the harsh L.A sun. The air hung heavy with the scent of antiseptic and something else… something metallic and faintly sickening. My eyes struggled to adjust, and then I saw him.

Lying in the narrow hospital bed, he was a shadow of the man I vaguely remembered. His face was a grotesque tapestry of purple and blue bruises, his lip swollen and split. A bandage was wrapped clumsily around his forehead, stained with angry red. This wasn't a heart attack. This was… violence. My stomach lurched, a wave of nausea washing over me. Who had done this to him?

A low groan escaped his lips, and his eyelids fluttered open. His eyes, clouded and unfocused at first, widened with shock as they landed on me. The recognition that flickered across his battered face wasn't one of relief or affection. It was… something akin to fear.

"Davina?" His voice was a raspy whisper, barely audible above the beeping of the monitor beside his bed.

Before I could speak, before I could even process the horrifying reality of his condition, his expression hardened. The fear morphed into anger, sharp and immediate.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped, his voice gaining a surprising edge despite his injuries. "Who told you I was here?"

"I... I got a call," I stammered, my own shock warring with the hurt of his immediate hostility. "They said you had a heart attack... that you asked for me."

"A call?" His voice was thick with disbelief, laced with a raw anger that seemed to fuel him despite his battered state. "Who the hell would call you? I haven't spoken to you in years, Davina. Years!" Each word was a painful rasp, yet the venom behind them was unmistakable.

My heart twisted. His injuries were horrific, but his rejection stung even more. "I don't know," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to keep the tremor at bay. "It was an anonymous call. They just said... they said you were in trouble, that you wanted to see me." My gaze flickered over his bruised face, the split lip, the swollen eye. Trouble was an understatement.

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