Chapter 6 Kneel Down for Me and Beg Me

Ximena Gonzalez's POV:

My fingers clenched around my phone.

"Who is this?"

A laugh came through the line. "Mateo's staying with us. He owes us money. Quite a bit. You're his niece—shouldn't you pay his debts?"

My heart sank. "How much?"

"Two hundred thousand dollars."

Two hundred thousand.

My vision blurred. My hand started shaking.

"I don't have that kind of money," I said. "Mateo owes you—go ask him. I'm just a nurse..."

The man chuckled. "Nurses get paid, don't they? Besides, Mateo mentioned your grandmother's old house. Worth maybe a hundred and fifty grand. We're not picky—cash or deed, either works."

"That house is my grandmother's!" My voice shot up. "She just had brain surgery. If you take the house, where will she live?"

He didn't care. "That's your problem. Three days. Bring cash or the deed to Warehouse Three at the Old Harbor. Remember—no police. Tell no one. Otherwise..."

A muffled scream came through—Mateo's voice.

Then the line went dead.

I stood frozen.

Two hundred thousand dollars...

All my savings didn't even reach thirty thousand. Grandma's house was thirty years old, in a bad neighborhood, tiny. Even if I sold it, it might not fetch a hundred and eighty thousand.

And it was Grandma's only home. If she found out it was gone, what if her condition worsened?

I leaned against the wall and slowly sank down, burying my face in my knees.

I don't know how long I sat there before my phone buzzed again.

A picture message.

I opened it. A short video appeared on screen.

The footage was dark and shaky.

Mateo was tied to an iron chair. His face was covered in blood. His left eye was swollen shut. His lip was split, blood dripping down his chin.

Someone stood behind him—only a gloved hand visible, holding a rusty pair of pliers, pulling out his fingernail.

I stared at the screen. My stomach churned. I dry-heaved twice but nothing came up—just acid burning my throat.

I flipped the phone facedown on the floor, pressed my hands to my knees, and gasped for air.

Calm down, Ximena. You have to calm down.

Grandma was still in the hospital. I couldn't lose my job. Mateo was in their hands. I couldn't panic. If I panicked, everything would fall apart.

I bit my lip hard. The taste of iron spread across my tongue. The pain pulled me back from the suffocating fear.

I stood, rubbed my face hard, shoved my phone in my pocket, and headed toward the ward.

The patient in Bed 5 was a man in his sixties who'd had hip replacement surgery three days ago. He needed a dressing change.

I carried the treatment tray into the room. The man was chatting with his family. When he saw me, he smiled.

"Oh, you're doing my dressing today, nurse?"

"Yes, sir." I nodded and set the tray on the bedside table, preparing gauze and tape.

But my hands were shaking.

I stared at them, trying to make them stop. They wouldn't.

My fingers felt foreign. I fumbled with the tape, couldn't get it to tear. The scissors nearly slipped out of my hand when I tried to cut the gauze.

"Nurse?" The patient's relative glanced at me, confused.

"I'm fine." I forced a smile, took a deep breath, and focused on the task.

Changing a dressing wasn't complicated, but today I was clumsy.

When I removed the old dressing, I pulled the tape too hard. The man winced.

"Sorry." I immediately softened my touch.

After finishing, I started clearing the tray.

But when I looked down, I saw the forceps.

The shape—it looked just like the pliers they'd used on Mateo's nails...

The tip gripping his nail, barely any force needed, just a light pull, and the entire nail came off. Blood gushed out, along with Mateo's screams.

My fingers slipped. The forceps clattered to the floor.

The patient's relative looked at me. Neither of them said anything, but their expressions had changed.

I bent down, picked up the forceps, and hurried out of the room.

Over the next hour, I made two more mistakes.

I nearly gave a patient the wrong dosage. Luckily, I caught it during the check. Then I mixed up blood pressure readings. A colleague corrected me.

I knew I wasn't functioning properly. But I couldn't control it.

At 5:30 p.m., I'd just left Room 3 when Brenda intercepted me.

She wore a faint, mocking smile, as if she'd been waiting.

"Ximena."

Brenda raised her hand and waved a piece of paper in front of me.

"The patient in Bed 5 filed a complaint. Said your procedure was sloppy, your attitude unprofessional, and it made him uncomfortable. He requested a different nurse."

I pressed my lips together. Said nothing.

"And this afternoon, you nearly gave Bed 7 the wrong medication. Clara had to double-check for you. You mixed up blood pressure readings—good thing a colleague caught it. Three mistakes in one hour, Ximena. You've been here for years. When have you ever made such rookie errors?"

I gripped the hem of my scrubs and took a deep breath.

"Head Nurse, I'm not myself today, but I'll adjust..."

"Not yourself?" Brenda scoffed. "You took four days off, and on your first day back, you're 'not yourself'? You think that excuse flies with anyone?"

She stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"I know what you've been dealing with. Your grandmother's sick, right? But that's not an excuse to screw up on the job. This hospital isn't a charity. Patients put their lives in our hands. We owe them our best. The way you are now—who's going to trust you to keep working?"

"I..."

"And." Brenda's tone sharpened, her gaze cutting. "I heard your uncle got tangled up with the mob. Those mysterious phone calls you've been getting—that's what they're about, isn't it?"

I jerked my head up, staring at her.

How did she know?

"Don't look at me like that." Brenda shrugged. "This hospital's small. Word travels fast. If it gets out that your uncle's involved with organized crime, it'll reflect badly on you—and on the hospital. Ximena, I'm not trying to make your life hard, but think about it. A nurse whose family has mob ties? What will patients think? Will they trust this hospital to treat them?"

"That's my private business! It has nothing to do with my uncle!"

"Whether it does or doesn't, that's not for you to decide." Brenda stepped in front of me and pulled an envelope from her pocket. "This is a recommendation to the hospital board. I'm suggesting you be suspended. Depending on the severity, possibly terminated. I'll be submitting it shortly."

Terminated?

Panic flooded me.

"Head Nurse, please." I grabbed her hand. "Give me one more chance. I won't make another mistake. I promise—starting tomorrow, I'll pull myself together. I won't let it affect my work."

"Begging me won't help." Brenda tried to shake me off. "These are the rules. You broke them. Now you face the consequences."

I wouldn't let go. I kept pleading, tears streaming down my face.

"Head Nurse, my grandmother just had brain surgery. She's still at St. Mary's Hospital. My uncle's missing. I'm the only one left. This job is my only income. Without it, I can't even afford her medical bills. I know I messed up today. I'll accept any punishment—dock my pay, write me up, suspend me, whatever. But please don't fire me. I'm begging you."

A few passing nurses stopped and watched from a distance. None of them came closer.

Brenda looked at me. After two seconds of silence, she suddenly smiled.

"It's rare to see you beg. If I don't give you something, I'd seem heartless."

A flicker of hope rose in my chest.

But then she said, "Get on your knees and beg me. Then I'll agree."