My Husband's Betrayal Under My Scalpel novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: First Day
I had been married to the most feared man in the harbor for five years, and no one in the world knew it.
I wanted it that way.
I wasn't interested in the privileges of being Mrs. Ferraresi—the bodyguards, the gala dinners, the stares.
I preferred the blue uniform, the gloved hands, and the white light of an operating room.
I preferred being Giuliana Ansaldi, trauma surgeon, daughter of a carpenter from Concepción.
That Monday morning I walked into Viña del Mar's San Rafael Hospital for the first time, wearing my new lab coat.
I was six months pregnant, hidden under a loose jacket.
Giordano had seen me off at the door of our Reñaca apartment with a long kiss and a "good luck, doctor."
I could still taste that kiss when a nurse handed me the chart for my first shift.
"Doctor Ansaldi, welcome. We have an emergency admission. Fall down stairs, twenty-four-year-old woman, seven months pregnant."
"On my way."
In the hallway, a colleague around my age, with curly hair and colorful clogs, caught up to me.
"You're the new one, right? Oh, you're so lucky."
"Why?"
"Because today you get the most famous patient in the region." She leaned in with a gossipy smile.
"You won't believe it."
"You'll never guess who the husband is."
"No idea."
"Giordano Ferraresi."
I stopped.
I felt the hallway narrow.
"Excuse me?"
"The Don."
"The one from the harbor, the casinos."
"They say he got married six months ago to another capo's daughter, a Salvi, from the southern docks."
"It's a peace marriage, like in the movies." She lowered her voice.
"The girl's pregnant and she's always covered in bruises."
"They say her dad..."
"Thanks."
I didn't let her finish.
I walked toward the observation room without feeling my feet.
If she was his wife, then who was I?
I brought a hand to my belly.
The baby kicked.
Once, hard, like a question.
I told myself they were rumors.
That in the harbor, rumors grew like mold.
I told myself there was an explanation, that Giordano would have told me, that a man doesn't marry another woman without telling his own.
It had to be that way.
I pulled back the curtain.
On the gurney was a small young woman with platinum blonde hair cut like a boy's.
She wore a hospital gown and had one hand on her belly.
Her gray eyes were wide open, and there was a violet bruise on her cheek.
"Good morning. I'm Dr. Ansaldi. What's your name?"
"Ludovica," she whispered. "Ludovica Salvi."
"Where does it hurt?"
"My ribs. And my back."
"I'm going to examine you."
I put on my gloves.
My hands were steady.
They always had been, even on the worst nights.
I palpated her ribs carefully.
On the left side, under the gown, I found the mark: four round, dark bruises in a row.
Fingers.
Not from a staircase.
From a hand.
"Did you fall down a staircase?"
"Yes."
"How many steps?"
"I don't remember."
I looked up.
She was staring at the ceiling.
She knew how to lie, but not all that well.
"I'm going to do an ultrasound to check on the baby."
I spread the gel.
I ran the transducer over her belly, and on the screen appeared a small, perfect silhouette, its heart beating like a hummingbird's.
"He's fine," I said. "One hundred forty beats per minute. He's moving."
Ludovica let out her breath and started crying silently.
"Thank you, doctor."
"It's my job."
"I thought I'd lost him."
I looked away.
I wanted to feel resentment and couldn't.
The woman on the gurney was twenty-four years old, beaten, and crying over a baby.
From the hallway came quick footsteps and deep voices.
A door swung open.
"Where is she?"
That voice.
I knew it in the dark, in a cough, in sleep.
The curtain was pulled back.
Giordano Ferraresi walked in wearing a dark suit, his tie loose, with two men behind him.
He reached the gurney.
"My princess," he said.
He took Ludovica's hand and kissed it.
It was a tender gesture.
Natural.
He had done it with me a thousand times.
"How are you? And the baby?"
"He's fine, my love. The doctor says he's fine."
Then he looked up.
He saw me.
I saw his face fall apart for a fraction of a second—just a tremor in his jaw, a change in his breathing.
Then he pulled himself together.
He straightened up.
And with perfect coldness, the same he used on his enemies, he extended his hand to me.
"Dr. Ansaldi, right? A pleasure."
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