CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE.
Lorenzo kept pacing up and down, hours passing. "Young man, have a seat. Your wife would be fine," an old woman who witnessed the whole commotion tried to cool him.
Exhaling, he regarded the fragile woman with a freckle-filled face, weaving a sweater. If it were someone else, he might have punched in the fave or even shot such a speaker.
Seeing how weak and the fact that the woman meant well, Lorenzo just sneered at her and exhaled out of frustration.
Another hour passed without a single doctor or nurse telling him what was happening. He vigorously raked his hair, disheartened.
Abruptly, his phone began to ring. He pulled the piece of metal which was a nuisance from his pocket, gripping it tightly. He aimed to break it into pieces but, halfway crushing the phone, he changed his mind.
"What?" he said in a low growl, trying to stay composed.