Two visits.

Dr. Rossi, a seasoned physician with a knowing glint in his eyes, entered Aldo's room. The air seemed to hold a subtle reverence, a shared understanding between the doctor and the formidable man lying on the bed.

"Well, Mr. Accardi," Dr. Rossi began with a warm smile, "Let's see how the patient is doing today."

Aldo returned the smile, his eyes dancing with an unspoken camaraderie. "Doc, you know how it is. A man gets shot, it's all part of the job, right?"

“This has nothing to do with the job Aldo, you got hurt because of a woman. You look exactly like your mother, but your character in its entirety is from your father.”

“Is it?” Aldo cocked a brow in amusement.”

“Certainly,” the doctor snapped one of the gloves in his hand. “He, too, was rather diligent when it came to work. He was almost impenetrable, that is, until the issue involved his wife. Then even the smallest tasks result in injury. The first time I saw him with a bullet in his chest was the day he brought your mother