Page 48 of Mercy of the Mafia Doctor
I don’t have the angle for a clean shot, so I close the distance.
I’m on him before he can pull the trigger. I wrench the barrel upward, driving my shoulder into his chest. We slam into a rack of servers, the blinking lights reflecting in his wide, terrified eyes. My hand clamps around his throat.
I want the certainty that he can never raise that rifle again. I want the certainty that he will never look at her again. He claws at my arm, nails digging into my skin, but I don't feel it. I only feel the rage. I only feel the need to erase him.
His face turns purple. His eyes roll back.
"Alessio!"
Her voice pulls me back from the edge. I let the body drop. It hits the floor like a sack of wet sand.
I turn to her. She’s standing by the desk, chest heaving, the laptop bag clutched to her chest. She stares at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. Not the doctor. Not the man in her bed. The weapon this family made.
I care. I just cannot care more about being gentle than I care about getting her out alive.
I cross the room in three strides and grab her by the waist. I pull her against me so hard the air leaves her lungs. My hands move frantically over her arms, her ribs, her legs.
"Are you hit? Tell me. Where are you hit?"
"I'm fine," she gasps, her hands landing on my chest. "Just the glass. Alessio, I'm okay."
"You're bleeding," I growl. I swipe my thumb over the red line on her cheek. The sight of the blood on my skin makes me want to find Lorenzo Bellanti and peel the life out of him an inch at a time.
"It's a scratch. We have to go. More are coming."
She’s right. Her survival instincts are cleaner than my rage. I grab her hand and lead her out of the server room.
I radio Vincenzo before we clear the block—Gold Coast cut, breach contained, Amara alive—and then the drive back is a blur of high speeds and white knuckles. I weave through the late-night traffic of the Gold Coast, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. Every pair of headlights makes my heart hammer against my ribs. My skin feels too tight. The adrenaline is a poison demanding an outlet.
Amara is silent beside me, her hand still locked in mine. I won't let go. If I let go, the world will take her.
We reach the gates. The guards see my face and open up immediately. I send the cut confirmation to Dominic and Vincenzo before I drive to the garage beneath my wing. Then I don’t stop at the main house. I drive straight into the private garage and slam the car into park.
I’m out of the car before the engine stops humming. I round the hood and pull her out, my movements jerky and frantic.
"Alessio, slow down," she says as I drag her toward the elevator.
I can’t. The elevator ride is an eternity in a metal box with the woman who almost died because I let her leave these walls. The doors open on my floor of the East Wing, and I walk her to the suite. I pull her inside and kick the door shut. The click of the lock finally offers a second of peace.
I lead her to the bathroom, sitting her on the marble counter. I grab a cloth and wet it with warm water.
My hands are shaking. My hands start to shake, and I hate the familiarity of it. We have already done this once. I was supposed to be better the second time.
"I can do it," she whispers, reaching for the cloth.
“Let me,” I say, softer than the animal in me wants.
I tilt her head back, fingers firm on her chin. I dab at the blood with agonizing care. I’m trying to be the protector, but the animal is still screaming in the back of my mind. It wants to mark her. It wants to ensure the world knows she belongs to me.
"You almost died," I say, the words a heavy weight in my throat.
"I've almost died a lot of times, Alessio. It comes with the job."
"Not anymore." I lean in, my face inches from hers. “This part of the job is over. We do not walk into fire without a better plan again.”
She looks at me, her dark eyes searching mine. "I'm a partner in this, remember? You said it yourself."
“I meant it. That is the problem.” I drop the cloth. It hits the floor with a wet thud. “I want you as my partner, and I still can’t watch you bleed. I can’t think about a world where you aren’t in it.”
