23. Devil Meets Angel
DEVIL MEETS ANGEL
Alessandro couldn’t believe it. There was a fucking hole in his stomach . It wasn't the first time he’d been shot. Or fatally wounded, for that matter.
Dario, Giacomo, and Nero had taken turns stabbing him in the back, figuratively and literally, ever since they were old enough to wield knives.
His father beat him every time he got caught fucking up or fucked around.
There had always been fights with the other boys in boarding school. Vicious, knuckle-bruising, bone-crunching brawls over shit that mattered. Like dead mother jokes . And shit that didn’t matter much at all. Like money and girls .
They'd all hurt him. But none of them had tried to kill him in earnest. Alessandro didn't experience his first brush with death until Franco Ricci. Franco was the first to try and end him in cold blood. He put a bullet in Alessandro on his twenty-first birthday. Stidda and Cosa Nostra never got along. Their coscas had been fighting over territory for ages. Even then, though, he hadn’t been too worried about meeting his maker. Franco was a terrible shot. The idiot's bullet had pierced the shoulder instead of the heart.
He glanced down at his stomach and winced. Cazzo . Tonight was the first time Alessandro believed that he might actually bleed to death.
Fucking Stefano.
Fucking Mikey.
The two assholes answered to the Mancinis, and they’d been assigned as his temporary bodyguards in New York. Americani incompetenti! The Mancinis were supposed to be friends of his family. Alessandro took a pause.What if they were not friends anymore Perhaps, the backstabbing fuckers were now working for his father's enemies.
Alessandro didn't know who to trust anymore. He should've brought his own men. Monte and Luca would've never let this happen. He’d left them in Palermo to be discreet. He didn't want his snake of a stepsister to catch wind of his activities. Like a fucking dumbass, however, it seemed he’d traded discretion for death. His father was right. He was an incosciente . Irresponsible and reckless.
The room started to spin. It was hard to think straight. But he felt pretty sure that the bullet was still lodged in his stomach. His suit was drenched in blood. It was Armani , too. Stained. Ruined forever. Alessandro’s mouth flattened into a grimace. That was the real tragedy.
Another stab of pain made him shudder. Every nerve in his body had been pulsing with excruciating agony over the past ten minutes. Or had it been ten hours? A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. All sense of time faded as he began to drift in and out of consciousness. Once his eyes closed, he tried to muster the strength to lift his eyelids. They felt too heavy.
Was the devil about to take him?
Alessandro hoped not. He wasn't ready. He was barely thirty-four. There was so much that needed to be done.
He needed to find the Graviano girl.
He needed to sort out the mess between the Beltrán cartel and the Stidda.
He needed to find out which backstabbing figlio di troia had tried to kill him tonight.
Alessandro's thoughts short-circuited as his blood ran cold. His lungs were burning. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe.
With each gasping, labored breath, he fought the reaper, but darkness soon settled in. The ache at his side began to fade. Strange . His mind drifted to a distant place. So strange . There —everything slowed down. He felt like a dreamer wandering through another realm. Shadowy figures came to greet him.
Dario?
Giacomo?
Nero?
Then, his brothers disappeared into thin air. A woman's face flashed before him. She bore his features. The shape of his eyes. The sharp slant of his jawline. His dark hair. He recognized this woman. The last time Alessandro saw her alive, he’d been a teenager.
Mamma?
He tried to reach for her. But his arms felt too heavy. Impossible to move. Distress seized him. His eyes shot open. The phantom was nowhere in sight. Alessandro's gaze swept around the unfamiliar territory. He was in a room. His mind sharpened slightly. Alarm rose within him.
Where the hell had Stefano and Mikey brought him?
He studied his surroundings. Ugly couch, outdated kitchen, grungy walls. An apartment? The ground felt hard and cold. Not comfortable at all. Why was he on the goddamn floor?
Suddenly, someone knelt down beside him. Not Stefano. Nor Mikey. A stranger . He caught a glimpse of long, dark hair. Then, he saw her face. Her features were hidden in the shadows. But he couldn’t look away.
Who was she?
He heard a click .
A light switch, maybe?
An ethereal glow appeared around her head. Her eyes were very, very green. He couldn’t stop staring. So fucking lovely . Alessandro blinked in confusion. Blood continued to seep from his side. His vision blurred again.
Who was this stranger?
He blinked some more. Her halo grew brighter. There was a soothing aura about her. The way she held herself. So still and poised. The way she gazed down at him. Competent, steady, sure.
She spoke quietly, yet, her voice brimmed with confidence, "My name is Dr. Elyse Romero. I'm a trauma surgeon from Sawyer Memorial Hospital in Queens, New York. I'm here to help you, and I'll need your cooperation if you want to survive the night."
But of course . He stared at her in awe, whispering, "Angelo..."
An angel. She was an angel. A beautiful green-eyed angel. In his time of need, God had sent her to him.
"I'm no angel," his angel muttered in brusque tones, "and you'll probably call me a fucking devil by the time I'm done. A warning, my friend, I don't have anesthesia. This shit’s going to hurt like hell."
Despite the omen in her words— this shit’s going to hurt like hell —her steely composure dissolved his fears. She seemed like the kind of woman who wouldn’t blink even if the world was ending. His heartbeat grew steadier, calmer. She was here to save him. She wouldn't let him die.
Alessandro was sure of it.
***
Do your worst, angelo.
Why the hell did he let this green-eyed sadist shove all sorts of sharp, pointy objects into his guts?
Alessandro regretted his show of bravado the second Dr. Romero's scalpel dug into his wound. Pain seared his flesh. His nerves burned as though on fire. She’d been right. He’d been wrong. She was no angel. She was a fucking diavola . A diavola who was currently operating on him.On a goddamn tarp.On the goddamn floor.Without a single drop of goddamn anesthesia.
The doctor claimed to be saving him, but it felt as though she was trying to murder him as slowly and painfully as possible. A towel was offered to him. She instructed him to bite down. This scrap of cloth became his only friend throughout the hellish ordeal. As Stefano and Mikey held him hostage in a bruising, unrelenting grip, he grit and ground his teeth against the towel. Alessandro's skin broke out in a hot and cold sweat. Every fiber in his being wished to scream and writhe in agony, but he refused to show weakness.
Weakness would get men like him killed.
Alessandro took in a shaky breath and steeled himself against the diavola's worst. He didn't want to die. He wished to live. There was nothing he could do except endure.
She continued to hover over his stomach, poking and prodding at his injury. Her movements were quick. Precise . Her hands were steady. But, Dio , every flick of her wrist and scrape of the scalpel felt like some kind of torture. He groaned in protest. He strained against Stefano and Mikey's hands. A seeming eternity ticked by. This was purgatory. The torment was ungodly. Had he died without knowing it? Perhaps, the she-devil who wouldn’t stop skewering him with steel instruments was Lilith in disguise?
Panting and gasping, Alessandro didn't know how much longer he could suffer through this living nightmare. His eyes lolled heavenward. His brain severed from the pain. Reality and sensation hurtled toward nothingness.
Dio salvami.
A black void descended soon after.
He awoke to someone's touch. Her touch . The sadistic diavola who’d taken him to hell and back.
Brown and blue-gray eyes fluttered open. She appeared to be cleaning and redressing his bandages. His gaze traveled across her form as she worked, lingering on her face. Long dark hair. Sharp green eyes. Full, pouty lips. In this calm after the storm, she didn't look like a diavola . She looked too pretty to be born from wickedness and evil.
Alessandro felt weak, drained. Everything hurt and ached. But he was alive. He was alive because she saved him.
"Angelo," he murmured to her, smiling faintly. But, then, Alessandro noticed something that made his smile fade away. Her face looked different. Frowning, he reached over to trace the dark spots on her skin. First, Alessandro touched the one on her cheek. Then, he caressed her temple. "What happened here?"
"Nothing."
It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Her skin had been unblemished when he first arrived. Now she was hurt. Fucking Stefano , he cursed again in silence, Fucking Mikey . A slow, deep rage that Alessandro had never felt before began to simmer even while he said calmly, "They do not look like… nothing. They look fresh. You did not have them earlier."
Her expression tensed up. “You must be mistaken."
His gaze didn’t stray from her face. "How did you get hurt? Tell me."
"I tripped and fell, and some doors got in my way."
Pretty little liar. The mere sight of her bruises made his fists clench slightly. "Both times?"
"Accidents happen."
Stefano and Mikey needed to die. "Is that what they told you to say?"
His angel smiled tightly. It was the strained, brittle smile of a woman who’d been fucked over by fate one too many times. Heartbreaking . "Does it matter?"
Violence filled his thoughts. He wanted to make them suffer for touching her. "I could have them removed. If you wish."
A look of unease darkened her pretty features. "Removed?"
"They can splintered by an ax. Or a sledgehammer. I imagine they burn easily, too," he promised readily. "The possibilities are endless. Like you said— accidents happen ."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
She didn’t sound too happy about his offer, Alessandro noticed, for some reason. Very well . If his angel didn’t like it, he’d kill them without her knowledge. Alessandro smirked. "Doors, of course."
"Just drop it," she muttered. "It was my fault. I should've been more careful."
"But anything that harms you, hurts me, no ?"
Over the next few minutes, she seemed all too eager to escape his scrutiny, doing her damnedest to redirect the attention back on him, "How are you feeling?"
Her tone was all business. No pleasure. How disappointing .
"Alive," replied Alessandro, "I owe you my life, Dr. Romero. Grazie ."
"You're welcome. I'm surprised you remember my name, especially considering the state you were in when I first introduced myself."
"A beautiful woman is a beautiful woman," he supplied sweetly, "I would not forget her name even at death's door."
Alessandro was testing her now. Was she the type of woman who could be swayed by charm and honeyed words?
She remained unaffected, asking in snippy tones, "On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in right now?"
Apparently, not.
Alessandro took note of her chilly reception and decided to behave— at least, for the time being —answering politely, "A tolerable amount."
“Give me a number.”
After the sheer hell she put him through earlier, the dull ache on his side now felt like child’s play. “Five.”
Green eyes flickered. What was she thinking? Before he could figure her out, his surly angel informed him, "After I get these new bandages on you, I'll run over to Benny's to pick up some antibiotics and pain relievers."
Benny? A sense of fear and concern spiked at the mention of this unfamiliar name. Was this fucker connected to the hitman who shot him the night before?
Alessandro demanded, "Who is Benny? Can we trust him?"
"Benny is one of Stefano's oldest and most reliable associates," she rushed to answer. "He runs a pharmacy a few blocks from my apartment. It's where I fill the prescriptions for my, ah, special patients. Such as yourself."
His guard relaxed ever so slightly. "I see."
His angel then rose from the floor, away from him, to search for her keys, cell phone, and purse. "I'll be back in half an hour with your meds."
"Grazie .”
"Rest—if you can," his angel advised as she headed toward the front door. "I'll make breakfast when I return."
Alessandro stared after her. There was something about the beautiful doctor’s cool, calm exterior that made him want to fuck with her a little. Nothing seemed to faze his angel. Suddenly, a twisted urge rose within. He wanted to be the only man in the world who knew how to get under her skin. He needed her to notice him and remember him above all others.
In flippant tones, Alessandro tossed out, "What if I need to take a piss?"
She halted in place and glanced over her shoulder. "Do you need to use the bathroom before I go?"
" No ."
She shot him a dirty look. "In that case, I’m leaving."
He goaded her some more, "Wait.”
“Yes?” His angel's mouth flattened into a silent, stony grimace. She didn’t look amused. Her arms folded over her chest. The movement drew his eyes toward her tits. Alessandro couldn't help but stare at her sweet, soft curves. A trickle of desire stirred in him, hardening his cock. What in the world? He was surprised that there was enough blood in his body to spare after his near-death experience.
It was a little shocking. He wasn’t used to losing control. Women usually didn't have this effect on him. Usually, he was the one who affected women. Alessandro didn’t mind being around them, and fucking them was fun, sometimes, but he never pursued a bitch unless there was a real pressing need to gather intel or exchange favors with another cosca .
It was strange. He couldn’t stop looking at his angel. For reasons unknown, Alessandro felt drawn to her. He found himself flirting with her, shamelessly so, wanting her to want him, so that she might finally look at him with something other than irritation or indifference.
He cooed softly, "Will you bathe me when you come back?"
"I can. If needed."
His eyes widened at her response. There had been nothing suggestive in her tone, but there was something very attractive about this woman's no-nonsense attitude. Alessandro was hardly a believer in love at first sight, but, he had to admit, she appealed to him. Other women tended to bore him quickly. They were easy to read and quick to figure out.
But his angel fascinated him.
She’d saved his life. Yet, she didn’t seem to care about him at all. A surgeon with a heart of stone. She didn’t seem like the type who would willingly get herself involved with the mafia. What was such a smart girl doing around all these big, bad men? In many ways, she remained an enigma.
Alessandro gazed at her intently. "Had I known doctors like you existed—"
"That's enough," she growled with a look of annoyance. "I dug a bullet out of your stomach less than four hours ago. You can't move freely on your own, therefore, whatever happens between us over the next few days will be for medical purposes and medical purposes only."
He smiled in spite of himself. There was no question in his mind. Dr. Elyse Romero wasn't the kind of woman who would put up with his bullshit. His pulse quickened by a few beats. Alessandro couldn’t wait to piss her off some more. "You certainly know how to put a man in his place."
She shrugged. "I work with a lot of men. If I didn't grow a pair, they'd walk all over me."
Sincerely, he supplied, "It wasn't my intention to offend you, though. Mi scusi . I am weak as a kitten, angelo . You do not need to guard against me. I only wish to express how much I appreciate you."
“Oh, Dios , here we go…”
His angel truly had the patience of a saint. Even he was starting to get annoyed with his own antics. Alessandro was surprised that she hadn’t slapped him yet. He decided to up the ante, “It is comforting to know tat you will be tending to all of my needs.”
She cast a glare in his direction. "I should get going."
Alessandro protested, "Hold on. Just one more thing."
She stopped again with a tight expression. "What is it?"
Right then and there, Alessandro decided that he wanted her as an ally, at least, until he returned to Palermo. Stefano and Mikey couldn’t be trusted. The Mancinis were smiling sharks, but, from what he had observed thus far, Dr. Romero seemed to be an unwilling participant in their operations. Anything happens to him tonight? Vaguely, he remembered the ugly threats that Stefano had spat at her. You’ll be a stain on the ground before you can even blink. Alessandro trusted in his angel's sense of self-preservation. She was motivated to keep him alive.
He gestured to the blue tarp and asked with sad eyes, "Am I to stay on the cold, hard floor until you return?"
If he couldn't flirt his way into her good graces, then, perhaps, he could play on her sense of compassion? Alessandro wanted her to pity him.
His angel coughed. "Yes. "
Had the corner of her mouth tilted upward? Good . He’d amused her. She wasn't made of stone, after all.
He glanced at her couch, pushing at his luck. "I would prefer to rest there."
She shook her head. "I'll be using the couch while you're here. I have an air mattress, though. I’ll set it up for you later."
His dark eyebrows rose in surprise. "You will not sleep in your bed?"
"I need to stay close to you," she explained, "so I can monitor your condition. I've been setting an alarm every hour to check on your vitals."
He clicked his tongue. "You take your job very seriously."
"No, I take my life very seriously," she retorted. "Don't die while I'm gone, okay?"
Chuckling, he admired her resolve. She was going to be a hard one to crack. Surely, most people didn't emerge from the womb with such sky-high defenses? He found himself wondering more and more about her story.
"I am curious, Dr. Romero," he drawled, "how did a woman like you become acquainted with men like Stefano Russo and Michael Bianchi?"
Her expression became unreadable. "Get some rest. I'll be back soon."
But there had been a glimmer of pain in her eyes. He hadn't missed it. Those green, green eyes of hers were absolutely mesmerizing. She’d clearly seen some shit in her time. He wanted to learn more about her sadness. He wanted to know what it might take to make her smile. He wanted her darkest, filthiest secrets. Alessandro wanted her eyes on him, only on him , while he seized everything from her.
Before Alessandro could press his angel any further, however, she slipped out the front door, and he was suddenly all alone in the tiny apartment.
Only then did a startling realization cross his mind. Green eyes were uncommon, no? Alessandro knew of only one other woman who possessed eyes like Dr. Romero, and her name had been Gianna Graviano. Something about the shape of the doctor's face and the curve of her mouth seemed to mirror the photographs he’d seen of Benedetto's late daughter.
What a funny coincidence. Or, perhaps, it wasn't funny or coincidental, but— serendipitous? Maybe he hadn't been shot in vain. What if this brush with death had somehow led him to the prize he'd been seeking all along? She might be the key to his survival.
Adrenaline flew through his veins. So far, Dr. Romero ticked every single box. She lived in New York. She appeared to be the right age. Her appearance carried traces of the Gravianos in more ways than one.
A world of possibilities opened up. Alessandro set his jaw. He intended to take full advantage of his remaining days with Dr. Romero to investigate this matter very, very thoroughly.
It was the least he could do for the woman who might very well become his wife.