The Devil's Surgeon

who Are You?

Third Person POV

The private medical suite was bathed in harsh white light. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, barely masking the metallic smell of blood.

On the operating table lay a man who looked as though he belonged on the cover of a luxury magazine instead of fighting for his life. Honey-blond hair clung to his damp forehead, his striking features unnaturally calm despite whatever pain his unconscious body had endured. His black dress shirt had been cut away, exposing a broad chest stained crimson. A unit of blood flowed steadily through one IV line while clear fluids dripped through another.

At the far end of the room, two men spoke quietly in Italian.

"Il dottor Rhys non arriverà in tempo, ma qualcuno verrà al suo posto." *Dr. Rhys won't make it in time, but someone will come in his stead.*

Raffaele looked up sharply. "Che diavolo significa? Perché me lo dici solo adesso?" *What the hell does that mean? Why are you only telling me this now?*

Sebastian kept his voice low. "Mi dispiace, capo. Il dottor Rhys è in Russia. Prima che possa tornare... il capo potrebbe non farcela. Ho dovuto prendere una decisione." *I'm sorry, boss. Dr. Rhys is in Russia. Before he can return... the boss might not make it. I had to make a decision.*

Raffaele glanced toward the unconscious man. His best friend looked frighteningly pale. For the first time since they were teenagers, Giovanni looked fragile.

"Possiamo fidarci di questa persona?" *Can we trust this person?*

"Sì. Il dottor Rhys garantisce per lei." *Yes. Dr. Rhys vouches for her.*

Raffaele frowned. "Lei?" *Her?*

Sebastian nodded once. "Sì." *Yes.*

Raffaele cursed under his breath. "Merda... Giovanni non la prenderà bene." *Shit... Giovanni won't like this.*

Before either man could say another word, the rhythmic sound of helicopter blades echoed across the estate.

"They're here," Sebastian said.

Moments later, the doors opened, and Reign walked in carrying a small overnight bag. She was younger than Raffaele expected. Copper-red hair tied neatly behind her head, emerald-green eyes sweeping across the room, taking in every detail.

Her attention settled on the patient. "How long ago was he shot?"

"Almost four hours."

"Blood type?"

"O negative."

"Loss of consciousness?"

"Thirty minutes."

She moved to the bedside without another word, fingers checking his pulse. Strong. But fading. She gently removed the soaked dressing. The wound was clean.

"The bullet is still inside," she murmured.

The scrub nurse stepped forward. "I'm Juan, Doctor. I work for Dr. Rhys."

"Good." She met his eyes. "We're operating immediately." Then she turned toward the others. "Please, gentlemen, I'll need you to excuse us."

Raffaele crossed his arms. "We're staying and that's final."

Reign looked directly at him. "If you stay, you'll distract us — and that's a risk to the patient."

The room fell quiet. Raffaele searched her face. There wasn't fear in it. Only confidence.

After a long moment, he nodded. "You heard the doctor."

The doors closed behind them.

Reign scrubbed in, pulled on sterile gloves, and looked down at the unconscious man.

"Let's bring you back."

---

Nearly forty minutes later, Juan dabbed sweat from his forehead. "The bullet is lodged between the pulmonary vessels."

"I know."

One wrong move and he'd bleed out before she could stop it.

Reign slowed her breathing. Steady hands. Steady mind.

The monitor shrieked. *BEEEEEEP!*

Juan looked up. "Doctor!"

Blood pressure was crashing. Heart rate — thirty, twenty, then a flatline.

"He's arresting!"

The operating room doors burst open. "Giovanni!"

Raffaele froze. Reign didn't even look at him.

"Sir, with all due respect, please excuse us and let us do our job." She didn't wait for a response. "If you stay in here another second, you risk contaminating this room."

Juan already had the defibrillator ready. "Charging."

"Two hundred joules."

"Charged."

Reign stepped back. "Clear."

The shock sent Giovanni's body arching off the table.

"Again. Three hundred."

"Charged."

"Clear."

Another jolt. Silence. Then — beep. Beep. Beep.

Juan released the breath he'd been holding. "We've got him."

Only then did Reign continue. "There isn't time to celebrate." She reached for the forceps. Carefully, Metal scraped against metal, and a single bullet dropped into the tray with a sharp clink.

Juan smiled. "Bullet out."

An hour later, the final stitch was tied. The bleeding had stopped. His vitals were stable.

Reign removed her gloves. "Surgery successful."

Juan let out a heavy breath. "Thank God."

---

Giovanni was transferred to a luxurious bedroom overlooking the sea. Fresh blood continued transfusing through one line while medication flowed through another. The room looked more like a five-star hotel suite than a recovery ward.

Raffaele found Reign standing outside, rubbing the back of her neck. Only now did he notice how exhausted she looked, dark circles framing her eyes.

"You should rest."

She nodded in agreement. "I'll check on him first thing in the morning. If anything comes up before then, let me know immediately."

"Sure." He glanced toward the hall. "Nico, please show her to her room."

"This way, Doctor."

---

Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains. Reign walked back into the room carrying a patient chart. Juan sat slumped in a chair beside the bed, barely keeping his eyes open.

"You haven't slept?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Not really."

"Go get some."

"You sure?"

"I've got him."

Juan gratefully left, and the room fell quiet.

Moments later, a groan broke the silence.

Giovanni's fingers twitched.

His vision blurred. White ceiling. Unknown room. Machines. A woman.

Then — *Beautiful.*

The word entered his mind before he crushed it. He didn't care what she looked like. She was a stranger.

"...Who are you?"

Reign turned, a warm smile crossing her face. "Good morning, sir. How are you feeling?"

He tried sitting up. Pain shot through his chest.

She stepped closer immediately. "Easy. You've had major surgery. You'll tear your stitches."

His icy blue eyes met hers. Cold. Guarded.

"I asked—" his voice was rough, "—who the hell are you?"

"I'm Dr. Reign Carter. I performed your surgery."

He stared at her. "Where's Dr. Rhys?"

The door opened. Raffaele walked in. "He couldn't make it."

"I didn't authorize another surgeon."

"You were dying."

Giovanni's jaw tightened. "Is that why you let someone unvetted operate on me?"

Reign didn't flinch. "Sir, I apologize if that doesn't sit well with you. But, the fact that Dr. Rhys entrusted this to me should tell you I'm up for the task."

His eyes narrowed. For a moment, neither of them looked away.

Then Reign calmly checked his pulse. "You've lost a lot of blood. You'll need rest, fluids, and something light to eat." She looked toward Raffaele. "Nothing greasy. Soup or oatmeal will do."

She turned back to Giovanni. "Have a nice day. I'll come check your vitals later."

Without waiting for a reply, she walked out.

The room remained silent. Raffaele chuckled. He was intrigued. Not many people could handle Giovanni like that. He turned his attention back to his friend. "You scared the hell out of me, man."

Giovanni smirked, leaning back against the pillows. "No need to be scateI'm not dying anytime soon." His gaze drifted toward the closed door.

"Raffaele."

"Yeah?"

"Find out everything about the girl."