De Vale's Savior

House Guests and Heavy Lifting

The old radiator in Lyra’s apartment hissed like an angry snake, a sound that perfectly matched her current state of mind. She paced the length of her tiny living room, wearing an oversized graphic tee, her wild mane of curly hair tied into a chaotic topknot. Sir Paws-a-Lot, her oversized tuxedo cat, watched her from the safety of the kitchen counter with judging, unblinking black eyes.

She couldn't bring him up. That was the problem.

Lyra lived on the third floor of a vintage brick building that boasted charm, character, and absolutely zero elevators. Standing at 5'6", she had barely managed to roll Renzo’s massive 6'3" frame into the trunk of her car by using pure, unadulterated panic as fuel. But dragging a solid, muscular billionaire crime lord up three flights of narrow, creaky wooden stairs by herself? Physically impossible.

A sharp, frantic knock rattled her front door.

Lyra threw it open to find Leo standing on the welcome mat, gasping for breath, clutching a heavy black duffel bag full of stolen hospital supplies. He looked like he was about to have a medical emergency of his own.

"Where is he?" Leo demanded, stepping inside and looking around the empty apartment. "Lyra, tell me you didn't leave a bleeding corpse on your sofa."

"Calm down, Doc. He's not on the sofa," Lyra said, offering a bright, slightly manic smile. "He’s still in the dickie of my sedan. I can’t carry him up the stairs. He’s built like a brick wall and weighs a ton. You're going to help me bring him up."

"Are you insane?!" Leo hissed, dropping his bag. "You want me to help you smuggle a shot man up a public stairwell at midnight? Lyra, this is a felony! This is a one-way ticket to losing my medical license and spending the next ten years making license plates!"

"Oh, stop being so dramatic. Nobody is in the hallway," Lyra scoffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him back out the door. "And remember, I have video evidence of your Britney Spears performance. Move your legs, Leo."

Five minutes later, both of them were questioning their life choices.

Renzo De Vale was dead weight, his broad shoulders and massive frame practically pinning Leo against the stair rail. Lyra had his legs, Leo had his upper body, and every single step felt like an Olympic event.

"What... does this guy... eat?" Leo wheezed, his face turning bright red as they reached the second-floor landing. "He’s pure muscle. And look at his clothes! This suit jacket costs more than my annual tuition. Lyra, what if he’s a high-profile thief? What if he robbed a bank, got shot by a security guard, and now we're harboring a fugitive?"

Lyra adjusted her grip on Renzo's expensive trousers. "Well, if he's a thief, he has great taste in tailoring. Keep lifting, Leo, we're almost there."

What neither of them knew, of course, was that a common thief would be a blessing compared to the man they were hauling. They weren't carrying a petty criminal; they were carrying the apex predator of the city's underworld. The cruelest, most feared mafia boss to ever command a syndicate. If Leo knew the name Renzo De Vale, he would have dropped him and run for the hills.

With a final, agonizing heave, they burst into Lyra’s apartment and dumped Renzo onto her full-sized bed. The mattress dipped significantly under his weight.

Leo immediately dropped to his knees, panting heavily. "This is a disaster. If he dies in your bed, I'm telling the police you kidnapped me."

"He's not going to die because you're the best resident surgeon in the city," Lyra said cheerfully, patting Leo's shoulder before walking over to the kitchen. "I'm going to make late-night pasta. Do you want some?"

"I want a lawyer," Leo muttered, but his medical instincts finally kicked in. He dragged his duffel bag over, snapped on latex gloves, and began cutting away the ruined, blood-soaked charcoal suit jacket.

When he saw the wound, Leo gasped. The bullet was lodged deep near the lower ribs. But what truly unnerved him was the man’s face. Even unconscious, Renzo looked terrifyingly dominant. The sharp, masculine jawline, the broad chest, and that faint, jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow down to his cheek. It didn't make him look ugly; it made him look like a dark, dangerously handsome warrior.

"Alright, I need to get this bullet out," Leo called out, his voice shaking as he set up a local anesthetic, tweezers, and sterile gauze. "Lyra, he’s losing blood, but his vitals are miraculously stable. This guy has the heart of a beast."

While Leo entered full surgeon mode, cursing under his breath as he carefully worked to extract the lead from Renzo’s side, Lyra was completely unbothered in the kitchen.

The aroma of boiling garlic, tomatoes, and olive oil filled the small apartment. Lyra scooped up Sir Paws-a-Lot, cradling the heavy cat like a baby while she stirred the pasta sauce with a heavy, thick-bottomed cast-iron skillet in her other hand.

"See, Sir Paws-a-Lot?" she whispered to the cat, bopping him on the nose. "We did a good deed today. We cleaned up a litter bug from the street. Though he might be a very dangerous litter bug."

The cat just purred loudly, completely indifferent to the mafia boss bleeding out thirty feet away.

After forty-five minutes of intense, nerve-wracking precision, Leo let out a massive sigh of relief. A loud *clink* echoed from the bedroom as he dropped the bloody bullet into a metal tray.

"It's out," Leo called out, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I stitched him up and pumped him full of broad-spectrum antibiotics. He should sleep for hours. Lyra, I’m dead. I’m just going to rest my eyes for five minutes."

Leo collapsed onto a wooden chair right at the edge of Lyra's bed, resting his folded arms and his head on the mattress beside Renzo’s hip. Within seconds, the exhausted doctor was snoring softly.

The world returned to Renzo De Vale in waves of burning heat and sharp, localized pain.

His senses woke up before his eyes did. He smelled garlic. He smelled cheap, sweet floral perfume. He felt a soft mattress beneath him—wholly unlike the silk sheets of his penthouse.

*Where am I?*

His icy blue eyes snapped open. The ceiling was cracked plaster, not his reinforced concrete fortress. Instantly, his lethal mafia instincts overrode the pain in his side. He detected movement right beside him. A threat.

Before his brain could even process the exhaustion, Renzo’s large, scarred hand shot out like a striking viper. His fingers clamped violently around Leo's neck, lifting the sleeping doctor right off the edge of the bed.

"Who the hell are you?" Renzo growled, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone laced with pure, terrifying venom. His grip tightened, cutting off Leo's airway.

Leo’s eyes flew open in absolute horror. He choked, clawing at the massive, iron-like fingers wrapped around his throat. "L-Lyra! Help!" he squeaked, his legs dangling uselessly as Renzo pinned him against the wall with one hand, his blue eyes burning with murderous intent.

Hearing the commotion, Lyra marched out of the kitchen. She was still holding the heavy, black cast-iron skillet, a smudge of tomato sauce on her apron.

When she saw the 6'3" giant towering over her bed, actively throttling her best friend, she didn't panic. She didn't scream. She just got incredibly stubborn.

"Hey! Drop him right now!" Lyra shouted, stepping boldly into the bedroom.

Renzo’s head snapped toward the sound of her voice. His predatory gaze locked onto her—the wild, long curly hair, the fiercely defiant black eyes, and the completely ridiculous oversized shirt. He was genuinely shocked. He expected a hitman, a rival cartel, or the police. Instead, he was being yelled at by a tiny, fierce woman holding a frying pan.

"Let him go, or I swear to God I will dent your highly symmetrical face with this skillet!" Lyra threatened, raising the heavy cast-iron pan like a baseball bat, her stance entirely unbothered by his massive, terrifying presence.

Renzo stared at her, his grip loosening just a fraction out of sheer disbelief. Nobody threatened him. Nobody stood their ground against the devil of Chicago. Yet, this strange girl was looking at him like he was nothing more than an unruly house guest.

A dangerous, dark spark of absolute interest ignited behind his icy blue eyes.