The Don's Doctor

Dangerous Desire

Chiara's POV

Gentle closing of cupboard doors rouses me from my peaceful sleep. I recall coming back to Vincent’s house and heating up some lasagna from the fridge, before diving into my sleepwear and letting exhaustion carry me away. In the walk-in closet I could see Vincent throwing some clothes over his forearm. Slowly, to avoid startling him, I slip out of the bed and lean on the door frame.

“Where have you been sleeping?”

He turns to me, completely unsurprised by my presence. Does he sense what is happening around him at all times? Life must be very predictable for him if so. Despite our sessions together to control his rage, I still know very little about him. The only thing I am certain about is that he is instinctual. I wonder if he was raised to never doubt himself, like a cub on a first hunt. He has to trust himself above all other factors. Where desire leads him, he will follow, and that idea thrills me. With no doubt, what would he be capable of? If it is his power, it comes with a heavy price. I saw how he struggled with the animal within him today, when he confronted Doctor Harris. He didn’t attack, but he did let the red mist prowl, and I recognised that I was attracted to that raw power, to the fear he was able to cultivate in others. It scares me to know that I’m not repulsed by it.

“In my office.” He replies, distractedly.

Following his eye line, I see how they flick between my bare thighs and bra. In the night, I had become incredibly hot under the weighted blanket, and I had thrown my clothes on the floor. I am standing before him in my underwear, and rather than feel embarrassed, I feel powerful. It is the same sensation I had felt when I spared Harris from his own arrogance. I make no move to cover myself, as if standing near to naked in front of him is typical. He takes a step towards me, but somehow pauses his pounce. To my confusion, I find myself incredibly disappointed by his restraint. Unbidden by thought, but reacting to the urge, I walk further into the room. He freezes. Cornered, he stays still as if I were the lioness and he was the prey. Inner desire suppress my practicalities. Yearning makes the air thick, and it muffles my senses. My tongue is heavy with it, too weighty to form words. Only my eyesight remains sharp, as I see the difficulty of his internal struggle feather in his clenched jaw. Automatically, I remove the clothes he has gathered and put them on the chaise. Gulping, he watches me intensely. Open palmed, I rest my hands on his chest, feeling his body quiver under my touch. Power transfuses into me, and I know I want to freely touch him everywhere. Kiss him without the fear that I could completely fall in love with him, because I am sure that I could. I close my eyes. Striving for repression, I try to list the reasons that I shouldn’t be doing this. The last logic is wrestling against the idea of submitting to a man who I know is a monster.

He carefully places his hands over my ears, and tilts my head upwards. Nerves replace my earlier poise, as I wait for his lips to press on mine. I long to be lost in lust, just for tonight. Instead, he lovingly lets his lips linger on my neck in a tender, tentative, torturous kiss. His bottom lip drags up to my ear lobe, leaving pockets of eagerness in its path.

“Not yet, Chiara. I need to have you for more than a night. Honesty, I think I need you for more than a lifetime.” He confesses.

He steps back, and for the first time ever, he seems flustered. Equally, he seems proud of his restraint, like when a fine whiskey is savoured rather than gulped. I want him to swallow me whole, and he wants to enjoy me at leisure.

“Will you come with me to the street I grew up on? Will you help me find any good I have left in me?” He asks.

Panting as I descended from exhilaration, I could only nod to his request. Truthfully, I want to know more about him, because I want my feelings for him to be OK. Holding on to my cheek a moment longer, I see him smile at my reaction to him.

“Sweeter than I could have ever imagined.” I hear him whisper to himself, maybe to me, before he storms out of the room, his battle with his beast finally lost.

He had left his clothes, and for some once again visceral reason, I folded them for him, so that he would know I cared for him too.

Sleep mocks me, coming close to me, only to be annoyingly out of reach. Lava surges through my veins, it is more than arousal. It is more akin to deep longing. I want a version of him that I’m not sure exists separately. I want the man that handed me toast, and came to work with me, putting his duties second. I want the man who helps me put on my gloves and plays Puccini for me. Could I expect him to isolate those parts of himself? Of course not. Half a man wouldn’t be him. You can’t change a man, isn’t that what all the nurses agreed on during their coffee breaks? It is advice I’d given to many patients, yet here I was falling in love with a man I wish I didn’t like. I am being cruel to us both by being weak. If I was the woman I was before this started, I’d have walked away, but I can’t. Frustrated and irritated by evaluating my own reflection, both literally and metaphorically, I marvelled at my double standards. The only way to cast off this buzz of energy was to run.

Pulling up my stretch pants, I extend my legs and arms, before making it to the front door. I thought I had made it unnoticed, free to roam the grounds, when the wall of deltoids stops me.

“Renzo, this is getting weird. It’s like your always following me. Especially when it’s eleven o’clock at night.” I snap, sarcastically, not patient enough for his obvious distain.

“Not that strange, I was monitoring the CCTV.” He replies without any intonation, which on any other occasion would have sounded comical.

Accepting his answer, I open the door and began my jog. Mildly aware of passing the operating facility. Crunching gravel behind me makes me realise that Renzo is accompanying me, dressed in his suit, the heavy gun strapped to his side. Defiance and rage overwhelmed me, and I push my body to go further and faster. The burn in my muscles balance out the heat in my blood, the ache to be near the man I shouldn’t want to have. Accusatorially, I turn to stare at Renzo, who has kept up to my surprise.

“Do you feel better now?” He asks, concerned.

I shrug. Despite the efforts he has gone to, to appear as unapproachable as possible, he directs me to a nearby bench, and points to a plaque.

“This bench was placed here in memory of Vincent and Viviana’s mother. She loved sitting in this spot, and admiring her garden. As you can see, it is a wilderness now. Don Vincent is much the same. He knows someone in the family has betrayed him-he can trust no-one.”

“He trusts you.” I counter.

“Not like he used to. He asked if I was Valentino’s father when he was born. I’m not, obviously. While Vincent searched for someone to hunt, Viviana searched for someone to grieve with. She won’t say who it is. If he was a man of honour, he would have claimed the child already, so I feel no sympathy for his fate. Vincent feels like he left his sister unprotected, so it isn’t anger that keeps her locked in the house, it is fear.”

I nod understanding his perspective, but marvelling at how askew it is.

“If you loved someone, but you knew that if your family found out about them, they would kill them, would you tell someone that you were pregnant? If it was me, I would do anything to keep them safe. I would run home before anyone could tell I was carrying a child, and never tell the father he had a son. Does any of that sound familiar?” I ask Renzo, as a look of enlightenment stunned his expression.

“I guess we never thought of it like that. Still, someone should ask permission before dating the sister of a son. Everyone knows that.”

“If they are from your world,” I counter. “Besides, forbidden love is the drive of most legendary romances,” I point out.

“Like you and Vincent?” He returns, swerving too close to home. “We all thought that Vincent would lose himself to the violence, his mind goes blank to help him do the things that he thinks must be done. Until this morning, I was mourning my friend, who I was sure was lost to us forever, until you arrived. The man you have seen isn’t really who he is. Give him a chance, Chiara. Bring my friend back to us all.”