The Devil's Doctor

Regrets

No one! I'm a doctor." Yara said.. "I suture hearts. I don't pull triggers."

"A doctor," he repeated mockingly..

"Yes. Look at my hands." She held them up slowly. Surgeon's hands. "These aren't assassin's hands.

His eyes flashed to her hands, the first aid kit and then to her face. "Bad night to be a good Samaritan," he murmured.

She opened the box and started administering first aid. Just then, headlights flooded the scene.

Three black SUVs screeched to a halt around them. Doors flew open. Guns drawn, faces hard, voices overlapping in Italian.

"Boss!" they shouted.

"È vivo! Grazie a Dio."

"La donna, chi è lei?"

An athletic built woman named Lucia, who was Dante’s assistant, grabbed Yara’s arm. Her grip was like iron. "Who are you?" she snarled.

"I'm a passerby! I'm a doctor!" Yara cried.

"You saw his face," a man named Enzo said, smiling cruelly.

"You saw our boss," Lucia added.

"I'm a passerby!" Yara's voice cracked. "I saw him on the road. I stopped to help. I'm not involved in whatever this is."

The lady's's eyes narrowed. She looked at her bloodstained hands. The open first aid kit. The wounded man, their ‘boss’ still lying on the ground, half conscious, still watching her with those half open eyes.

Yara's stomach dropped.

Boss.

She looked down at the wounded man. At his ruined suit. His cold eyes. The way the other men surrounded him like a fallen king.

Oh no.

"You've seen too much," Lucia continued. "You're coming with us."

"I didn't see anything!" Yara pulled against her grip. She didn't budge. "I'll forget his face. I swear. I'll drive away and never…"

"You'll come with us," she repeated. "Or I'll put a bullet in your skull right here. Your choice."

The wounded man is Dante Marchetti.

The name alone made men fear. The most dangerous name in the Italian mafia world..

A ruthless and fearless boss who trusted no one and showed no mercy.

Two worlds bowed to him, the corporate and the mafia. No one had ever seen his face. Not in newspapers. Not online. Only those closest to him knew what he looked like. Everyone else just feared the name, Dante Marchetti.

And tonight, on the highway, a woman saw him in his vulnerable state..

As he was being lifted onto a stretcher by his men, just before the doors closed, he spoke.

"Bring her."

Two words. Weak but absolute.

One of the men, Enzo, grabbed her.

"You heard the boss."

He shoved Yara toward the lead SUV. She looked back at her abandoned car on the roadside. She had tried to run from the mafia to Milan to find freedom, but she had just been captured by another crime gang.

His eyes found hers in the dark SUV. Yara knew two things: she'd just saved his life, and he was going to ruin hers.

Yara sat in the back row, wedged between Lucia and Enzo. Her first aid kit rested on her lap, the only thing tethering her to sanity. In the seat ahead, the wounded man lay across the bench, his head cradled by one of his soldiers, Chris.

She didn't know his name yet. But she knew he was dangerous. The kind of aura that radiates from something lethal, the same darkness Dante carried.

His eyes flashed open every few minutes. Each time, they found her. Each time, she looked away, but not fast enough.

"What's your name?" Lucia asked.

Yara kept her mouth shut.

Lucia grabbed her chin. Forced Yara to face her. "I asked you a question."

"Victoria." The word came out strained. "Victoria Hale."

"Where are you from, Victoria?"

"Away." She pulled her chin from the grip. "I was driving away. That's all you need to know."

The other man chuckled. Lucia didn't.

"You've got a mouth on you," she said. "The boss won't like that."

The boss. She glanced at the wounded man again. He was propped against the window, a bloody cloth pressed to his side. His eyes were half-closed, but she could feel him paying attention to every detail.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

No one answered.

The SUV turned off the main road onto a private road. Floodlit and cameras on every post. The safehouse emerged from the darkness.

He doesn't want to be seen, Yara thought. He doesn't want anyone to know he's here.

Or maybe he just didn't want anyone to know he was vulnerable.

The SUV stopped in a courtyard. Men appeared from nowhere, more soldiers, more guns, more dark suits. They formed a corridor to the front door.

Lucia opened her door. "Out."

Yara stepped onto the gravel. Her legs shook. She told herself it would be fine.

Lucia grabbed her arm and led her down a gravel path. Ahead stood a small building, detached from the main house. A holding cell.

"For now, you stay here," Lucia said, pushing open the door.

The room was small but tidy. A single bed with white sheets. A nightstand. A lamp. A bathroom in the corner with fresh towels and unopened toiletries.

"What is happening here?" Yara asked quietly.

Lucia looked at her with suspicion. "You show up on the same night our boss gets ambushed? You stop to help him? Too convenient." She stepped back toward the door. "You stay here until we figure out who you really are."

The door closed. The lock clicked.

Yara stood in the middle of the room, alone.

She looked at the bed. The towels. The small window with bars on the outside.

And for the first time since she'd left the hospital, she let herself feel it. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, followed by….

Regret.

Not the regret of stopping on the highway. That had been instinct. That had been her oath.

Regret of running.

You should have stayed, a voice whispered in her head. You should have married the faceless mafia boss. At least then you'd have a big house with servants at your beck and call.