Mafia Runaway Lover

Chapter 1

The storm had taken over the night.

Thunder rumbled across the sky, followed by flashes of lightning that briefly illuminated the empty streets. Heavy rain battered the windows of Andrio Hospital, and powerful gusts of wind swept through the nearly deserted parking lot.

"Look at that," the nurse at the station said, glancing toward the glass doors. "Even the stray cats have given up."

"Then what does that make us?" Leonardo replied.

"Employees."

He huffed a tired laugh. Despite the terrible weather, he'd had no choice but to report for his shift. As one of the hospital's newest doctors, he was still learning the unpredictable rhythm of the job, and the senior staff were happy to hand him the worst nights.

Fortunately, the emergency department had been unusually quiet.

Leonardo wrapped both hands around his cup of coffee and fought off the drowsiness creeping over him. His eyelids felt heavy.

"Don't get comfortable, Doctor," the nurse warned without looking up from her charts.

"I'm not."

"You are. I can see it on your face. A peaceful night in a hospital lasts about as long as a sneeze."

"You're very reassuring."

"I'm experienced."

He knew she was right. In a hospital, a quiet night could turn chaotic within seconds.

And, as if the night had heard them, the commotion began.

Headlights swept across the glass. Several luxurious cars rolled onto the hospital grounds, their expensive bodies gleaming beneath the rain, each carrying a crest Leonardo had never seen before. The doors opened almost simultaneously.

"Doctor," the nurse said slowly, setting down her pen. "Who comes to a hospital like that?"

"Not people who've come for a check-up."

A group of men stepped out, dressed in immaculate coats, their movements disciplined and precise. They didn't speak, didn't hurry, and didn't flinch at the rain. There was something intimidating about them, something that said they were no ordinary group of wealthy men.

But Leonardo's attention was drawn to the man at their center.

He was exceptionally tall, with a broad, powerful build and a face almost too striking to be real. Dark hair clung to his forehead, wet from the rain. Even from a distance, Leonardo could feel the authority radiating from him, the kind that made the air itself seem to bend.

And in his arms, he was carrying someone.

A woman, wrapped in a blanket.

Before Leonardo could make sense of it, the man strode into the emergency department, and his voice rang through the lobby.

"Call Dr. Alexandro here immediately! Hurry!"

The commanding tone sent the entire staff into motion. A nurse ran for the phone. Another pulled a gurney into the corridor.

One of the men in his entourage approached Leonardo, calmer than his master but no less urgent.

"She was involved in a car accident," the aide said. "Her injuries are severe, particularly the trauma to her head."

"How long ago?"

"Less than an hour. We gave her first aid on the way."

"Did she lose consciousness?"

"From the moment we found her."

Leonardo finally caught a glimpse of the woman.

She was beautiful. But there was hardly a part of her that had escaped injury. Her face was pale as paper, her body limp, and blood had soaked through the blanket and the fabric of her skirt, staining it a deep red.

His expression turned serious at once.

"Prepare an emergency room immediately! Get me monitors, IV access, and type and cross for blood. Move!"

"Yes, Doctor!"

The man carrying her did not release her until the staff had prepared a place. Even when the gurney arrived, he lowered her onto it slowly, almost carefully, as if she might break. And even then, his eyes never left her face.

"Sir," Leonardo said, "you'll have to step back so we can work."

The man didn't move.

"Sir."

A hand touched the man's sleeve. "Don Rafaello," the aide murmured, quietly enough that only the three of them could hear. "Let them work."

Only then did he take one step back. It was a small step, and it looked like it cost him.

Someone who appeared familiar with the group had already contacted Dr. Alexandro. Within minutes, the hospital's senior specialist was summoned.

Dr. Alexandro was no ordinary physician. He was one of the most renowned doctors in the country, particularly celebrated for his expertise in neurological and head injuries. His knowledge and experience were exceptional, and his services were so highly sought after that only patients with serious medical needs could usually secure his attention.

But there was another reason he worked at Andrio Hospital.

He owed his life to the man standing before him.

Several years ago, a pharmaceutical organization had attempted to silence Alexandro after he exposed its illegal drug manufacturing and distribution. They had kidn*pped him and intended to kill him before the truth could reach the public.

Rafaello Vescari had intervened.

He had saved Alexandro's life, though not out of kindness alone. Rafaello had his own reasons, and Alexandro understood that the man never did anything without expecting something in return.

In the end, the doctor had agreed to work at Andrio Hospital as its senior specialist, under Rafaello's protection.

He had never regretted that decision.

Not even after witnessing what Rafaello was capable of.

Tonight, Alexandro arrived in a hurry, his coat half-buttoned, his hair still damp.

"Don Rafaello."

"Doctor." Rafaello's voice was low. "Thank you for coming."

"You never need to thank me for that."

It was the briefest of greetings. Alexandro turned straight to the injured woman and began his examination, his expression growing graver with every passing second. He checked her pupils, her pulse, and the wound at her temple. He ran his hands carefully along her arms and ribs.

There were bruises and lacerations across her body. Her condition was particularly concerning because of the head injuries. The blood-soaked skirt suggested that she had also suffered significant trauma elsewhere.

"Who gave her first aid?" he asked without looking up.

"My men," the aide said.

"Whoever it was, tell them they did well. Without that, she might not have reached us."

Alexandro finished his initial examination and looked at Rafaello.

"She needs surgery. Immediately."

The words made the atmosphere even heavier.

"How bad is it?" someone asked.

"Bad enough that every minute counts," Alexandro said. "Her skull is injured, and I suspect internal bleeding as well."

"What happened to her?" another voice asked.

"Single-car accident," the aide answered.

Alexandro glanced at the patient's injuries again, and a deep line formed between his brows.

"A single-car accident?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"No other vehicle? No one chasing her?"

"None that we found."

The older physician was quiet for a moment.

"From the circumstances and the severity of her injuries," he said slowly, "it almost looks like a suicide attempt."

Silence followed.

The thunder outside seemed suddenly very far away.

Rafaello Vescari said nothing. His expression remained unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on the woman lying on the medical bed.

But Enzo knew better.

As Rafaello's most trusted aide and the man who had served him longer than anyone else, Enzo had learned to recognize the smallest changes in his master's behavior. He knew when Rafaello was displeased, when he was angry, and when he was about to make someone disappear.

And right now, beneath that frighteningly composed expression, Rafaello was panicking.

He was simply too skilled at hiding it.

"What do you need to save her, Doctor?"

Rafaello finally asked.

Alexandro looked at him.

"I'll take her into surgery. I need the best team available, a full blood supply, and the operating room cleared. We need to act quickly."

"Then do it."

Rafaello's voice was low, but every word carried unmistakable authority.

"Do whatever is necessary. Use everything you have. I don't care how much it costs. Just save her."

"I understand."

"Alexandro."

The doctor paused.

"I'm not asking for a favor," Rafaello said. "I'm telling you she cannot die."

Alexandro held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"I'll do everything I can."

He turned back to the medical team and began issuing instructions. The woman was prepared for surgery, and the staff moved quickly to transfer her. For a brief moment, Alexandro looked at her again.

Her breathing was frighteningly faint. Each shallow rise of her chest seemed almost too fragile, as though she might stop breathing at any moment.

There was no time to waste.

The operating team hurried away with the patient, wheels clattering down the corridor. The doors swung shut behind them.

Rafaello remained where he was, watching until they stopped moving.

Don Rafaello Vescari was not an ordinary mafia boss.

He was a man whose influence extended far beyond the underworld. His power reached into countless legitimate businesses, financial institutions, and enterprises across the country. Yet it was the illegal world that truly belonged to him.

He controlled territories, commanded loyal men, and possessed enough influence to make powerful people tremble at the mere mention of his name.

He was also a cruel man.

A man who could order someone's death without blinking, who showed little mercy to those who stood in his way. However, Rafaello rarely dirtied his own hands unless the situation demanded it. He had countless people willing to carry out his orders.

From the far end of the corridor, Alexandro glanced back one last time before he disappeared through the operating theater doors.

He still remembered the day he had been kidn*pped. He remembered the gunshots, the blood, and the terrifying figure who had arrived to rescue him. Rafaello had personally killed several men that day, his movements calm and merciless despite the chaos surrounding them.

The doctor knew perfectly well that Rafaello had not saved him out of pure compassion.

The man had wanted something in return.

But that did not change the fact that Alexandro was alive because of him.

He would always be grateful for that.

And yet, tonight, even Alexandro found himself wondering.

Who was this woman?

Who could possibly be important enough to make Don Rafaello Vescari abandon everything and rush to the hospital in the middle of the night?

More importantly, who could make a man like him look so worried?