The Fire In Her Eyes

Chapter 1: The Man with the Bullet Wound The hospital always smelled of antiseptic and blood. Most people didn’t notice the subsequent, but Liyanah did. She’d grown up in hallways like these , her father, a cardiothoracic surgeon and her mother, a trauma specialist.Her childhood wasn’t toys or bedtime stories, but the beeping of heart monitors and the hiss of oxygen lines. At twenty-three, Liyanah was already one of the most promising young doctors in the trauma unit of St. Sadine Hospital. She was known for her calm hands and quicker thinking and for being the best doctor. Blood didn’t scare her and screams didn’t break her focus. Death didn’t intimidate her.Only failure did. That night, the emergency ward was a storm. Two gunshot victims, one car crash, and a drug overdose all within an hour. She hadn’t eaten in hours, hadn’t blinked in three. But she was steady and always ready. Then the doors slammed open. A group of men walked in not running, not panicked just walking, as if they owned the hospital. They weren’t police. They weren't doctors. They were dressed in black suits under the hospital lights, and the smell of gunpowder and danger seemed to follow them in. At the center of them was a man holding his side, blood between his fingers. His face was pale, his jaw set tight, and his dark eyes scanned the room like a hunter, not a victim. “I need Dr. Liyanah Khan,” he said. The nurse at the reception desk froze. “Sir, you need to—” “I said,” he cut her off, voice deep and deadly, “I need Dr. Khan immediately.” Liyanah stepped forward, taking off her gloves calmly. “That’s me.” All eyes turned to her and the man’s most of all. He was tall, broad-shouldered, early thirties, with a face that was both beautiful and dangerous. A scar ran from under his eyes to his jaw, like a story carved into his skin. “I was told you’re the best,” he said. “I don’t treat people based on rumors,” she replied coldly and not afraid. “You’ll wait your turn like every other patient.” A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes the kind that warned of trouble. “I don’t wait.” Liyanah crossed her arms. “Then you can bleed out. Your choice.You not that special that i should help you first.” The room went still. Even the machines seemed to hesitate. The men behind him exchanged looks shock, disbelief. No one talked to their boss like that. No one. But the wounded man only smiled , the corner of his mouth lifting in something dangerously close to admiration. “What’s your name?” she asked, grabbing gloves . “Dante,” he said. “Dante Moretti.” Her hands froze for a fraction of a second. The name wasn’t new. The Morettis were a whisper in every dark corner of Verona City — old money, old blood, and newer crimes. Smuggling, extortion, disappearances. The kind of people her parents had warned her to stay far away from. She put her gloves on anyway. “Lie down Dante.” He did, still watching her. His men backed away as she ripped his blood-soaked shirt and put it aside. The bullet had grazed his skin, tearing through muscle but missing his bone and lung. “This will hurt,” she said, reaching for the anesthetic. “I can handle pain,” Dante replied softly, eyes on her face. “I wasn’t asking,” she muttered and pressed the needle into his skin. He didn’t flinch. She worked in silence, stitching the wound gently. She was aware of his eyes dark,watching her every movement. The tension between them was thick and electric. He was supposed to frighten her, yet somehow he didn’t. Maybe because she’d seen men die. Maybe because she doesn't get afraid easily . Or maybe because there was something in him she didn’t understand yet something that felt like danger wearing charm as a disguise. When she finished, she pulled off her gloves. “You’ll need antibiotics and pain killers. No heavy lifting and stay out of trouble.” He gave a low chuckle. “That last part might be difficult.” She turned to leave, but he spoke again. “You didn’t ask what happened.” “I don’t need to know and i dont want to know,” she said. “I just fix people.” “That’s a shame.” His voice softened, almost thoughtful. “You’d make a good ally, Doctor.” She stopped. “I’m not interested in being part of your dangerous world.” He tilted his head slightly. “Everyone’s part of it. Some just don’t know yet.” Their eyes met her fire against his shadow. Then he smiled, slow . “Thank you, Dr. Khan.” She didn’t reply. She walked away, unbothered or at least she thought she was. Only when she reached the staff room did she realize her hands were shaking slightly. That night, as she left the hospital, the city was wrapped in fog. Her car keys jingled in her pocket. She glanced once over her shoulder instinct, nothing more.Almost seemed like something not good was about to happen. A black car slowly drove by the curb. A window rolled down. Dante Moretti sat inside, his wound freshly bandaged, his gaze sharp as ever. “You shouldn’t walk alone at night,” he said. She frowned. “Are you following me now?” He smiled . “Consider it a thank-you escort.” “I don’t need protection.”she said . “I know,” he said quietly. “That’s what makes you interesting.” Then the car pulled away, its taillights fading into the mist, leaving her with the faint echo of his words and a strange, unsettling warmth in her chest. She told herself it was just adrenaline. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t.