Chương 5 - The Blood Stains
Dante's blood soaked completely through his expensive suit jacket.
He did not stop firing, covering our retreat as his scarred guard, Enzo, burst from the driver's seat.
Enzo grabbed me by the waist and threw me into the back of the shattered Mercedes.
Dante dove in right behind me, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
"Drive!" Dante yelled over the sound of incoming gunfire.
Enzo slammed his foot on the gas, tearing away from the gala and plunging into the dark city streets.
I stared at Dante in absolute shock.
He was leaning heavily against the leather seat, his face pale and shining with sweat.
"You are bleeding," I stated the obvious, my voice trembling.
"It is a through-and-through," Dante gritted his teeth, tearing his tie off with his good hand.
"Enzo, take us to the Brooklyn safe house."
We drove in terrified silence for twenty minutes before pulling into an abandoned warehouse.
Enzo secured the perimeter while I helped Dante walk into a dusty, dimly lit office.
There was a heavy metal desk and a fully stocked medical kit on the table.
Dante collapsed into the leather desk chair, breathing heavily.
"I need you to stitch it, Clare," he said, gesturing to the medical kit.
"I am a waitress, not a surgeon," I panicked, my hands shaking violently.
"You told me I needed a doctor or a mobster," Dante smirked weakly.
"Tonight, you get to play the doctor."
I swallowed my fear, opened the kit, and grabbed a pair of surgical scissors.
I carefully cut away his ruined shirt, exposing his heavily muscled chest and the bleeding wound on his shoulder.
I cleaned the wound with alcohol, ignoring his sharp intake of breath.
For a moment, the mafia boss was entirely at my mercy.
I looked into his dark eyes, realizing how incredibly close our faces were.
"Why did you really buy my debt, Dante?" I whispered, threading the curved needle.
"Because I needed the ledger," he admitted quietly, not breaking eye contact.
"But when I saw you in that diner, exhausted and fighting the world alone... something changed."
My breath hitched as he reached up with his good hand and touched my cheek.
"I realized I wanted the waitress more than I wanted the ledger."
I pushed the needle through his skin, and he did not even flinch.
When I finally finished tying the last knot, I stepped back to give him space.
I bumped into the heavy metal desk, knocking a manila folder onto the floor.
Dozens of photographs spilled out across the dusty concrete.
I froze, looking down at the scattered images.
They were surveillance photos of me.
Some were taken at the diner, some at my apartment, and some at the grocery store.
But the oldest photo made my blood run completely cold.
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It was a picture of me sitting beside my mother's hospital bed, taken three years ago.
"You have been watching me since before she died," I whispered in absolute horror.
