He's sprawled on a plush rug that must have been white at some point but is now stained crimson. One leg of his trousers has been ripped to his thigh with a white blood-stained towel pressed firmly on a spot just above the knee. His handsome face is pale, contorted in a grimace of pain with sweat glistening on his forehead. My stomach clenches as I take him in. For a second, I am paralyzed with worry, but I quickly snap out of it.
The room blurs around me as I rush toward him, my heart hammering against my ribs. Matteo moves out of the way without me having to ask and doesn’t crowd me as I kneel beside Antonio, my eyes locked on his bleeding leg. Luca passes me my bag, and my fingers fumble slightly as I rip it open, adrenaline surging through my veins.
“He was shot,” Matteo offers helpfully. “We’ve been applying pressure to the wound.”
“Okay,” I say, tugging off the towel to inspect the jagged hole in his leg but the gunshot is a flesh wound, and I am relieved when I realize it didn't hit anything vital. Still, it doesn't assuage my worry. The bullet is lodged inside and needs to be taken out to stop the bleeding. “He needs to go to the hospital.”
“No!”
A series of voices ring out, including Antonio’s. “No hospital,” he says in a ragged breath.
“They are much better equipped to treat your wound and help with the pain,” I say even as I apply pressure to the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood. “You’ve also lost a lot of blood. You might need a transfusion.”
“Just a few stitches, and I’ll be good to go.” His eyes meet mine, and I quickly look away, unwilling to be sucked into the beauty of those hazel eyes. Now’s not the time. In fact, the time is never. I promised myself not to fall back into that cruel trap.
“Someone boil water and get me clean towels,” I order, not looking up from the wound. “And I need good lighting—better than this."
Leonardo moves immediately, barking orders to the staff. Within moments, I have what I need. I pull alcohol from my kit to sterilize the area, my hands moving with practiced precision as I clean around the injury.
“It would hurt a whole lot less if we went to the hospital.” He winces as I clean the wound, his body tense but he remains silent. I probe carefully, knowing the bullet is lodged somewhere in the soft tissue but unable to see it through all the blood. “I’mgoing to need to get the bullet out,” I say, my voice steady despite my racing heart.
“Aren’t you going to ask how it happened?”
“Quiet,” I snap, grabbing a syringe from my bag and injecting him with an anesthetic to numb the area. I reach for the forceps and begin the delicate process of extracting the bullet. He winces as I probe, his breath hitching and a low groan escaping his lips. I glance up briefly to find his eyes squeezed tight with a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple.
I can feel eyes on me, but I don't let that bother me as I take out the bullet. I work carefully but fast, trying not to think of how he got injured in the first place. I suppose it was while he was doing something illegal, or else he wouldn't be so reluctant about going to the hospital. Every gunshot wound has to be reported to the police, and the Rossis aren't exactly on the best terms with the NYPD.
Once I’m done, I clean the wound with more alcohol, getting ready to start stitching him up. “You’re going to feel some pressure and discomfort.”
“I trust you,dottoressa,” he heaves in a rushed breath.
I ignore the way my heart jolts at his words, reaching for the needle and thread, my fingers moving swiftly to stitch the wound closed. I work fast, and I’m careful, making sure the knot is secured before applying a bandage and securing it tightly.
I turn to Leonardo, who’s stayed silent through the entire process. “He’s going to need strong painkillers and antibiotics. He’s also lost a lot of blood, so he’ll need to be put on IV fluids. He needs a hospital, Leonardo.”
“We have medical supplies stocked in this house,” he says firmly. “You’ll find everything you need here, but in case you don’t, you have only to ask.”
It shouldn’t surprise me that this family doesn’t need prescriptions to access medication like normal people would. There is nothing normal about this family. I nod and climb to my feet, instructing Matteo and Luca to help carry Antonio to his room. My mother takes me to where they keep their supplies, and I am surprised by how well stocked Leonardo’s medical supplies are.
I find an IV catheter and everything else I need and head up to Antonio’s room. I insert the IV first, using it to push the painkillers and antibiotics into his system. Then I hook up the IV drip line and adjust the flow.
Leonardo sticks around until the meds take effect and Antonio falls asleep. “Come with me,cara,” Leonardo urges, pulling me out of the room. “I know I've put you in a difficult position today. but I am pleased that I could depend on you to save my son's life."And keep the family's secret. But that last part is not said out loud. It doesn’t need to be. What I just did could land me in trouble, and I could lose my medical license, but I would never turn my back on family.
“I’ll stay the night so I can monitor him,” I say instead and watch as worry leaves his face.
Leonardo squeezes my hands and kisses both my cheeks before leaving me to tend to my patient. I walk back into the room and check on Antonio before walking to the recliner. I bite down a yawn as exhaustion floods in. I’ve been running on pure adrenaline, and I feel it drain out of me as exhaustion takes over. I curl up on the recliner and close my eyes. It’ll only be for a few minutes, I tell myself as the world fades to black.
I dream of him...
I’m almost twenty, and the summer sun is brutal.
The Rossi estate pool glitters like liquid sapphire, and I’m stretched out on one of the loungers, pretending to read a textbook while secretly watching Antonio over the top of my sunglasses. He’s doing laps, cutting through the water with the efficiency of someone who treats exercise like a job requirement—which, for a man in his position, it probably is. At twenty-nine, he’s all coiled power and controlled strength, every stroke precise and purposeful.
Luca is sprawled on the lounger next to mine, earbuds in, eyes closed, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. My twin has never been particularly observant about matters of the heart—his or anyone else’s. If he knew I spent half my time at the Rossi estate sneaking glances at Antonio, he’d probably laugh himself sick. Or worse, he’d tell him.
Gabriella is curled up at the foot of my lounger, flipping through a fashion magazine and occasionally pointing out outfits she thinks would look good on me. At fourteen, she’s already developing strong opinions about style that I’ll never share. “You’d look amazing in this,” she says, tapping a photo of a model in a slinky red dress. “Way better than her.”
“I’m going to be a surgeon, Gabby. I’ll be wearing scrubs.”
