Chapter 6 - The Medic and the Boss
The heavy locks clicked, and the steel door groaned open.
Clara stood up, clutching Luca.
Matteo stood in the doorway. He was covered in soot and blood, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side, crimson soaking through his torn shirt. The estate behind him smelled of gunpowder and smoke, but it was quiet.
"They're gone," Matteo breathed, before his knees buckled.
Clara handed Luca to Enzo, who had rushed up behind Matteo, and dropped to her knees beside the mafia boss. She ripped open his ruined shirt. It was a through-and-through gunshot wound to the shoulder.
"Enzo, get my medical bag from the nursery. Dante, clear the dining room table and get me boiling water and high-proof alcohol," Clara snapped, her voice carrying the absolute authority of an attending physician.
Ten minutes later, Matteo was lying on his own mahogany dining table. The estate doctor was stuck behind a police barricade across town, leaving Clara as the only medical professional in the compound.
"This is going to hurt," Clara warned, threading a suture needle. "I don't have local anesthetic."
"Do it," Matteo grunted, his eyes fixed firmly on her face.
Clara worked quickly and flawlessly. She cleaned the wound, packed it, and stitched the torn muscle and skin with mechanical precision. The enforcers stood around the room in absolute silence, watching the former waitress stitch up their boss without a tremor in her hands.
When she tied off the final suture, Clara stepped back, wiping her bloody hands on a towel.
Matteo sat up slowly, wincing, but his eyes never left her. The way he looked at her had changed. It was no longer just gratitude. It was absolute, undeniable possession.
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"You missed your calling, Doc," Dante muttered in awe from the corner.
"No," Matteo said, his dark eyes burning into Clara's soul. "She is exactly where she is supposed to be."
