Page 35 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

Raven is our only shot. I hate relying on her, but she’s our best bet with a needle now. She’s the only one at this moment who can save this bastard long enough to get the answers we need.

By the time I reach the stitch room, I see that the guards have already brought her in. Raven is there, pulling her hair back into a bun with shaky hands. She looks too jittery.

Her lips quaver as she scans him. Tomasso is sprawled out on the operating table, eyes half closed and epileptic movements coursing through his body. He’s losing too much blood, and he doesn’t look like he’ll last long.

“No.” I make my way through the steely shelves on either side of the walls. When I reach her, I make sure my voice is calm. The last thing I want is to add to her fears.

“I need you to focus, Raven.”

The sound of her hard breathing fills the room before she places the back of her palm over her mouth. Fuck. Her hands are still trembling.

“I—I’m trying,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. Her eyes flick to Tomasso’s pale face. “I’m just a resident. What if I mess up?”

From experience, every operation is fifty-fifty. But I can’t afford this loss… not when we’re this close.

“You won’t.” My voice leaves no room for doubt. “You’ve done this before, I’m sure.”

She breathes again and brings her hand away from her mouth, her eyes wide and uncertain. “Yes, next to a supervising surgeon to make sure I don’t mess up; plus, there’s not enough tools.”

“Not enough tools?” I meet her stare with a deep frown.

“I need surgical gloves. I don't even know if this place is clean enough to perform any procedure. He stands a risk of infection and.. and…”

I drown out her words. For goodness sake, that is the least of our problems right now. But I don’t want to lash out at her. It will only do more harm.

“Just do what you must. You are more than capable, Miss Nightshade.”

I’m not sure if it is the pep talk or the name, but the fire in her eyes ignites, and she grabs a bottle of vodka from the sink to wash her hands. Then she quickly walks back to the operating table. She leans over Tomasso, her brows kneading together while examining the cut. “Clear the room. We need to stop the bleeding.”

Her voice shakes as she presses down on the wound, her hands already covered in his blood. It’s pouring from his neck faster than either of us expected.

I waste no time nodding at the guards, and they get the signal. They exit the room except one that I mutter a ‘stay’ to.

“Hand me a cloth,” she says without glancing away from Tomasso. I quickly walk to the shelf on the right and bring a piece of white cloth from the neatly stacked pieces. The fabric isn't too thin or thick, but it’ll do.

She hurriedly grabs it from my hand and replaces it with her hand, pressing against the bleeding. A split second later, she turns to me. “More cloths. We have to elevate his head.”

Again, I oblige, bringing the whole stack for her. With her one hand against the cut, she shrugs some fabric off and puts the remaining stack below his neck. His head rises, and I feel like giving the fucker a blow.

“Water,” she orders again.

There’s a transparent keg at a corner of the room filled with treated water. I don't need to signal to the guard before he acts quickly. He walks swiftly to the keg, grabs a bowl from the shelf, and fetches the water from the bowl before handing it to Raven.

Raven wastes no time in drenching a piece of cloth with the water and swiping it against the area. With every swipe, the blood becomes less until the wound looks less gruesome, but blood continues to trickle a path down his neck. “Keep pressure here,” she motions at the guard, who again quickly moves closer and presses the cloth against his neck. I take a step back and clench my teeth, my breathing coming out in strained pants.

He has to survive.

Only the sound of her footsteps fills the room as she sways her luscious hips to the shelf on the other end and grabs a tray. She arraigns the tools she needs and returns back to the operating table. She singles out the needle, thread, and needle holder, pouring vodka on them before positioning them on the cut.

I see her release a breath as she tries to steady her hand. I’m tempted to tell her she's got this, but I don’t want to disrupt her flow.

She heaves. “I want you to stay with me, okay?” she whispers to a half-dead Tomasso before inserting the needle and passing the thread through the loop. As she repeats the motion, I watch her, and slowly, the tension in my bones eases.

Watching her work feels good… oddly. With her brow furrowed in concentration, her hands work swiftly but with controlled precision, and it seems to take me to another realm. Somehow here… in these circumstances, she looks even more beautiful. Her back is hunched in a way that accentuates her ass through her mid-length nightgown.

I instantly recall the events of yesterday, and a small smirk slips onto my lips. When I saw her in that night dress…fuck. The way it clung to her curves. How her nipples stood against the silk fabric, begging for my attention. The way her breathing shallowed.

But the feelings didn’t last long because of her damn attitude, of course.

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