Page 68 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

I sigh as I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling of my office in the mansion, my mind already running through the scenario for the hundredth time. The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes.

The infiltrator was only a distraction. He’s definitely connected to Russo and Smerti. They’ve done a good job of making the attacker untraceable. I bounce my feet as the chair swivels slightly.

I’d do it the same way if I were pulling the strings— send a small pawn to create chaos, and shift the focus from the mastermind. Matteo's betrayal had been a perfect example of that misdirection.

Staring back at Elio, I wave my hand in a disapproving manner. “No need to keep digging, we’re wasting time and resources chasing shadows. Whoever went after Raven was a small-time pawn. Our focus should be on the one behind it all—Smerti.”

My words are firm—no need for distractions. If we’re going to take down the snake, we need to go for the head.

Elio hesitates for a moment, then nods once, “Capito (Understood).” He knows I’m right.

Elio’s phone rings then and he steps aside to take the call while I flip through the month’s ledger. After a minute of sibilant whispers and a series of nods, he tucks the device into his jacket and turns to me with a smile.

“Buone notizie, Capo!(Good news, Boss!)”

I arch a brow. “Cosa(What)?”

“I just got off the phone with Susan, the chairwoman of the Federal Communication Commission…” he begins. I smile, having an idea where this is headed.

“Okay?” I clasp my hands on the table.

“The scandal with Russo has blown over. The photo of him at Club Serenita is finally buried,” he announces, his voice light.

I chuckle heartily and give an approving nod. “You’ve done well, Elio.”

Thanks to Elio's relentless efforts and our well-placed media ally, my standing in the community is back where it needs to be, and my business will keep thriving in the shadows.

Just as I’m about to move on to other business, there’s a knock at the door.

“Chi è(Who is it)?”

“Don, sono io, Lorenzo(Don, it is I, Lorenzo).” The voice on the other side of the door filters into my ear.

Elio walks to the door and opens it. From where I am seated, I can see Lorenzo, a guard, standing with a brown-haired man outside the door.

“Ho portato il dottore(I have brought the doctor),” he informs me.

I frown at Elio, who glances at me. “Dr. Taylor?”

Elio rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“I called him,” he admits. “After the bullet wound... I just wanted to be sure everything’s healing right. I know Raven did her best, but this isn’t just a cut this time. It's a bullet wound.”

I stare at him for a moment, processing his words. My instinct is to shut this down—tell him it’s unnecessary—but I can see the worry etched on his face. Elio's always been cautious, the one to cover all bases. He called the doctor out of concern, not because he doubted Raven's skills.

I hold back a sigh. Elio’s always been the careful one. It’s why he’s lasted so long by my side. I give him a slow nod. “Fine. Let him in.”

The doctor, a tall man with greying hair and a calm demeanor, enters the room carrying a black bag. He gives me a respectful nod before getting right to work, checking my blood pressure, asking about pain, and all the necessary routine checks. His hands are cold, clinical, and efficient. It’s nothing like the way Raven handled me, though.

My gaze instinctively falls to my wrist, where the IV Raven had removed two days ago used to be. I can’t stop thinking about her touch, the way her fingers would linger, her brow furrowed in concentration, and the small, unintentional smiles she’d give when she was satisfied with her work.

Dr. Taylor checks my pulse, his fingers pressing lightly against my wrist. “The wound’s healing well,” he says, breaking my thoughts. “No signs of infection. Whoever fixed your wound and stitched you up did a fine job. Guess that’s why you haven’t bothered to call me until now, huh?”

I just grunt in response, barely listening. My thoughts are elsewhere. Usually, Taylor would have something negative to say about my blood pressure. But as I think back, I slowly realize that I’ve not had those nightmares in a while. The nightmares were the major catalyst for my blood pressure.

The memories are hazy and distant. I can’t even pinpoint when I last had one. Maybe it was a month ago, around the time Raven started staying in my room.

The doctor clears his throat, stepping back. I know he notices the unusual stability in my BP, but he doesn’t mention it. “You’re ingood condition, but I’d advise taking it easy for a while longer. Let your body heal properly.”

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