Page 34 of Taken By the Mafia King
The door opened so fast it nearly hit me in the face. Killian braced himself on the doorframe, out of breath. His hair hung wet in his eyes, heavy with sweat, and his clothes clung to him. Not from perspiration, but from blood. I gasped at the sheer amount of it covering his clothing.
Ruffled and wild, he panted, “Is it true you have medical training?” His eyes met mine with a silent plea that almost brought me to my knees. I took it the blood wasn’t his.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly. How had he known? My training had come later in adolescence but had been a necessary evil once I knew the full scope of my father’s business.
Killian extended a hand to me, his gray eyes shining with a flurry of panicked emotion. I’d never seen him so raw. “I need your help.”
I swallowed hard as I took his hand and he gently wrapped his warm, callused fingers around mine. It was a very soft touch, but it sent shivers of electricity shooting up my arm and down deep within my belly.
We hurried through the house, my silken robe trailing behind me as my bare feet slapped against dark marble tile.
When we reached the grand staircase in the front foyer, he picked up the pace, pulling me down the steps as shouts and frantic cries from below echoed through the massive house.
He led me into what looked like a ballroom of sorts, or at least the biggest dining room I’d ever seen in my life. But the lavish decorations and art on the walls did nothing to hide the blood-soaked floor and the man lying limp on the table, surrounded by Killian’s crew.
“Oh my God,” I breathed as my gaze settled on Tommaso, who was a sickly pale color, his lips slightly parted. “Is he breathing?”
“Barely,” Killian said in a cracked voice that shattered my heart. “He was shot through the chest. He’s bleeding out but Idon’t know if the bullet came out. I’ve sent for the doctor, but it’ll take too long.”
“I need everything you have.” I cut him off, my voice distant and unrecognizable. I shrugged off my robe and let it fall to the floor. The loose sleeves would only get in my way. “Needles, thread, antiseptics, painkillers. This is going to hurt, badly, Killian,” I said firmly, meeting his eyes. Then I turned to his crew and began screaming orders.
Hot water. Towels. Soap. Give him space. Give me space.
I hurried into a kitchen where maids frantically skittered about, their faces flushed. I washed my hands until my skin was raw and burning from the scalding water before I went back into the dining room and my lower belly brushed over the edge of the table.
Killian was on the other side of the table, watching me as I inspected the damage done to Tommaso’s chest. It was bad, and one look at Killian conveyed my feelings as I cleaned the wound. Eyes still closed, Tommaso writhed on the hard wood.
I gave him some painkillers, hoping they kicked in fast. Then I sucked in a breath before reaching inside of Tommaso to pull out the bullet fragment that was making him bleed to death. Tommaso flinched but didn’t cry out.
“The doctor is on his way,” Francesco said somewhere behind me, as if to try to stop me.
“Back away from her,” Killian said with ire, then screamed it, and the room fell silent in the wake of his echo.
Before I’d even turned fifteen, I’d already saved lives using this exact tactic. I’d stood at tables soaked in the blood of murderers while cigar smoke hung heavy in the air all around me. I’d done it knowing it was wrong, that those men deserved to die.
But not this one. Not this man who’d been kind to me. Not this man who’d wanted nothing more than for me to be comfortable and maybe give him a smile in return.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to Tommaso, my hands shaking as I motioned for Killian to turn him over. Tommaso wasn’t lucid. He was barely breathing now.
With the wound in the front taken care of for now, I sewed the gaping hole in his back shut after I was sure there were no bullet fragments left. Killian kept his eyes on me as he slowly lowered Tommaso down and I got to work stitching his chest wound closed with a practiced, refined grace.
I didn’t look at Killian. I wondered what he thought about my skills, how they were honed, who I’d been forced to practice on and eventually save.
The bleeding had slowed and Tommaso’s coloring was beginning to return by the time I’d secured the last stitch and cleaned his chest. I stretched tight bandages over his bruised and mottled skin.
“What the hell is that girl doing?” came a booming voice nearby as I stuck Tommaso in the thigh with penicillin to prevent infection. The doctor pushed forward but Killian raised his hand.
“Thank you,” he said to me as the room fell quiet and I backed away from the table.
I held Killian’s gaze as the same doctor who had treated me stepped forward and inspected my work. He tilted his head, his lips pressed in a tight, somewhat surprised smile. “Not bad. Was that an antibiotic shot?”
I nodded.
“Will he live?” Francesco asked. For the first time I noticed the sheer number of wary faces in the room and felt like shrinking into myself as all of those eyes settled on me. I wascovered up to the shoulders in blood—Tommaso’s blood. Their friend and brother.
“A gunshot through the chest is never good. How he fares tomorrow will be telling,” the doctor replied, and to my surprise, he held out his hand for me to shake. Killian looked like he was going to murder the man if the doctor touched me without my consent.
But I extended my bloody hand and clasped his firmly, tightly, my face a mask of steel.
