Page 3 of The Mob Boss' Pet

I’ve seen organs obliterated by gunshots. I’ve watched a newborn’s heart beat for the last time during surgery. But nothing prepared me for this. Looking down the barrel of a gun, my legs wobble and my chest clenches.

I’m only twenty-nine. I haven’t found true love. I haven’t made a mark on the world. I can’t die today. Please, God, don’t let me die today.

Looking away from the barrel, my gaze falls on something worse than the patient on the bakery table. There’s another man on the floor. He’s the source of the blood pool on the floor. A gunshot to his head. He’s dead.

My god.

“Here!” Tony runs into the room waving a small sewing kit. “Will this work?” He hands it over the body to me.

With a shaking hand I take it. “Yeah, Tony, this will work. Thanks,” I say softly.

“Get back out front.” The smoker pats Tony’s shoulder. “We don’t want anything to look unusual.”

Tony nods his head. “Yes, of course. Of course,” he says and rushes back out front.

“Get to work, Doc,” the goon with the gun says.

“I’m a doctor,” I mutter. “I need to wash my hands.” I point to the sink. He leaves me in relative peace as I wash up as best I can in the kitchen sink, then I go back to the sleeping man.

“Get going,” he commands when I keep inspecting the wound.

“Once I’m done, I can go, right?” I ask. Not that his answer really carries any weight, but it would be good to know what’s coming at me.

“Sure. You’ll be on your merry way. Now start. If he dies—” he clicks something on the gun, “so do you.”

My mouth dries. Picking up the sewing kit, I do the only thing I can do at the moment. I get to work patching up my patient.

Chapter Two

Vincenzo

“Where is he?” I throw open the doors to Roberto’s bedroom. The stink of cigar smoke lingers in the air, like a thick blanket being shoved over my face. Charlie stands in the far corner of my brother’s room like a watchdog, puffing away on his damn cigar.

“Calm down, Vincenzo. He’s all right.” Anton puts his hands out to ward me off from charging straight to the bed. Our little brother is lying in the bed, two gunshots to his chest.

I shove Anton out of the way and round the bed. Roberto’s asleep. Blood has seeped through the bandage on his shoulder.

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