Chapter 34 Patterns in Blood
Dante's POV
Dawn crept through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting Rome in shades of amber and rose. Dante found Aria on the balcony, still wearing his shirt from the night before, staring at the city below.
She hadn't slept. Neither had he.
"You should be resting," he said, stepping outside.
"Can't." She didn't turn around. "Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that garage."
Dante moved beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The morning air was cold, but she didn't seem to notice.
"The message mentioned my father," Aria said quietly. "Why? He's a politician. He has nothing to do with your world."
Dante's jaw tightened. If only you knew. But this wasn't the time for that truth. Not when she was already drowning in fear.
"People use leverage however they can," he said carefully. "Maybe they think threatening your family will make you back off."
"Back off from what? I'm not investigating anything. I'm just trying to live my life." Her voice cracked. "And now someone wants me dead for it."
He caught her hand, pulled her around to face him. "Not dead. Scared. There's a difference."
"Doesn't feel different."
"I know." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "But I'm going to find out who did this. And I'm going to make sure they never get near you again."
She looked up at him, searching his face. "You've done this before. Hunted people."
Not a question. A statement.
"Yes."
"And it doesn't bother you? The violence?"
"It did once." Dante's thumb traced her cheekbone. "Now it's just what I am."
"That's sad."
"That's survival."
Aria leaned into his touch, and something in his chest pulled tight. This woman had seen him covered in blood, knew what he was capable of, and still looked at him like he was worth saving.
Dangerous. For both of them.
His phone buzzed. Rocco. Perfect timing, as always.
Dante stepped back, checked the message. Found him. Warehouse in Testaccio. Come alone.
"I have to go," he said.
"You found the shooter." Not a question this time either.
"Maybe. Rocco has a lead." Dante pocketed his phone. "You stay here. The security team is outside. Don't leave without them."
"I have surgery scheduled at nine. Mrs. Lombardi's valve replacement."
"Cancel it."
"No." Steel entered her voice. "Someone wants me scared and hiding. I won't give them that. I'm doing my job."
Dante recognized that look. The same stubbornness that had made her operate on him when any sane person would have run.
"Fine. But security goes with you. Non-negotiable."
"Fine."
He pulled her close one more time, breathed in the scent of her hair. Memorized the feel of her alive and whole in his arms.
"Be careful," she whispered.
"Always am."
A lie. But a comforting one.
Aria's POV
The surgical suite felt different today.
Aria stood at the scrub sink, watching her hands move through the motions. Soap, water, brush. The ritual that centered her before every procedure.
But today, her hands shook.
"Dr. Salvini?" Nurse Matteo appeared at her elbow. "Mrs. Lombardi is prepped and ready."
"Thank you." Aria dried her hands, pulled on gloves. Focused on the task ahead. This was familiar ground. Safe ground.
Until she entered the OR and saw Dr. Ricci standing beside her anesthesiologist.
"Carlo?" She stopped short. "What are you doing here?"
"Observing." His smile was pleasant. Too pleasant. "Your valve replacements are always textbook. I thought I'd watch, maybe learn something."
Something cold slithered down her spine.
Dr. Ricci never observed routine surgeries. He was chief of cardiology, not a resident looking to improve technique.
"Of course," she said smoothly. "Always happy to have you."
But her instincts screamed wrong wrong wrong.
The surgery proceeded normally. Incision, retractors, opening the pericardium. Mrs. Lombardi's heart beat steadily under Aria's hands, a rhythm she'd felt a thousand times.
Then the clamp slipped.
Not much. Just a fraction of a millimeter. But enough that the aortic valve shifted, and suddenly blood was everywhere.
"Suction!" Aria barked. "Marco, I need better visualization."
Her anesthesiologist moved fast, adjusting position. Matteo appeared with fresh gauze.
But Aria's mind raced. That clamp had been secure. She'd checked it twice, the way she always did.
Equipment didn't just slip.
She got control of the bleeding, finished the valve replacement with steady hands despite her hammering heart. Closed the patient up. Watched Mrs. Lombardi's vitals stabilize.
"Beautiful work," Dr. Ricci said as they peeled off their gloves. "Quick thinking when the clamp failed."
"The clamp didn't fail," Aria said quietly. "Someone loosened it."
His eyebrows rose. "Aria, that's a serious accusation. Equipment malfunctions happen."
"Not like that. Not on my table."
"You're stressed. Understandably, after yesterday's incident." His hand landed on her shoulder. "Take the rest of the day off. Get some rest."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to demand they examine that clamp, find out if someone had tampered with it.
But Dr. Ricci was already walking away, and Matteo was giving her a strange look, and Aria realized how paranoid she sounded.
Maybe she was losing it. Maybe fear was making her see threats where none existed.
Or maybe someone had just tried to kill her patient.
Dante's POV
The warehouse smelled like rust and old blood.
Dante found Rocco in the back room, standing over a man zip-tied to a chair. Mid-thirties, muscular, tattoos crawling up both arms. Professional muscle.
"This him?" Dante asked.
"Claims he was in Testaccio all night. But his car was spotted two blocks from the hospital around the time of the shooting." Rocco crossed his arms. "Matches the build from the security footage we recovered."
The man's eyes tracked Dante as he circled closer. Fear there, but controlled. Someone used to violence.
"I didn't shoot anyone," the man said. His accent was Sicilian. "Wrong guy."
"You drive a black Alfa Romeo?" Dante asked conversationally.
"Lots of people drive Alfa Romeos."
"With a dent in the rear bumper? License plate ending in 847?" Dante crouched in front of him. "You were there. The question is whether you pulled the trigger or just drove the car."
Silence.
"Here's how this works," Dante continued. "You tell me who hired you, I let you walk. You stay quiet, Rocco gets creative. And Rocco's very creative when he's bored."
The man's jaw worked. Calculating odds, weighing loyalty against survival.
"They said scare her," he finally said. "Not kill. Just put a few rounds near the car, send a message."
"What message?"
"Stop asking questions. Stop poking around."
"Around what?"
"Didn't say. Just said she saw something at the hospital. Something she shouldn't have." The man shifted in his chair. "Some patience, I think. That's all I know, I swear."
Dante's blood went cold. "What patient?"
"Didn't give me details! Just said she operated on someone, and that someone's people weren't happy about it." Desperation crept into his voice. "I'm just the trigger man. They don't tell me the whole story."
"Who hired you?"
"Guy named Luca. Didn't give a last name. Met him in a bar, he offered five thousand euros to scare some doctor." The man's eyes darted between Dante and Rocco. "That's everything. I swear on my mother."
Dante stood, looking at Rocco. "Find Luca. Find out who he works for."
"And this one?"
"Let him go. He's told us everything useful." Dante headed for the door, then paused. "But if I see you in Rome again, you won't walk away a second time. Understood?"
Frantic nodding.
Outside, Dante pulled out his phone. Three missed calls from Aria.
His pulse spiked. He dialed back immediately.
"Dante." Her voice was tight. "Something happened at the hospital. During surgery. I think someone tampered with my equipment."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. But my patient almost died. And I've been thinking about my recent cases, and three weeks ago—" She took a shaky breath. "Three weeks ago I operated on a man with a gunshot wound. Chest cavity. He was critical, but I saved him."
"So?"
"So he wouldn't give his real name. Used a fake ID. And the police never followed up, which is strange for a gunshot case." Words tumbled out faster now. "I didn't think much of it at the time. We get patients who don't want authorities involved. But Dante, what if he was someone important? Someone dangerous?"
Dante's mind raced. A man shot, brought to Sant'Angelo, treated by Aria. A man whose survival someone hadn't wanted.
"What did he look like?"
"Forties. Scar through his left eyebrow. A tattoo on his neck, some kind of symbol I didn't recognize." She paused. "Why? Do you know who he might be?"
Dante knew exactly who he might be.
Antonio Marchetti. Heir to one of Rome's oldest crime families. Missing for three weeks after a botched hit.
If Aria had saved him, if she'd seen his face, talked to him she was a witness. A liability.
"Dante?" Aria's voice pulled him back. "I think I know why someone wants me dead. Three weeks ago, I operated on someone I shouldn't have. Someone who wasn't supposed to survive."
"Where are you right now?"
"My office. Security's outside."
"Stay there. I'm coming to get you." Dante was already moving toward his car. "Don't talk to anyone. Don't leave that room. Understand?"
"What's happening?"
"You saved the wrong man's life, _tesoro_. And now someone wants to erase the evidence."
He hung up, dialed Rocco. "Get everyone we have to
Sant'Angelo Hospital. Now. Aria just became a target for the Marchetti family."
This wasn't about her father. It wasn't about their relationship.
This was about a debt paid in blood.
And the Marchettis always collected.