Chapter 6 The Morning After
The alarm pierced through Aria's fitful sleep at five-thirty, dragging her from dreams she'd rather forget. Dreams of dark eyes watching her across an operating table. Dreams of tattooed skin beneath her gloved hands. Dreams of a voice, rough and low, saying her name like a promise or a threat.
She slammed her palm against the alarm and sat up, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. Three days. It had been three days since that surgery, and she still couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted inside her that night. Something she couldn't name and didn't want to examine too closely.
Her apartment was small but comfortable, a one-bedroom in Trastevere that she'd fallen in love with during her residency. Morning light filtered through sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across hardwood floors. The walls held framed photos of her medical school graduation, her and Sienna at a conference in Milan, and one older picture that always made her chest ache: her mother, Camilla, laughing in a garden somewhere, dark hair falling around her face like a curtain of silk.
Aria had been ten when her mother died. A car accident, her father had said. Quick. Painless. She hadn't suffered.
Aria had learned early not to ask too many questions about that night.
She moved through her morning routine on autopilot. Shower. Coffee from the machine that had cost too much but made espresso strong enough to wake the dead. Toast with jam she barely tasted. Her scrubs were laid out on the chair where she'd left them the night before, crisp and clean and smelling faintly of hospital-grade detergent.
By six-fifteen, she was out the door, a medical bag slung over her shoulder, walking the familiar route toward Sant'Angelo Hospital. The streets of Rome were just beginning to stir. Shopkeepers opened shutters. Old men sat at café tables with newspapers and cigarettes. A street cleaner worked his way down the cobblestones, humming something operatic.
She pushed through the staff entrance of Sant'Angelo at six-forty, swiping her ID card and nodding at the security guard who'd worked nights for as long as she'd been there. The hospital was already busy. It always was. Emergency cases didn't wait for convenient hours.
"Dottoressa Salvini!" Nurse Bianca called from the main desk, her voice carrying that particular tone that meant she had information she was dying to share. "You're back on cardiac arrest today?"
"Morning shift, yes." Aria approached the desk, signing in on the tablet. "Anything I should know?"
Bianca leaned forward, eyes bright with gossip. She was in her mid-forties, with steel-gray hair pulled back in a tight bun and the kind of no-nonsense efficiency that made her invaluable during emergencies. She also had a weakness for drama.
"That tattooed criminal from three nights ago? The gunshot case you operated on?" Bianca's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Still here. Moved to a private room on the fourth floor. Dr. Russo took over his care personally, but he keeps asking when you'll be back on shift."
Something fluttered in Aria's chest. Something that felt dangerous and good at the same time. She forced her expression to remain neutral. "I'm sure Dr. Russo has everything under control."
"Oh, she does. But he's not asking for Dr. Russo, is he?" Bianca's eyebrows rose meaningfully. "He's asking for you. The pretty young surgeon who saved his life. You know how these types are. They fixate."
Aria felt heat creep up her neck. "These types?"
"Criminals, dear. Mafia, if the rumors are true. Did you see the men who brought him in? They looked like they could kill someone with their bare hands and not break a sweat." Bianca shook her head. "Men like that are dangerous. Handsome, maybe, in that dark and brooding way. But it's dangerous."
"Every patient deserves quality care, Bianca. Regardless of their background." The words came out sharper than Aria intended. She softened her tone. "I'm just glad the surgery went well. That's all."
Bianca studied her for a long moment, something knowing in her eyes. "Of course, Dottoressa. That's all."
Aria escaped to the staff locker room, shoving her bag into her assigned locker with more force than necessary. What was wrong with her? Why did her heart rate spike every time someone mentioned him? She'd operated on hundreds of patients. This was no different.
Except it was.
"There you are." Dr. Elena Russo appeared in the doorway, immaculate as always in her white coat and pearls. At fifty-two, Elena was everything Aria aspired to be: brilliant, respected, unshakeable. "I need to speak with you."
"Of course." Aria closed her locker, turning to face her mentor. "What's wrong?"
Elena glanced down the hallway, then stepped fully into the locker room and closed the door. That alone was unusual enough to make Aria's stomach tighten.
"The Moretti patient," Elena said quietly. "I took over his care after you completed the surgery. He's healing well, no complications. But Aria, I need you to keep your distance from him."
"I haven't been anywhere near him," Aria said, confused.
"I know. And I need you to keep it that way." Elena's expression was serious in a way that made Aria's skin prickle. "Men like Dante Moretti are dangerous, not just because of what they do, but because of what they represent. He's connected to things you don't want to be connected to."
"What things?"
"The kind of things that get good people hurt." Elena stepped closer, her voice dropping even lower. "I've been working in this hospital for twenty-five years. I've treated my share of men like him. Criminals. Mobsters. Men who live in a world where violence is currency and loyalty is bought with blood. They're charming when they want to be. They make you feel special, seen, important. And then they destroy you without a second thought."
Aria wanted to argue, to say she wasn't some naive girl who'd fall for a pretty face and a dangerous reputation. But the words stuck in her throat because part of her wondered if Elena was right.
"I'm not interested in him," she said finally. "Professionally or otherwise. He was a patient. That's all."
Elena studied her for a long moment, and Aria had the uncomfortable feeling that her mentor could see right through the lie. "Good. Keep it that way. I've reassigned his follow-up care to myself. You won't need to interact with him again."
Something twisted in Aria's chest. Relief? Disappointment? She couldn't tell anymore.
"Understood," she said.
Elena nodded, satisfied, and left. Aria stood there alone, staring at her reflection in the small mirror mounted above the sinks. She looked tired. Shadows under her eyes from three nights of broken sleep. She looked like a liar.
The morning passed in a blur of post-op checks and consultations. By noon, she was exhausted and starving. She found Sienna in the cafeteria, already halfway through a sandwich.
"There she is," Sienna said, gesturing to the empty chair across from her. "The hero surgeon who saved a mobster's life. Sit. Tell me everything."
Aria grabbed a salad and collapsed into the chair. "There's nothing to tell."
"I heard the guy you operated on three nights ago is some kind of crime lord. And that he's been asking about you."
"Dr. Russo took over his care, so it doesn't matter."
"Doesn't matter?" Sienna leaned forward. "So why do you look like someone who's been thinking about him for three days straight?"
Aria set down her fork. "I can't stop thinking about him and I hate it. I hate that when Bianca said he'd been asking about me, my heart did this stupid thing. I hate that I'm disappointed Elena took over his care because it means I won't see him again."
Sienna squeezed her hand. "You're human. That's all. You're allowed to find someone attractive, even if they're completely wrong for you. Just don't act on it."
"I won't."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
But even as they talked about safer things, part of Aria's mind was elsewhere. Wondering what floor his room was on. Whether he was thinking about her.
At three o'clock, Aria found herself walking down the fourth-floor corridor. She told herself she was just checking on post-op patients. She told herself she wasn't looking for his room.
Room 412 had two men standing outside it. Both were large, both wore expensive suits, and both watched her approach with eyes that missed nothing.
Aria's heart hammered. She should turn around. Walk away.
Instead, she stopped in front of them. "I'm Dr. Salvini. I performed Mr. Moretti's surgery. I just wanted to check on his progress."
The men exchanged glances. One of them, the taller one with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow, spoke. "Dr. Russo is handling his care."
"I know. I only need a moment."
The scarred one knocked on the door and opened it slightly. "Boss? Dr. Salvini is here."
He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter.
The room was empty. The bed was perfectly made, the monitors silent. Dante Moretti was gone.
"He checked out an hour ago," the guard said from behind her. "Against medical advice, but he doesn't take orders well."
Aria turned to face him, trying to hide her disappointment. "Is he stable enough for discharge?"
"Dr. Russo cleared him. Said he'd need follow-up appointments, but he could recover at home." The guard's expression was unreadable. "He left something for you, though."
He produced a small envelope from his jacket pocket. Her name was written on the front in bold, slashing handwriting.
Aria took it with trembling fingers. "Thank you."
She waited until she was back in the locker room, alone, before opening it. Inside was a simple card with a phone number written on it. Nothing else. No message. No signature.
Just a number.
And somehow, Aria knew without being told that it was his.
She stood there holding the card, her heart doing that stupid thing again, knowing she should throw it away.
Knowing she should forget about the man with the dark eyes and the tragic tattoos and the dangerous life.
Knowing she wouldn't.