Chapter 13 Dangerous and Deadly
Elena's feet ached.
She'd pulled a double shift, eighteen hours of back-to-back patients. All she wanted was to collapse into bed and pretend the world didn't exist for a few hours.
She fumbled with her keys at the apartment door, exhaustion making her clumsy.
Then she froze. There was someone slumped against her doorframe. Blood pooled beneath them, dark and wet against the hallway carpet. She already knew before she saw his face, she knew.
"No," Elena whispered. "No, no, no..."
Pierce was barely conscious, his head dropping against the doorframe, his shirt soaked through with blood. His ice-blue eyes found hers, unfocused and filled with pain.
"Hey," he managed, his voice barely a whisper. "Sorry about the carpet."
For a moment, Elena just stared at him. Her exhausted brain tried to process what she was seeing. Pierce was bleeding here, again.
Then her medical training kicked in.
"What happened?" She dropped to her knees beside him, hands already moving to assess the damage.
"Long story." He tried to shift position and immediately winced. "Can we go...inside?"
"Can you stand?"
"Probably not." He choked out.
Elena's jaw tightened. She unlocked the door, shoving it open with her shoulder, then hooked her arm under his.
"On three. One, two..."
She hauled him up. He was heavy, deadweight against her side, and her muscles ached. But she managed to half-drag, half-carry him through the doorway.
They made it approximately five steps before his legs gave out completely. They hit the floor together, hard.
"Okay," Elena rasped, trapped partially beneath him. "New plan. You stay here. Don't move."
"Wasn't planning on it," Pierce mumbled.
Elena wriggled out from under him and ran for her medical kit. Her hands shook as she grabbed supplies, everything she'd used last time.
When she got back, Pierce's eyes were half-closed, his skin pale and clammy.
"Hey." She dropped beside him, patting his face. "Stay with me. Don't you dare pass out yet."
"Am tired," he mumbled.
"I know you're tired, but you don't get to sleep until I know you're not dying." She grabbed scissors and started cutting away his shirt.
The wound was on his right side this time, just below his ribs.
"Pierce, what happened?" She pressed gauze to the wound.
His eyes fluttered. "Rodrigo... his men..."
"Your brother did this?"
"Yh." His head fell to the side.
His eyes rolled back, his body going completely limp.
"Dammit." Elena checked his pulse. Thready but there. His breathing was shallow, skin cold and sweaty.
He was in shock, losing a lot of blood. He was crashing.
She worked fast, her hands moving on autopilot. Her training took over, pushing aside every emotion, every question.
The bleeding was bad but manageable. The knife had missed anything vital.
Elena threaded her needle with shaking hands and started stitching. Pierce didn't even flinch. He was completely out, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.
"You're such an idiot," she muttered, pulling the thread through. "Showing up like this. Bleeding everywhere, again."
He didn't respond. Didn't move.
She worked in silence, the only sounds her own breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside.
When she finished, she bandaged the area and checked his vitals again. Pulse still weak but steady. His color was a bit better. He'd live.
Elena sat back on her heels, staring at the unconscious man on her floor. Blood stained her scrubs, her hands, her carpet.
She should call an ambulance. Should get him to a hospital where actual resources could help him.
But something stopped her. The same thing that had stopped her two weeks ago.
She didn't know what that something was, and she wasn't ready to examine it too closely.
Elena grabbed a pillow from the couch and carefully lifted Pierce's head, sliding it underneath. Then she covered him with a blanket, tucking it around his shoulders.
He looked younger like this. Nothing like the dangerous man who'd forced his way into her car at gunpoint.
She stood, every muscle in her body aching. Her hands were shaking again, adrenaline wearing off and leaving exhaustion behind.
She needed to clean up. Needed to think. Needed to process what the hell was happening.
But first, she needed a drink.
Elena moved to the kitchen, stepping over Pierce's prone form. She grabbed the wine bottle from the fridge and poured herself a glass with trembling hands.
She took a long drink, the wine bitter on her tongue, then turned on the TV. Just for background noise. Just for something to fill the oppressive silence.
The news flickered to life mid-broadcast.
"...breaking news tonight as gang violence escalates in Chicago..."
Elena froze, wine glass halfway to her lips.
"...authorities are searching for Pierce Diego, alleged leader of the Diego crime family..."
The glass slipped from her fingers.
It shattered on the floor, wine spreading across the tiles like blood.
Pierce's face filled the screen. The same face currently unconscious on her living room floor.
"...considered armed and extremely dangerous..."
Elena couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't process what she was seeing.
"..wanted in connection with multiple counts of racketeering, money laundering, and suspected involvement in over a dozen murders..."
Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the counter, fingers digging into the wood.
"...tonight's shootout in the warehouse district left three dead and multiple injured..."
"...Diego is known as one of the most ruthless crime bosses in Chicago..."
"...if you see this man, do not approach. He is considered extremely dangerous..."
The words kept coming, each one hitting like a physical blow.
Elena's vision blurred. The room spun. She gripped the counter harder, her nails scraping against wood.
This couldn't be real. This had to be a mistake. Some kind of sick joke.
But the face on the screen didn't lie. The mugshot was him. The details were him. The cold, hard facts scrolling across the bottom of the screen were all about him.
Pierce Diego was wanted, Dangerous and Deadly.
She looked at the TV.
Looked at Pierce, unconscious and bleeding on her floor.
Back to the TV.
Everything clicked into place with horrible, perfect clarity.
The men watching her building. The secrecy. The violence.
The way he'd moved through her apartment like he owned it. The gun.
The easy way he'd talked about danger, about people coming after him.
Because he was a criminal. Not just any criminal. A mafia boss.
One of the most wanted men in Chicago.
And she'd tied him up with her sports bras.
She'd stitched him up, twice.
She'd let him stay in her apartment. Had cooked with him. Had cried in front of him.
Had started to trust him.
Elena's breath came in short, sharp gasps. Her chest was too tight. The room was too small.
She'd harbored a fugitive.
She'd aided a criminal.
She'd saved the life of a man wanted for murder.
Her parents. Her parents had died because of people like him. And she'd let one of them into her home.
Had let him see her vulnerable. Had let herself care.
The TV droned on, Pierce's face still filling the screen, details of his crimes scrolling past in an endless, damning list.
Elena's hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold onto the counter.
She looked at Pierce again, this dangerous, deadly man bleeding on her floor.
This stranger she'd thought she was beginning to know.
This lie wrapped in human skin.
"Who are you?" she whispered to his unconscious form. "Who the hell are you?"
But he didn't answer.
Couldn't answer.
Just lay there, breathing shallow and weak, completely unaware that she'd just learned the truth.
That everything between them had been built on lies.
That the man she'd been starting to care about was exactly the kind of monster she'd spent three years hating.
Elena stood there in her kitchen, surrounded by broken glass and spilled wine and the ruins of whatever she'd thought this was.
And she had absolutely no idea what to do next.