Chapter 2 THE MONSTER WAKES
Pain slammed into Dante Moretti the moment consciousness returned. Sharp, vicious pain radiating from his chest and side like hot knives through ribs with every breath. His mouth tasted like copper and chemicals, throat raw as broken glass.
He forced his eyes open anyway. Moretti's men didn't stay down.
Bright hospital lights assaulted his vision. White ceiling tiles. Steady beep of monitors. A sharp smell of antiseptic that made his stomach turn.
He was alive. Somehow, impossibly, he was fucking alive.
"Easy, boss. Don't try to move."
Dante turned his head, sent lightning bolts through his torso and saw Rocco Valente in a chair beside the bed. His oldest friend looked like hell. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, several days' stubble covered his jaw, clothes rumpled like he'd been sleeping in them. But pure relief flooded his scarred face when he saw Dante awake.
"How long?" Dante's voice came out as a rasp, barely recognizable.
"Three days. You've been unconscious since the operation." Rocco leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "We thought we lost you, Dante. When you went down, when I saw all that blood... Cristo, I thought I was watching my brother die."
Memories flooded back in jagged fragments. The meeting with the Calabrians. The warehouse near the docks. What was supposed to be simple negotiation about territory boundaries. Then the sudden explosion of violence.
Gunfire. Shouting. The burning agony of bullets tearing through flesh.
"What happened?" Dante demanded.
"The Calabrians played us from the start." Rocco's jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. "The meeting was supposed to be neutral territory, five men on each side, just talk. But they came for blood. The moment you refused their demands to let them operate in our territory, they opened fire." He paused. "Ambush."
Dante processed this slowly through the fog of medication. The Calabrians. Antonio Calabrese and his two sons. He'd remember that. When he was healed, there would be a reckoning. There would be blood and screaming and lessons taught about what happened when you crossed La Congrega Nera.
"Casualties on our side?"
"Two of theirs are dead. Marco took one in the shoulder, but he's fine already back to work. You took the worst of it. Two bullets before Leone could drag you out." Rocco's expression darkened. "You were dying, Dante. Minutes from bleeding out in that warehouse. Leone drove like a madman to get you here."
"The doctor who operated?"
Something shifted in Rocco's face. Caution, maybe. Or concern. "Dr. Aria Salvini. Young mid-twenties but brilliant. Best trauma surgeon in the hospital, according to everyone we asked. Surgery took six hours. You were dying on that table. Massive internal bleeding, one bullet near your heart, another tore through your liver. She pulled off a miracle."
Salvini. The name meant nothing to Dante. Just another doctor doing her job, saving a life because that's what doctors did.
"I want to thank her," Dante said.
"She'll be doing rounds soon. Been checking on you every day since the surgery." Rocco paused. "She's... dedicated. Takes her work seriously. Doesn't seem scared of us, which is either brave or stupid."
Dante nodded slightly, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his skull. "Security?"
"Locked down tight. Two men posted outside your door around the clock, rotating shifts. No one gets in without going through us first.
The hospital administration wasn't happy about armed guards, but they're terrified enough not to push back." Rocco allowed himself a grim smile. "Besides, you're a private patient paying cash. That buys a lot of tolerance."
"Good." Dante closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him despite having been unconscious for three days. "Wake me when she comes."
He drifted in and out for the next hour, never truly sleeping but never fully awake either. Pain medication kept the worst at bay but left him floating in a hazy fog where reality blurred at the edges.
Around nine AM, the door opened. Not the surgeon. Different doctor older man, maybe sixty, with gray hair and a cardiologist badge clipped to his white coat.
"Mr. Moretti." The man approached with a tablet, his expression professionally neutral. "I'm Dr. Caruso, cardiologist. I reviewed your post-surgical EKG, and there's something we need to discuss."
Dante's instincts immediately sharpened. Something in the doctor's tone set off alarms. "I'm listening."
"You have Long QT Syndrome. Are you aware of this condition?"
"No." Dante's voice was flat, giving nothing away.
"It's a genetic disorder that affects your heart's electrical system. Causes irregular heartbeats arrhythmia. Under certain conditions stress, physical exertion, even strong emotional responses your heart rhythm can become dangerously unstable." Dr. Caruso paused, letting that sink in. "Without warning, Mr. Moretti, your heart could stop."
Everything in Dante went very still. Predator-still. The kind of stillness that preceded violence.
"Treatment?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
"Monthly injections to regulate the rhythm. Regular monitoring EKGs, blood work. Lifestyle modifications, though I suspect those will be... challenging given your profession." The doctor's tone suggested he knew exactly what Dante's profession was.
"It's manageable, but requires strict medical supervision. Your surgeon, Dr. Salvini, discovered the condition during your operation. She'll coordinate your ongoing care."
After Dr. Caruso left, silence stretched between Dante and Rocco.
Finally, Rocco spoke quietly. "So you need her."
"I need a doctor." Dante's jaw clenched. "Any competent cardiologist can handle this."
"She's the one who knows your case. She saved your life. She discovered the condition." Rocco leaned back in his chair. "And now she's the one who'll keep you alive."
Dante stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. This was a complication. A weakness. The king of Rome's underworld couldn't have a weak heart. Couldn't need regular medical care like some fragile old man.
This information was a weapon if it got out.
"Marco needs to scrub every mention of this from the hospital records," Dante said. "No one can know about this condition. No one."
"What about the doctor?"
"She'll keep treating me to regular appointments, whatever I need to manage this." Dante's eyes were cold now, calculating. "And when I'm stable, when I have the treatment figured out..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but Rocco understood. Eliminate the witness. Erase the evidence of weakness.
"That's cold, Dante. She saved your life."
"And I'll pay her well for it. But no one can know the head of La Congrega Nera has a defective heart. That kind of vulnerability gets people
killed."
Rocco looked like he wanted to argue, but the door opened again before he could speak.