Chapter 3 It was her
This time it was her.She walked in wearing scrubs and a white coat, short dark hair framing an intelligent face. Pretty in a natural way, no makeup, no artifice. There was confidence in how she carried herself, competence in her purposeful movements.
She looked up from her tablet, stopped when she saw Dante awake.
"Mr. Moretti. You're awake." Her voice was professional but warm. "How are you feeling?"
Dante studied her carefully. Early to mid-twenties. No wedding ring. Sharp eyes that missed nothing. This was the woman who'd saved his life. Dr. Aria Salvini.
And the woman who now knew his biggest weakness.
"Like I was shot twice," he said.
A small smile touched her lips. "That's because you were. I'm Dr. Salvini. I performed your surgery three days ago."
She approached without hesitation, completely comfortable in her domain. Most people approaching Dante Moretti's bedside would be nervous, intimidated, afraid. They'd feel the weight of who he was, what he was capable of.
But she met his gaze directly, unflinching, treating him like any other patient.
Interesting. Either brave or dangerously naive.
"Let me check your vitals and examine the surgical sites."
She was efficient and gentle, taking his blood pressure, checking his heart rate, examining his incisions with careful fingers. Her touch was clinical, impersonal, but Dante found himself very aware of it anyway. Cataloging it. Filing away information about her movements, her expressions, her competence.
Know your enemies. Know your assets. Know everyone who has power over you.
"Everything looks good," she announced, making notes on her tablet. "You're healing faster than I expected. Strong constitution." She looked up, and there was steel in her dark eyes. "You'll need to stay here at least another week for monitoring.
After discharge, absolutely no strenuous activity for a month minimum. No fighting, no heavy lifting, nothing that could tear the sutures. Rest, proper nutrition, follow-up appointments. These aren't suggestions, Mr. Moretti. They're requirements if you want to live."
"I'm not good at sitting still."
She gave him a sharp look that would've made lesser men flinch. "Then learn. Unless you want to undo six hours of my surgical work and end up back on my table. Or in a morgue. Those are your options. Follow my instructions and heal, or ignore them and die. Your choice."
Most people didn't challenge Dante. Most people were too terrified of what he could do, who he could hurt, how easily he could destroy lives. But Dr. Aria Salvini wasn't backing down, wasn't intimidated in the slightest. She was defending her work with the ferocity of someone who took pride in her skills.
Dante filed that away too. Pride. Competence. Fearlessness. All useful information.
"I'll try," he said.
"You'll do more than try." Her tone left no room for argument. "You have two bullet holes that I very carefully stitched together. Show some respect for my work and follow my instructions. I didn't spend six hours saving your life just to have you throw it away through stupidity or machismo."
"Yes, doctor."
She nodded, satisfied with his compliance. "Good. Now, Dr. Caruso spoke with you about the Long QT Syndrome?"
"He did."
"It's serious, Mr. Moretti. Not immediately life-threatening if managed properly, but it requires consistent treatment. Monthly injections to regulate your heart rhythm. Regular monitoring EKGs every two weeks initially, then monthly once you're stable. Blood work to check levels." She held his gaze. "This isn't optional. Without treatment, you're at significant risk of sudden cardiac arrest."
"And you'll be handling this treatment?" Dante asked carefully.
"I'd recommend it. I know your case intimately performed your surgery, understand your anatomy, have your baseline readings. Switching to another cardiologist at this point would mean starting from scratch, running new tests, establishing new baselines. It's inefficient and potentially risky during your recovery period."
"So I'm stuck with you."
A slight smile curved her lips. "Looks like it. First follow-up appointment will be two weeks after discharge. We'll do a full cardiac workup, start the injection protocol, and assess your healing progress."
Dante's mind worked through the implications. Regular appointments. Ongoing contact. This woman would see him monthly, would know the intimate details of his health, would have her hands on him, would know things about his body that no one else knew.
She was a vulnerability he couldn't afford.
But she was also a necessity he couldn't avoid.
For now.
"I'll be there," he said.
"Good. Because I don't chase down patients, Mr. Moretti. You want to live, you show up. Simple as that."
She turned to leave, but paused at the door. "One more thing. The lifestyle modifications Dr. Caruso mentioned they're important. Limit caffeine and alcohol. Avoid extreme stress where possible. Get adequate sleep. I know your... profession... makes some of that difficult, but do what you can."
After she left, Rocco spoke quietly. "She doesn't know who you are. What do you do."
"She knows enough. Gunshot wounds, armed guards, cash payment." Dante stared at the closed door. "She's not stupid. She just doesn't care."
"What's the plan?"
"My plan is to get healthy. I figured out this heart condition. I got the treatment protocol established." Dante's voice went cold, empty of emotion. "And then I eliminate the witness. No one can know about this weakness, Rocco. No one."
"She saved your life."
"And I'll make it quick. Painless. That's the debt repaid." Dante closed his eyes. "But she's seen too much. I know too much. That makes her a liability I can't afford to keep alive."
Rocco said nothing, but discomfort tightened his face.
Dante didn't care. Sentiment was for people who could afford weakness. He'd learned that lesson at fifteen, covered in his family's blood.
Survive first. Feel later. And if later never came, so much the better.
That evening, Marco "Ghost" Ferraro arrived with his laptop, looking energized despite the late hour. At twenty-eight, he was the youngest of Dante's inner circle, but the sharpest when it came to intelligence gathering.
"Boss." Marco's relief was visible. "Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got shot. What do you have for me?"
Marco pulled up his laptop, fingers flying across keys. "Ran a full background on Dr. Aria Salvini like you asked. It took some digging, but I got everything."
"Give me the highlights."
"Twenty-five years old. Graduated medical school at twenty-two youngest in her class, top of her class. Residency completed with highest marks on record. Started at Ospedale Sant'Angelo three years ago and quickly became one of their best trauma surgeons despite her age." Marco scrolled through files.
"Works insane hours, takes on the hardest cases, has the best success rate in the department. Colleagues respect her, though some of the older doctors resent her for being young and better than them."
"Personal life?"
"Lives alone in Trastevere, a nice neighborhood. Small friend circle, mostly other doctors. My best friend is Dr. Sienna Conti, an emergency medicine specialist at the same hospital. No current romantic relationships.
Had a couple boyfriends in the past as a medical student during her third year, resident two years ago nothing serious, both ended amicably." Marco looked up. "She's clean, boss. No criminal record, no debts, no scandals. She's exactly what she appears to be: a dedicated, brilliant surgeon."
"Family?" Dante asked, though he wasn't sure why he cared.
"Father is Bruno Salvini. Mother Camilla died when Aria was in a car accident, at least according to official records. Bruno raised her alone after that." Marco's fingers paused on the keyboard. "He's wealthy, owns a high-end art gallery near Piazza Navona. Deals in expensive pieces for private collectors across Europe."
Some
thing about Marco's tone made Dante's instincts prickle. The way he hesitated, the careful word choice. "What else?"