I snuff out my cigarette on the base of the streetlamp and enjoy the sway of the nurse’s hips as she strides through the double doors. The bright noonday sun glares off the top of the trash cans and street signs. A vague sense of familiarity plagues me, but I can’t place where or when I’ve seen her before. I’ve never been to a hospital on this side of the city, especially not one so tiny and rundown, so it’s unlikely I know her. With her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, an impressive approach me at your own risk resting bitch face, and her ample curves, she’s a challenge I’d love to unravel, but she’s off limits.
She was one of only two medical personnel working in the emergency room last night, which means she must have helped treat Narciso Vivaldi, the traitor and scumbag who dared to attack Giorgio Vivaldi, the mafia don I’ve sworn to serve and protect for the rest of my life. Narciso is a liar and a snake, even stooping so low as to attack while Aurora and Tristan—Giorgio’s new bride and her eight-year-old brother—were in the crosshairs.
I’ll skin him alive, but not until after he leads me to the mastermind behind the cyberattacks on the Vivaldi family.
I sigh and flick my cigarette butt into the gutter as a suited goon saunters down the street, clearly watching the nurse through the glass walls as she rushes deeper into the building. Just by the way he carries his bulky frame, I know he’s a brainless chump like most of Narciso Vivaldi’s soldiers. I scoff as he stops a few paces away from the entrance and cranes his neck for one last peek at the nurse before she turns out of sight. He fucking sucks at blending in.
Narciso may be a piece of trash, but he’s smart. The men he stole from Matteo Vivaldi—Giorgio’s father—have way more brawn than brains. The imbeciles will follow and protect him no matter what he does. All they care about is their next paycheck.
Which makes this idiot’s skulking even more dangerous. I flick my lighter open and closed before tucking it into my pocket and pushing off the streetlamp, gritting my teeth from the pain. A few days ago, I caught a bullet in the small of my back, and while the damage was surprisingly minimal, it hasn’t had time to heal. Add in the graze on my upper arm from a stray bullet during yesterday’s shoot out with Narciso, and dull pain throbs throughout my entire body.
If Narciso knows I’m following him, he may have sent the man to cover his tracks.
Sourness coats my tongue as I envision the curvy nurse lying in a pool of her own blood. It would be a shame to waste such a delicious body without sampling it first. I wonder how her voice would sound in the throes of passion. Low and throaty? High and breathy?
I bet I could make her do both. In the same session.
I run my tongue over my teeth before tucking the thought away and willing my cock to soften.
Wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and a nondescript black jacket to blend in with the crowd—and the darkness once the sun sets—I saunter down the street across from the hospital, enjoying the way people duck and weave to avoid me. Prey instinctually avoids predators. I glimpse the goon’s about-face in the shop window and smirk as he battles against the lunch crowd. The difference in the public’s reaction to the two of us is telling.
He’s lethal but stupid. I silently urge the pickpocket eyeing him to make a move, but the petty thief finds an easier target.
I don’t blame him. The man’s scars glint in the sunlight until he turns into the covered lane beside the ER. He’s the walking embodiment of meathead.
Staying out of sight, I duck into a tiny café and order a coffee before settling into the corner chair. With a clear view of the front and side entrances, I pull out my phone and stick earbuds into my ears but don’t turn them on so no one approaches me. I settle in for a few hours. When the lackey gets shooed away by security, I roll my eyes and toss my empty coffee cup into the trash. No one argues when I order a second cup and sit back down in the same spot.
A few minutes later, I walk several shops down the road and find a place inside to wait, making the side door of the hospital my focal point.
Over the next several hours, I visit stores at random, always staying within sight of the emergency room. The goon never leaves, and despite his furtive scanning of the crowd, he never once notices me. As the evening stretches into night, his expression darkens. My apprehension grows as time passes and he continues to wait. Every second he lingers solidifies my belief he’s here to kill the two who patched up Narciso yesterday.
A steady stream of patients flows in and out of the emergency room. The curvy nurse rushes into view often. She never sits behind the counter. Never slips into the nurse’s station for a break. Never hesitates when a critical case rolls through the door.
Backlit by the fluorescent lights, she gives the ambulance driver a farewell wave before turning toward the double glass doors. After a solid eighteen hours on her feet, she still looks as fresh as when she walked in to start her shift. With the flood of patients finally winding down for the night, four of her colleagues clock out together and say good night to her as they pass. As she returns their greeting over her shoulder, she stiffens and looks right at me.
Leaning against a brick building under an unlit awning, I know she can’t see my features, but my heart gives a prolonged squeeze as her rich brown eyes search the shadows.
I doubt myself for the first time since I denounced my family. I thought she looked familiar, but how could I forget such a luscious woman? With an olive complexion and striking features, she’s an exotic wet dream in the flesh. I’m sure I’d remember every detail of our first meeting, so the sense of familiarity must be a fluke. The fierce glint in her stare hardens my cock and her ample curves heighten my senses. I long to kiss, nip, and lick her plump lips and slender throat.
A lanky egghead in a white doctor’s coat lopes out from the emergency exit and offers her a cigarette, pulling her attention away from me. I bite back a ridiculous wave of disappointment and cross my arms over my chest.
A ribald group of men dressed for the club and smelling of cheap cologne blocks my view as they stagger down the sidewalk, but I lean to the side and catch the nurse declining the doctor’s offer of a smoke. Her tight smile and worried eyes as she scans the streets reveal her sense of self-preservation. She gestures toward the hospital and says something to the doctor before heading inside alone.
The goon creeps in the shadows, trains his eyes on the doctor, then rushes forward. I stalk across the street and jab the butt of my gun into his temple. He crumples. I stick my pistol back in its holster and drag his heavy ass into the alley before anyone sees. I take the roll of duct tape from my inner jacket pocket, but as I wrap the bottom half of his face, he wakes and swings at me with sluggish, uncoordinated movements until adrenaline floods his system and he snaps to full alertness. He reaches into his coat, but I slam the side of my fist down onto his stomach and yank his gun out of his chest holster before he can palm it. With a few practiced moves, I field strip his pistol, enjoying the clank of metal against concrete as I scatter the pieces on the ground.
His angry growl as he fists the front of my jacket pisses me the hell off, so I bury my fist in his face a few times before pulling the knife from my belt and pressing it against his throat. He stills. I lean down into his face.
“Do you recognize me?” I ask.
He scowls and mumbles into the tape. The fury in his eyes tells me he knows exactly who I am.
“Good,” I snarl as I reach for the roll still hanging on the end of the tape.
His eyes widen. I smile. His pupils shrink in fear and the acrid stench of piss joins the smell of garbage. I nick his throat every time I wedge the tape under his head, wrapping the roll around his face half a dozen more times until he’s covered from chin to temple. He claws at my forearm and thrashes on the ground. I press my knee into his stomach and lean my weight onto his soft belly.
“Nod if you can breathe,” I say, even though I know he can’t.
He shakes his head and fights harder.
“Nod if you’re ready to talk.”
He doesn’t hear me. I sigh and push his forehead down, pinning his skull to the ground. His desperation rises. I lift the knife to his covered lips.
“Nod if you’re ready to talk,” I hiss.
When I lift my hand, he gives the smallest of nods. I slice the tape over his lips, cutting the corner of his mouth. He coughs and sucks down a few noisy breaths.
“Where’s Narciso?” I ask.
It’s a test. I know where the stronzo is holed up.
He spits a wad of blood at me. I press more of my weight onto his stomach and nick his throat again.
“Wrong answer. Where’s Narciso?”
After a moment of futile struggling, he curses and rats out his boss. I tsk and slip the blade of my knife into his mouth and press his tongue down with the tip. He vibrates with terror.
“Think very carefully before you answer my next question. Capisci?”
He tightens his grip on my forearm and pushes the heels of his boots against the concrete.
“Who’s he working with?”
I wait a few moments, letting him prepare his response before I remove my knife from his tongue.
Before he even speaks, the tilt of his lips tells me I won’t like what he says. The idiot has too much misplaced pride and not enough common sense.
“He was working well with that sexy nurse last night.” He spits before continuing with a sick chuckle. “Boss told me not to touch her, but the puttana needs to learn her place. I’m gonna fuck her before I kill her,” he rasps.
I cover his mouth with my hand and punch my knife into his side. Warm liquid flows over my grip as he screams into my palm.
It was a long shot—Narciso wouldn’t share important information with a mere lackey—but his crude words infuriate me. An instinctual urge to protect the curvy, exotic nurse washes over me, and even though I can never have a woman of my own, I long to spend one long, sweaty night with her.
“You won’t lay a single finger on her, pezzo di merda, and neither will Narciso. Any last words?”
He opens his mouth, but I twist the blade, yank it free, and plunge it between his ribs.
He jerks. Grabs at my sides and shoulders. Twitches. Gargles on his own blood.
His heels tap against the concrete.
I pull my knife out and stab him higher in his chest. My blade slides between his ribs like butter.
As his lungs fill with blood and the crimson puddle grows underneath him, his limbs slip to the ground, splashing in the refuse.
A sound draws my attention to the mouth of the alley.
The curvy nurse stands on the sidewalk.
Her piercing brown eyes meet mine. With her parted lips glittering in the dim light—she must have put on lip gloss before she left work—and her jeans hugging her hips, she’s sex incarnate. She stares at me, frozen in shock.
The goon gives one last gargle, breaking her out of her trance.
She pulls her bag to her chest and darts away.
I curse.
When my brother revealed his plans to rule the flesh trade in San Francisco, I swore to protect every innocent woman and child I could, but if she rats me out, I’ll never find out who is funding Narciso.
Kidnapping a sinfully gorgeous nurse wasn’t on my to do list, but she’s seen too much. Even with the alley almost pitch black, I can’t take any chances. She must come with me.
I don’t know what I’ll do with her, but I know what I want to do to her.
Hating myself for being so despicable but willing to do anything to protect Giorgio and his family, I grab her around the waist and lift her off her feet.
Despite the direness of the situation, my cock stiffens as I swing her into the next alley. Before I can pin her front against the side of the building, she lifts her legs and shoves us backward with surprising force. Stumbling, I hiss and curse as pain blasts through my chin as she flings her head back, smashing her skull against my jaw.
I underestimated her. I won’t do it again.
There’s more to this feisty little woman than meets the eye.
I’ll have fun exploring every inch of her.
