Chapter 2 It's her

Alba

Of course he is. Monsieur is too proud to admit he's in pain. I pick up a pair of pliers and approach the wound. He grits his teeth when I touch the skin, but doesn't move. Slowly, methodically, I probe the wound. The bullet is deep. My gaze returns to his face. His forehead is beaded with sweat, but he doesn't look away.

- You can still back out, Moretti.

- And drag me to a hospital to be finished off? No, I'm fine.

I sigh and purse my lips. He won't make it easy for me.

With a precise movement, I slide the clamp and hook the projectile. Gabriel tenses, his muscles contracting under my hand. He breathes slowly, deeply, controlling the pain. I pull. A shudder runs through him, a hoarse sound escapes from his throat, but he doesn't scream.

The ball falls into the metal tray with a dull clink.

I take compresses, clean the blood. My mind screams at me not to linger on his skin burning under my fingers. He's just a patient. Just another patient.

- You're going to be fine," I said, starting to suture.

- I know.

Of course he knows. He can't even conceive of another option.

Silence settles in, disturbed only by the sound of the thread I'm pulling through her skin. His gaze is fixed on me, intense, heavy. I refuse to look up.

- Why me?" I finally ask.

- Because you're the only one I trust.

I stop for a moment, my heart missing a beat. This is a lie. I know it's a lie. Gabriel Moretti doesn't trust anyone.

And yet here it is.

Wounded, vulnerable. In my space.

Maybe the lie isn't for me. Maybe it's for himself.

Gabriel Moretti

The pain pulses in my shoulder, a dull throbbing that hammers my skin with every movement. But that's not what holds my attention.

She's the one.

Alba.

Her fingers are precise, fast, as efficient as they were when she operated in the aseptic wards of hospitals. Except that here, there are no assistants, no monitors, no protocol. Just her and me, in the subdued glow of her apartment, the cold metal of her instruments and the warmth of her hands against my skin.

I watch her work. Her forehead is wrinkled with concentration, her lips pursed. She does her best to ignore me, to stay focused on her role as underground doctor, but I see the shadows in her eyes. Annoyance. Concern.

- It's not the first time you've been shot, is it?

I smile. A lazy, calculated smile, just enough to exasperate her.

- Too many balls to count.

- And still alive.

She pulls on the suture with a little more force than necessary. I don't flinch.

- It seems to me that death hasn't yet decided what it wants to do with you, Moretti.

- Have you decided what you want to do with me?

This time, she stops. Her eyes meet mine.

- Patch you up and kick you out.

I chuckle.

- Adorable.

She doesn't answer and goes back to work, but I can see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers twitch for a split second before regaining their surgical precision. Alba Ricci is an enigma. A mystery I have yet to solve.

I looked for her for a long time. Even before she knew who I was, I already knew her name. She was the heiress to an empire, the daughter of Don Ricci, a strategic pawn in a game of power she refused to play. And now here she is, facing me, stitching me up as if I were just another patient.

- It's all over now.

Her voice cuts through the silence. She cuts the wire, puts away her instruments and steps aside, as if she wanted to put as much distance as possible between us.

- You'll be sore for a few days. Avoid sudden movements.

I nod, but don't move.

She crosses her arms.

- What?

- I missed you, Ricci.

She raises her eyes to the sky, but I don't miss the slight trembling of her fingers.

- Get out of my house, Moretti.

I stand up slowly, testing my arm. The pain is still there, but bearable. I retrieve my torn shirt and slip it on without hurrying. His eyes follow me, wary.

- Who tried to kill you?" she finally asks.

- You said you didn't want to know.

- I don't want to know if it's life-threatening.

I smile.

- You're already in danger, Alba. Since the day you decided not to be your father's daughter.

She freezes. Her fingers tighten on the edge of the table.

- Get out.

I'm not moving.

- You know he's looking for you, right?

His eyes darken.

- I can handle it.

- No, you're not. You're running away. It's not the same.

His breath is short. Her mask of indifference wavers. For a moment, I think she's going to explode. But she doesn't. She grits her teeth, takes it in her stride, as she always has.

I move towards her, closing the distance between us. She doesn't back away, but I can feel her tension, her refusal to let me see what's going on behind her eyes.

- You have a choice to make, Alba.

She laughs, a bitter laugh.

- Is that so? And what would that choice be, Gabriel?

- Stop running.

She shakes her head, runs a hand through her hair, visibly exhausted.

- And do what? Walk into the lion's den? Work for you?

- It's an option.

She knew it would come. She knew it would come. That sooner or later, I'd make her this proposal. Not just because she's talented, not just because she can be useful to me. But because I don't want to lose her.

She stares at me for a long time. Then she whispers:

- I've already been locked in a cage, Moretti. I don't want another one.

She turns on her heels and disappears into the shadows of her apartment, leaving me alone with the bitter taste of her truth.