The Mafia's Doctor

Blood.

It was everywhere.

In her hands, in between her toes, in her hair. It was everywhere! Why... Whose blood is this? And why was she standing in it? Why was she fucking covered in it?!

And all of a sudden, the scene changes and her family is here, covered in their own blood, getting killed.

"No," Calista screamed, reaching out for them but the floor vanished from under her and she was falling... falling...

Calista woke up with a start, her heart pounding hard against her rib, every single inch of her body covered in sweat. Her room was silent, the only sound was her harsh breathing.

She blinked slowly, her eyes taking time to adjust to the darkness before she looked over at her clock. It was barely five and she was now awake.

She knew she wouldn't be going back to sleep.

She sighed deeply as she rubbed her trembling hand on her face, pushing her wet hair away.

It was going to be a long day.

***

The bright overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glare on the blood-soaked sheets beneath her hands. The smell of antiseptic mixed with the thick, metallic scent of freshly spilled blood was heavy on the nose-so much blood.

Her mind flashed back to a different scene with so much blood, screams. But she blinked that away. This wasn't the time to be thinking about that. She needed her hands straight, her head clear.

Calista's hands were steady but her heart was hammering hard in her chest. She barely noticed the surgical mask pressing against her nose or the sweat gathering beneath the gloves clinging to her skin.

"He's crashing!" someone yelled, panic heavy in their voice.

She ignored the panic in their voice, focusing instead on the deep, gaping wound in the man's abdomen. The bullet wound had torn through muscle and lodged itself dangerously close to his liver. If she didn't get it out he was as good as dead.

"Scalpel," she ordered, her voice calm, even though she also wanted to panic. But she couldn't. The man's life depended on her remaining calm.

A trembling hand passed it to her. She wanted to scowl at them. She didn't have the damn time for fear.

Her movements were quick, memorized, and precise. A small incision. A delicate probe. There! The bullet. Her breath hitched. It was deeper than she expected, wedged tight, but she couldn't hesitate. Not now. Carefully, she reached in with a forceps-

Bang!

The doors to the operating room open.

Calista's head snapped up, a sharp reprimand on her tongue, but the words died on her tongue when she saw them-men in black suits, guns at their sides, their eyes cold and empty.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

What the hell?

The men parted and one man with blonde hair stepped forward, his hard eyes fixed on Caliste. He had that air of anger around him, the quiet hum of danger surrounding him like a dark cloud, a black omen. "Miss Calloway," he addressed her, his voice smooth. "Do you know who you're operating on?"

Calista has always been quick to anger, always quick to snap. It was one of her many flaws, one of the things that made her a loner and bitter. Because people were so damn annoying, and nosy, and she was quick to lash out. And now she was damn close to snapping but she kept her mouth shut and glared at the man, her heart racing.

"I wouldn't bother with names," the man continued, his expression blank. "All you have to know is that you shouldn't let him die."

Calista wanted to throw her head back and laugh, and she also wanted to stab the man with the forceps still in her hand. Who the hell were these people?

"Do you think threatening me is going to make him miraculously live if he's meant to die?" she snapped, her voice muffled by the nose mask, but that didn't dull the sharpness in her voice.

She was scared. Goddamn it, she was fucking scared and she fought to keep her hand steady. But she was also angry. And the anger suppressed the fear. It was better rage than fear.

The man's eyes flashed with something dangerous before it cleared and he opened his mouth to probably spit more threats but Calista didn't give him the chance.

"You're the one currently endangering his life, mister," she told him, trying to keep her voice calm, but she didn't stop glaring at him. "With every minute you spend here, throwing unnecessary threats, you're delaying me and his life is being more at risk. Get out."

The man eyed her, his jaw clenched tight, before he made a motion with two of his fingers and the men cleared out just as suddenly as they came, the man's eyes lingering on her far too long for her taste.

Once the door closed behind them, the room seemed to release the breath they'd been holding and Calista's hands shook a little, regret twisting her insides.

She should have kept her mouth shut, for goodness sake. Why did her mouth always have to go running before her brain? These people were bad news. She knew this wouldn't be the end.

She looked down at her patient's face, searching her brain to see if she would know him. She didn't. He had an unforgettable face, so she knew she wouldn't have seen him before.

She didn't care about who he was. She just hoped this was the last time she would see his face.

***

A WEEK LATER

Calista sighed as she stepped into her apartment, inhaling the warm and inviting smell of her home.

"Hi, baby," she said to her house. "Missed me? Because I sure as hell missed you."

Talking to herself or objects around her was one habit she had never outgrown. Well, that and her deep pit of rage. That rage had been with her for as long as she could remember. And it only increased when her–

She immediately felt something was wrong when she stepped deeper into her apartment. The hair at the back of her neck stood up, a chill sense of dread wrapped its icy fingers around her spine.

She felt eyes on her.

Her trembling hand reached for the light switch and she turned it on. Her heart dropped to her toes when she saw who was sitting in her living room, legs crossed as if he owned the place.

She knew it. She goddamn knew that wouldn't be the last time she saw his face.

He stood up, straightening to his full height until he was towering over her and she felt tiny.

"Hello, Miss Calloway."

SIX DAYS AGO

"The Russian has been quiet," Aaron informed Jaxon, sitting on the chair close to the hospital bed, his leg crossed and a tablet in front of his nose. "We haven't heard a single thing from them since that night."

Jaxon hummed but said nothing. He was trying to pay attention to what Aaron was saying and he was failing. He should be listening, only that he felt... irritated.

He was sick of just sitting in a hospital bed all day and simply doing nothing. He couldn't even stand up and pace around the room, for God's sake.

Aaron was always quick to tell him when he complained that he almost died. "The doctor said you need a lot of rest. So stay down, Jaxon, and fucking rest."

Jaxon was close to throwing a tantrum like a fucking child.

His muscles were stiff and aching. He needed to be up and moving around, not sitting still while everyone did everything for him. There was a war going on and he should be at the front.

And even though Aaron told him the Russians were lying low, he still couldn't relax.

"Are you listening to me, Jaxon?" Aaron asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"No," Jaxon answered curtly and looked at the TV, even though he wasn't seeing anything.

He ignored Aaron's heavy sigh and just fell back into his head, lost in the depth of his mind, that was until the door opened, and his world stepped into the room.

"Hermano," she cried as she ran to him, and he opened his arms for her. She hugged him tightly, and he winced from the pain that shot through his abdomen, but he didn't release his hold on her.

"Mi amor," he whispered, holding her tightly and burying his nose in her hair, inhaling her soothing scent.

"You." She pulled away from him, sniffing as she hit him in the chest. "What were you thinking? Getting shot?"

His lips curled into a soft smile, a smile only meant for her. "Forgive me, mi amor. I shall tell the Russians next time not to shoot me. That I have a little sister that might die if I die."

"Damn right." She glared at him for a short moment before she hugged him again. "I was so scared," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I was so, so scared when Aaron told me."

Jaxon shot Aaron a look behind Aelina's shoulder, and the bastard shrugged, his eyes falling back to his tablet. Jaxon was going to have a word with him later.

"You shouldn't be," he said softly as he stroked her hair. "Death wouldn't be able to take me away from you."

She was his life, his goddamn everything.

They weren't related in any way. Not at all. But she was still his family.

He had found her on the streets, fifteen years ago, tiny and starving. But despite how she looked, there was still a fire in her eyes, a fire that never burned out through out. He had been young himself, then, but he carried her in his arms, and she had been the bane of his existence since then.

Aelina pulled away from him and immediately lunged into talks of school. Jaxon listened intently, nodding, and saying a word or two. Aaron got up and left, saying he was going to get lunch.

Ten minutes later, he came back with his eyebrows set, and no lunch.

"What is it?" Jaxon asked, immediately tensed, alert.

Aaron sat back on his chair, crossing his arms, looking Jaxon dead in the eyes as he said, "I don't like your doctor."

Jaxon blinked at him, his eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

"She's disrespectful."

Aelina rolled her eyes at him. "Let me guess, she didn't cower at your mighty presence?"

Aaron shot her a glance but said nothing.

Jaxon groaned. "That's why you're sulking?"

Aaron gave him a look that could make his balls wither and die. "I am not sulking."

"Sure," Aelina said. "You're only pouting."

Aaron stuck out his tongue at her.

A short laugh burst from Jaxon. Aaron was his commander. He ruled their empire when Jaxon wasn't there. He was feared, respected, and could be brutal when he wanted. And he could also be cute when he wanted. Though he might probably stab Jaxon in the balls if he called him cute.

"Anyways, dislike aside," Aaron said, his expression now serious, "I think she's the one we're looking for."

Jaxon raised an eyebrow.

"A doctor," Aaron answered the unasked question.

"Ahh." Jaxon nodded.

They needed a doctor in their outfit. Someone they could trust, someone they could let into their circle. Someone who could treat them on the call and ready. Jaxon being at this hospital had raised too many eyebrows. He didn't want the public's eyes on him.

That attention wouldn't have happened if they had their own doctor. They had one but he was killed. This war with the Russians had taken too much. From both sides.

In this last fight with them, Jaxon and his men were able to take a lot of them down before they managed to put a bullet in him. So they were probably regrouping, licking their wounds while they prepared for the next fight.

Jaxon wanted to hit them now that they were weak, but he had also taken a big blow to his side.

Back to the doctor...

"Why do you think she could do it?" Jaxon asked Aaron. "Our world isn't for just anyone, Aaron. You can't just see someone and decide they were fit for a life of blood and violence. That is not how things are done." Aelina nodded as he spoke, sitting beside him on the bed and interlocking their fingers.

Their last doctor was born into their world, he knew everything about it and how to survive in it. Their world wasn't for the faint-hearted. It was cruel and brutal. That was why he tried as hard as possible to keep Aelina shielded from it all.

Since he took her under his wing, she has never stayed in Spain for more than a month. He spent her off to England, where she would be safe and could study.

A life with him was dangerous. That was why he never took lovers. Despite how much he craved...

"I know she can be our next doctor," Aaron answered, his jaw set in determination. "It's all in her eyes, Jaxon. She has seen things, been through hell and back. She's tough. Back at the operation room, she looked me dead in the eyes and told me to get out."

Jaxon still didn't understand why Aaron would burst into the operating room and threaten the doctor. He had defended himself by saying, "She could be working with those bastard Russians. So I had to go remind her what would happen if she tried to mess with you. That is if she was working with the Russians."

That had made sense, but still.

"She's got steel, Jaxon," Aaron continued. "I know it."

Jaxon was silent for a while, thinking about it. If his commander said she could do it, then she could.

"I assume you already have her file?"

Aaron smiled as he handed him his tablet. "Of course I do."

Calista stared at the man, her heart racing, her eyes still wide. She was supposed to be panicking, screaming, demanding what the hell he was doing at her house, but her mind was taking time to get there, to realize it was in danger, sluggish with shock.

It would catch up. It always did. It just needed a push.

"Miss Calloway," the stranger called again, and this time he took a step towards her.

And that was the push her mind needed. The fear slammed into her all at once.

She took a step back, her hands trembling. "Don't... don't... Who are you? What are you doing in my house? Get out!"

She kept taking a step back, walking towards the door without alerting him. She just needed to leave here, then she would run as fast as her legs could carry her, and she would call the police. But a little voice at the back of her head told her this man wouldn't be threatened by the police, that the police were probably in his pocket.

She told that voice to shut the hell up.

The man raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender, his expression calm, much to Calista distaste. "I apologize for intruding into your home like this," he said, his voice deep, and oddly... soothing. No, Calista, nothing was soothing about this intruder's voice. "I just wanted to talk."

She narrowed her eyes, her back hitting the door, her fingers scrambling for the handle. Locked. Damn it, the door was locked!

Oh God. No. No, no, no–

"Why couldn't you book an appointment or call as a normal person would?" she snapped, her voice cracking.

The corner of his lips lifted in a smile, his hands still up. "I'm not a normal person."

Her heart beat harder against her chest. She told herself it was from fear, not because of his damn smile. "Damn right you're not."

She knew what kind of person he was, what he did. The men in black? A bullet wound? It was so obvious. This time Calista's heart was racing fast from fear. She knew what he did, she knew he was from the mafia. Maybe a leader. From the way he spoke, stood, that air of power around him. It was all so damn obvious.

She wanted nothing to do with these people. They were part of a life she had buried so deep, she barely remembered it-except in her nightmares. But now, those nightmares were slipping into reality.

Oh, now she was finally panicking.

She threw her bag on the floor, turned to the door, and unlocked it, her hands trembling badly, it was a struggle before she finally got the door open.

She was weak in the knees, fear making her dizzy, but she forced her body to run, she forced her voice to scream for help. "Help!" Louder, Calista. Scream louder.

She ran through her apartment building, screaming, tears streaming down her face.

Her past was in the past. It should stay there.

Her bare feet pounded against the hallway floor. Doors creaked open. Faces peered out, confused and startled. A tall, big man she had seen once or twice came out and she ran straight to him.

"Pl-please, help me," she cried, holding the man's hand in her trembling one.

The man looked at her with worried eyes, letting her hold his hand. "What's wrong?"

"There-" She inhaled to get herself together. "There is a man in my apartment. A stranger. Please help me."

The man's expression darkened. He carefully peeled Calista's hand from his and went inside his apartment. Calista swayed, dizzy with panic. Oh God, he left. He wasn't going to–

Then he came back. Holding a knife. A big one. He jerked his head towards her apartment. "Come on."

Calista sniffed as she led him towards her apartment, staying glued to his side. They got to her apartment. Her door was still wide open, the contents of her bag still sprawled on the floor. And the man? Gone. No one was in her apartment.

"There's no one here," the man informed her after he searched everywhere.

She inhaled a shaky breath, her shoulders shaking with it as she leaned against the wall, rubbing her hand aggressively on her face.

"Do you need me to call the police?" the neighbor asked gently, standing a small distance away from her.

She should. But it was useless.

The police wouldn't help. Because men like him didn't fear the law.

She raised her head and managed a strained smile. "No... no, thank you. I'll call them. Maybe."

That was a lie, of course.

She thanked the man and he left, but she didn't just stay there and wait for the stranger to come back. She picked up her phone, her purse, and her car keys. There was no way in hell she was staying here.

***

Calista stayed in a hotel for two nights. She didn't even go back to her apartment for a change of clothes. She bought the clothes she was wearing.

She was scared beyond relief. God, she was so scared. What did the stranger want from her? Did he want to punish her for speaking to that man in the operating room rudely? Did he want to threaten her?

Or... God, or did he know who she was?

A violent shiver passed through her as she stepped inside her office, closing the door behind her.

Had she... had she slipped and given herself away? She... she couldn't. She was careful. So damn careful.

She sat down behind her desk, dropping her bag. She picked up her coffee and drank it down in one go. She still felt like shit.

Thank goodness she didn't have any operations for this week. Goodness knows what she might do during the operation.

A gentle knock came at her door and Cynthia opened the door and stepped inside, a small smile on her face.

"Dr. Calloway, your patient is here to see you," Cynthia informed her.

"My patient?" Calista asked, a confused look on her face.

Cynthia nodded. "Mr. Jaxon Castillo booked an apartment with you yesterday. You approved of it, ma'am."

She had? And who was Jaxon Castillo? Calista didn't always remember the names of her patients. What? There were a lot. Her brain might melt if she starts trying to remember their names.

And she didn't want to ask Cynthia who that was. Cynthia was already giving her that 'look.' That look that says she knew something was going on with Calista and she was beginning to worry. Calista hated that look.

Cynthia might be her assistant but Calista still liked to keep her life private, tight lid, that not even air could enter. She might have been working in this hospital for five years, but no one knew anything about her. That was how Calista liked to live.

So she gave Cynthia a tight smile as she said, "I'll see him now."

Cynthia nodded and left.

Calista sighed, slumping back on her chair and pressing her index finger against her temple. She was tired, physically and mentally. She needed a break.

Maybe she could take a week off. Since the five years she started working she could count the number of times she had taken leave on one hand.

Yes, you could call her a work freak.

Work was the glue keeping her together. And it felt like some kind of link to her father. He had wanted to be a doctor, but the life he was born into didn't allow that. But she could. So she was doing this for her father.

A knock came at her door and Calista was immediately on her feet, slapping her fake smile on to greet her patient.

But that smile turned sour when she saw who it was.