Diavolo

2

Stefano and Mikey held down the man as Elyse removed the bullet from his body. She operated with the precision of a machine. Lacking anesthesia, all she could offer the poor bastard was a towel between his teeth to dampen the hellish experience. To the stranger's credit, he made every effort to lie still during the operation and only released a handful of groans as Elyse disinfected the area, descended upon his wound, disinfected the area again, and stitched him up.

When the most grueling part of her job was done, she relayed in clipped tones, "That's the best I can do. For now. The rest will be up to him."

At this point, Elyse was only talking to Stefano and Mikey. Her patient had passed out cold. Most likely from pain or fatigue. His vitals were steady, though. Gracias a Dios. Thank God. The stranger had lived. She might live, too.

Raised Catholic by her Mexican father, Elyse proceeded to offer a prayer of gratitude even though she doubted that anyone would hear it. She hadn't stepped foot inside a church in years, but, during times of duress, such as tonight, she found herself clinging to religion in the way a frightened child might clutch a security blanket.

"Is he outta the woods?" Stefano demanded anxiously.

"Most likely," she replied. "But your friend is at risk for infection. I'll put him on some antibiotics and pain relievers. A tetanus shot wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Get him everything he needs, doc."

Elyse pulled out her burner phone. "I'll text Benny for the prescriptions."

Mikey asked, "How long until he's back on his feet?"

Setting aside the phone, Elyse advised quietly, "He should be on bed rest for a few days. After he regains mobility, don't let him engage in strenuous activity for two weeks."

Just then, Stefano's phone started to buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket, took one look at the screen, and swore loudly, "Shit! Gotta take this."

He stepped into the kitchen and came back a minute later with a thunderous expression on his face. "Code red, Mikey! The boss needs us."

Mikey's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Now?"

Stefano gave a curt nod. "Yeah."

Mikey's beady eyes darted toward the man lying on Elyse's living room floor. He was still unconscious. "What about Aless—"

"Shut up, dumbass," Stefano snapped in warning tones.

"Right, right," Mikey grumbled. "Sorry, I forgot. No names."

Stefano turned to Elyse. "Keep an eye on this guy for us?"

Tensing up, Elyse bit back a protest. "For how long?"

This wasn't the first time Stefano had forced her to take in one of his cronies, and she hated sharing her apartment with criminals day in and day out. Granted, Elyse had grown familiar with Stefano and Mikey's inner circle by now, and most of the patients left in her care were too beat up to try anything funny, but sleeping beside ex-convicts and violent sociopaths was as fun as it sounded. Like drinking cyanide.

"A few days," Stefano answered. "Give or take."

"Like you said," Mikey pointed out, "our man needs to rest, right?"

"Right."

"Don't worry," he added, "We'll be back to check on him. Tomorrow. Take good care of him, or else, you know—"

"I die?" she supplied with an arched eyebrow.

"Watch it, you mouthy cunt. No one likes a smartass."

Now that the crux of their crisis had been averted, she was no longer untouchable. In a blur, Mikey's arm swiped toward her. His fat, beefy fist bashed the side of her face. Elyse's nerves spasmed with pain, and the impact sent her hurtling to the ground. Within the same second, her temple slammed against the cold, hard tiles near the entryway.