Page 83 of Dirty Mafia Torment

“I’m Bianca’s friend. Hopefully that’s reason enough to keep me alive.”

He steps forward.

I step back.

His sigh is long, sharp with frustration as he moves past me.

“If he lives, you live,” he says over his shoulder. “But understandthis: You can run, but you can never hide. You of all people should understand that.”

He stops.

The air tightens, charged with the weight of something inevitable.

He turns, enough for me to catch the cold, merciless glint in his eyes.

“Isn’t that right, Elia?”

RENZO

“Relax,and let the painkillers do their job.”

My eyes snap open. The doctor on our payroll stands over me, needle in hand, smiling encouragingly at me.

“What did you say?” I croak, my words heavy.

“You’ll feel more comfortable in a few minutes.”

I try to sit up and take a swing at him. Pain shoots through my shoulder. He’s got me on Dante’s desk, shirt sliced open, pants shoved halfway down my legs.

“Mr. Beneventi, easy,” the doctor admonishes. “I cleaned the wound, but still need to stitch you up.”

“Dante!” I bellow, furious. So spitting mad I see red.

He walks in midcall, phone pressed to his ear.

“Hang up,” I growl.

He disconnects, his eyes snapping from the doctor to me. “He tell you you’re a lucky bastard? The bullet passed through your upper pectoral muscle, right below your collarbone, missing a major artery, veins, and the apex of your lung?”

“Fuck the medical jabber.” I wave a finger at the doctor. “This motherfucker drugged me.”

Dante looks as alarmed as I feel. “What kind? How much?”

The doctor’s voice quivers. “Ten milligrams of oxycodone.”

I swing my legs off the desk and yank my pants up, while the man stammers apologies.

“I’m sorry. Please, I thought it would help—he was in pain?—”

“You’re apologizing to the wrong man.”

“Mr. Beneventi …”

Mind over matter, right? I’m not losing my shit over ten milligrams of oxy. The pain, dizziness, hell, even the stench of vodka still clinging to me is temporary. I’ve survived worse things than this. “Just finish the damn stitches.”

The doctor gets to work, eyeing me like he’s expecting a punch as he digs his needle into me. I almost lean in with a playful “boo” like Zia Teresa offered me weeks ago, but the oxy’s kicking in, and I’ve got shit to handle.

I lock eyes with Dante. “Bianca’s friend. Is she okay?”