Page 64 of Pretty Plaything

A dark-haired man lies on the table, his dark eyes staring at the ceiling. His shirt is smeared with blood, which is dripping on the floor.

“Paolo!” Alessandro is at his side in a second. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I—” Paolo chokes out.

“Don’t speak. Whatever it is, it can wait.” Alessandro pries Paolo’s shirt off his stomach so he can take a better look at the wound.

There’s so much blood.

“Bring me my kit.” Alessandro snaps his fingers at the guy who brought us here.

“Yes, sir.” The guy disappears through the door.

“Is the bullet still inside?” Alessandro asks.

Paolo groans, but he nods.

Alessandro mutters something under his breath. The guy returns with what looks like a big first aid kit. He opens it on one of the counters, but when he turns toward Paolo, his face goes pale.

“Sienna,” Alessandro says. “Grab the tweezers.” He looks at the guy next. “You, out.”

The guy nods and rushes out so fast he almost trips.

I find the tweezers and hand them to Alessandro.

Is he really going to do this himself? My father would’ve never gotten his hands dirty like this to save a soldier. Actually, I don’t know any mafia bosses who would.

But Alessandro doesn’t even blink. He pokes around the wound. I want to look away as Paolo cries out, but I don’t.

“I got the bullet,” Alessandro says as he pulls it out of the wound. “Sienna, give me that gauze!”

I hurry to get it for him, and he presses it against the wound.

“Doc’s here!” someone shouts, and a gray-haired man enters the room with a bag.

“I see Paolo’s in good hands,” the doctor says with a smile, his brown eyes focused on Alessandro.

“You’re late,” Alessandro says, but he’s smiling too.

I’m pretty sure the two of them are friends.

Good friends.

“Let me take care of this,” the doctor says, and Alessandro steps away, his hands covered in blood.

The doctor’s brow furrows. “I see another one on his arm.”

“A scratch,” Paolo manages to say.

“Deep enough that it’ll need stitches.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Alessandro says to the doc, who only nods as he’s already working on Paolo’s biggest wound.

I pull away as more people enter the room to help, and they attach some wires and tubes. But I manage to keep my eyes on Alessandro as he cuts away Paolo’s sleeve, cleans the wound, and then stitches it up.

“You’re getting better at it,” the doctor says to Alessandro after taking a quick look at Paolo’s arm.

“Fuck off.” Alessandro laughs.