I might've pushed my luck today, assigning Amara to the biggest guy on our lists. Good thing I followed her. She gave her best in fighting him; I saw her through the office window. But when the man slammed her to the ground, I lost my cool, knowing she could never beat him in hand-to-hand combat.
Her hesitation to use the gun angered me. However, when she spun mid-air, aiming precisely at the middle of Stephan's forehead, saving my life, I felt guilty for pushing her to prove herself.
She lies motionless in my arms, her heart rate slowing. I lift her, keeping her close. After examining her, I realize her breathing is regular; she just fainted from the pain. A scratch on her face with dried blood forms a line along it. I wish I could confront Stefan with my bare hands.
Raising her shirt tucked into her pants, I find her left side ribs badly bruised, and pressing on them reveals two or three broken ribs. Damn Stefan!
Covering her abdomen, I stand up takign her in my arms.Her head rests on my chest . After I got us in the car, I call Nicolas to dispose the body of Stephan.
I make another call to our doctor, Massimo, arranging to meet us at the clinic. I start the engine and head towards his clinic. Glancing at Amara, who rests in the passenger seat, I've adjusted it for her comfort, I sigh .
"Damn it, Amara…." I mutter, softly brushing her cheek. I may have gone too far, but I know she could have emerged unscathed. To ensure her survival in this world, I must find out why she refuses to use a gun. Why hide her remarkable skill?
It doesn't seem ordinary to conceal something that could elevate her to the top in our world. Not many people are hitmen or possess such precision while shooting.
A few days ago, as I sifted through records, she appeared strikingly similar in appearence to one of our top hitmen, Alessandro de Rossi. Her shocked response when I mentioned 'de Rossi' validated my suspicion. It's no surprise she possesses such skills.
Next time, I'll have to delve into her history using the right name. No wonder I couldn't find much on Amara Morelli; she seemed like a ghost, with no parents or connections.
I'm curious about what I'll unearth regarding Amara de Rossi when I investigate her past using the correct name. But at the moment, let's focus on getting her back on her feet. I sigh, glancing at her, struggling to concentrate fully on the road. She occupies my mind more than I anticipated.
A few hours later, Massimo emerges after examining her. "How is she?"I can't just sit here. I need to see her or, at the very least, hear that she'll be fine.
"Three broken ribs, and her left leg is slightly sprained. Nasty bruises on her abdomen, arms, and thighs. I wonder how her slim body got away with just this after a fight with Stephan. The man is a bull!" Massimo gestures in disbelief, clearly amazed that she managed to escape from the encounter alive.
I would have questioned the same if I wasn't aware of her speed and agility. However, it seems she couldn't withstand the force of his punches until the end.
"How much rest does she need?" Concern overtakes my words. Memories of my mother being hospitalized flood my mind.
"Hmm… The leg, maybe a week, and the ribs, two or more weeks. No sharp movements. Keep her in bed; she'll heal faster." Massimo looks over his glasses, and I nod.
"I wonder who she is? I haven't seen her till now. Perhaps your girlfriend?" He asks, looking through his papers as we walk side by side toward his office.
I match his steps. "New recruit, for now…" The words slip out, and I'm not entirely sure of their meaning.
He raises an eyebrow, but I interrupt him with another question, "When can I take her?" Massimo looks at me before vanishing into his office. "You can take her now if you want," he says, nonchalantly shrugging and not forgetting to smirk at me.
That's what you get from a mafia doctor—straightforward and efficient, accustomed to handling more severe cases. While Massimo assessed the situation with ease and indifference, it was not as simple for me, seeing Amara in that condition.
Moreover, he could have mentioned it earlier. I despise hospitals, and he is well aware of that.I convey my thanks, accompanied by a frown, and enter the room where Amara received her diagnosis. My frustration fades as I look at her motionless form, her face displaying a slight pallor.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I brush her hand that was connected to an infusion tube, now with a small bandage over the point where the needle had pierced her skin.Holding her hand, I feel her pulse, reassuring myself that as long as she's alive, everything will be fine.
"Where… am I?" Her voice startles me, and I look into her eyes that slowly scan her surroundings.
"Hospital," I reply, brushing her hand with my thumb. She looks at me, her lips appearing dry. Without maintaining eye contact, she shifts her gaze to an invisible point, seemingly intentional to avoid my eyes.
"Hey… I owe you my life. I owe you a favor." I continue gazing at her, my voice soft and slow, wondering how I can speak this way.
She meets my eyes and sighs. I smile, uncertain if that's the right response, but I'm happy she's looking at me again. I don't care if I overwhelm her. Amara is finally awake.
"Fair enough…" Her raspy voice suggests indifference to owing me anything. She seems uninterested in leveraging my power, a rarity. Fair enough; I know she's worth my attention.
"Let's get you home." I help her stand up, and she winces as her ribs feel the pressure. I support her princess-style, realizing I've never carried someone like this before. But here I am, carrying her for the second time; she's light, like a feather.
The thought of Stefan causing her current state makes my jaw tense. She glances at me shiftily. After placing her in the car, clad in the white robe from the clinic, I retrieve the previous clothes Massimo took off her from the room we left few minutes ago .
As I return with the bag, my phone rings. "Yes, boss." I greet Franco, sensing urgency. After avoiding details about Amara while telling him how things went , he instructs me to meet him tonight.
"I understand." After sighing, I head to the car, the phone's display showing 11:27. It's not too late, so I will drive carefully, considering Amara's condition. I mentally plan to go to my apartment after dropping her off and visit my father. By 5 tonight, I hope to meet Franco.
I drive while Amara looks at me intently. I can tell she's trying to figure out whether to talk or stay silent, gazing out the window, as she has for the past few minutes.
"What do you want from my life?" Her question breaks the silence.
Interesting question coming from her, as she seemed to avoid giving me a chance to uncover her. Either she is attempting to keep me at bay, providing what I want to discourage further digging, or she just wants a clue from my response about what my intentions truly are.
From my deductions , she's a planner, needing information, but I'm recognized as a man of few words. While Amara is clever, she overlooks that she lacks much knowledge about me.
"I'm still thinking."I don't take my eyes off the road while rotating the steering wheel to get into the right lane.
"Tell me your wish. I don't like being indebted.I own you too." Her voice remains steady, but I sense her anxiety about my response. It's good to know she acknowledges my role in saving her. She's genuine.
In spite of that , I don't want to grant her the peace of mind she seeks . I want something more, something she can't provide now. Forcing herself isn't the solution; she's willing to give but not ready.
"Fair enough. I'll let you know when you will let me know about your wish. Until then, we're even." I glance at her, and she frowns, but she remains silent for the rest of the ride. I know she won't ask for the favor anytime soon.
I drop her off the same way I picked her up and carry her to the mattress in the apartment. "Rest until the ceremony. No movements." She looks at me and responds with a short, "I will try."
As I leave , no one is is in the apartment , sign they are still on the field , or celebrating their kills in a club .
In half an hour, I'm standing in front of my dad's office. After exchanging greetings, we sit, and he gets straight to the point, revealing an intriguing discovery.
"I found out something interesting. The first time I saw her, I was haunted for a few days by her face. She looks exactly like her mother, Bella de Rossi. To think she faked her last name."
After taking a sip of wine from his glass, he continues," I wonder why… I did kill Alessandro, but I would never kill Amara just because her father was a damned infiltrated spy of russian mafia."
His words sink my heart; it dawns on me that Amara is hiding behind a false identity, likely with plans of her own. If she intends to kill my father as vengeance, she's a few steps behind; he's already aware of her true identity.
"Are you sure?" I inquire, hoping for more details.
"How can I not be? I would never forget that slim frame with her dark eyes and wavy short hair. She's the carbon copy of Bella. Not to mention, I fell for her at first sight. Bella was the forbidden fruit." My father smirks mischievously.
I want to ask about his intentions, but I know he'll reveal them anyway. I don't want to appear too interested, though I'm itching to smash his head on the table for uncovering Amara's real identity. He holds the power to destroy her. I want to destroy him before he harms her.
Despite my anger towards him, I know now at least some background of hers.Is gonna be easier to interpret her action her from now on .
"Amara seems not to be forbidden, though. She came to me in the gang by herself, with no one to protect her. I even have a hook to catch her easily-her fake name. I want to taste her. Maybe she's better than her late mother." His devilish smirk triggers an impulse to split his head in two.
So he plans to manipulate her through her identity.
"Dad, do you know she's a few years younger than me? She's 17, and you're 50." I remind him of the age gap, feeling repulsed by the notion of him considering her in that way. I'm 22 and never thought of touching her until she reaches maturity. How am I connected to this man through blood? Am I genuinely his son?
"Age doesn't matter," he retorts quickly, frowning.
"True .If Franco hears such words, your position won't matter either . Remember the first rule in the mob: Be a man of honor, respect womanhood and elders."
"Franco won't hear if you don't talk. I thought you'd have the decency to join me, but you seem to be more entangled with your sense of righteousness. Maybe your mother made you with someone else." He scoffs .
"Cut it out. I won't tolerate you disrespecting my mother like that. You've crossed a line." I glare at him while he lights a cigarette.
"Are you forgetting who's older, son?" He frowns and places his gun on the table.
"If I were you, I'd steer clear of those thoughts. Age isn't a big deal in the mob. And being older or a consiglier doesn't necessarily make you wiser. Look at yourself, thinking about something inappropriate with a 17-year-old girl—a minor.."
He stands up, pointing his gun at me—a wrong move. Any made man pointing guns at his brethren disregards the Commission. He's setting himself up to be killed.
"Drop your gun if you want to keep your position and keep me as a son, not an enemy. Franco will know you killed me, as he knows I am visiting you."
"You're not my son. But for the sake of peace, I will drop my gun if you take back your words." He puffs on his cigarette, and I sigh.
After tossing the phone on the table, he picks it up and discovers the recording. A frown creases his face as he glances at me, his expression filled with hatred.
"I don't need to take back my words. They are the pure truth."
He drops his gun and erases the recording. As he looks at me, I keep a serious expression, unfazed by his action, watching as he demonstrates clicking the delete button. Although he initially smirks, he soon frowns in response to my words.
"I can take that back with one of my smart fellows in technology. Now, I have an order for you." He gulps, realizing his big mistake in pointing the gun at me. I've acted like a son until now, but it's time to put a leash on him. I must control him to ensure Amara's identity remains hidden.
I want to laugh mentally at how easily he brandishes his gun if you know how to push his buttons. He's now within my grasp.
"Don't touch that girl, for the honor of our family," I growl, keeping my gaze fixed on him.