Bound to the Crime Lord (Dark Mafia Tales #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Juliette POV

I could hear the sound of sirens blaring outside. It was the usual backdrop of East Garfield. I was deep in the belly of the beast.

I was miles away from my plush private hospital at Grace Memorial. It boasted the best facilities in the entire city, and was the healthcare center choice for the wealthy and elite.

So why was I, a senior trauma attending, volunteering in the deep ghetto of Chicago? Service. Many people in this area could only dream of having access to healthcare, let alone being attended to by a specialized doctor. I had a heart for those less privileged than me. That was what had driven me into this field in the first place.

The clinic was small and looked like it still belonged in the early 90s. But it was a place I had managed to save dozens of lives in, and I would keep coming back to it until my lungs gave out.

I cracked my spine and walked back to the nurses' station with my board. I handed it to Hilda, who was the head nurse on the night shift.

“She’ll need to go on a paracetamol drip to bring her fever down, and then we’ll watch her for the next few hours.” I gave her the rundown for the teen girl who had walked in here alone an hour or so ago. “Who’s next?”

Hilda handed off the board to Susan, the other nurse on duty. From her body language, I knew something was off. She cocked her head in the direction of the procedure, room wanting me to follow her.

Hmm. Something was definitely off.

I followed Hilda into the back where the procedure room was located. We pushed past the doors inside and I stopped short when I saw a bloodied man on the table practically hyperventilating. And he had good enough reason to be breathing so hard. He was currently sporting a bullet wound right where his spleen was.

Two large men stood off to the side in black attire, watching the boy with grim expressions.

I turned to my head nurse, the agitation and worry filling my mind. “Again, Hilda?”

I had been volunteering here long enough to know that the boy on the table had been shot due to a gang shootout. Otherwise, he would have been brought in from the front of the clinic and not the back.

Gun violence was not an off thing here in the state of Illinois. Chicago was the beacon for all things criminal and gang related. As much as my city was home to beauty, behind the golden mirror there was a rotten and ugly crime ring.

“He’s just a boy, doc,” she pleaded her case. “You’ve done dozens of these here anyway, and with far less equipment, might I add. He’ll be safest in your hands. I’ve already given him a local anesthetic to help with the pain. You don’t have any other patients you need to see for the time being. Please.”

“Who is he to you?” From the way she was begging, I knew that he had some form of importance.

Her eyes dimmed a little. “My sister’s kid. My nephew.”

My heart sank. “Lucy? The one who passed away last spring?”

She nodded solemnly. “That very one. He’s a good kid, doc, he’s just got into some messed up stuff. But I promise after this he will clean up his act and he’ll?—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, my friend.” I gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Head back out front for me. I got this.” Truthfully, I didn’t know if I did have this. I was working on faith and a prayer at this point.

I watched the relief wash over her. She looked into my eyes with those worn-down brown pools of hers and said, “Thank you, Juliette.”

Hilda worked hard. She supported not only her family, but her sister's children now too. Nursing didn’t lay nearly enough for the work they needed, but she still showed up and did her job anyway. She inspired me daily.

“Don’t thank me, it’s what I do.”

I shooed her away and gave my attention to the boy on the table. The two men followed my movements with their eyes, but said nothing.

The tension in the air was thick and clung to the walls of the makeshift operating room. Hilda had cut his shirt open for me and had placed an oxygen mask over his face. His eyes were locked on the ceiling above. His skin glistened with sweat.

All my equipment was laid out for me perfectly, like it always was when we had one of these cases trickle into our clinic. I went to grab my scalpel when the boy's hand reached out and grabbed onto my arm. His rapid breath misted the oxygen mask, tears brimming his eyes as his unspoken message was written all over his face.

Save me, please…

My heart broke.

He was scared.

I had seen that gaze many times before when I attended to a causality. It was when they could feel death dragging them toward its home as they desperately tried to cling onto life.

I placed my hand over his and gave him one nod. “You're not going to die today, okay? Not if I have any say on it.”

In med school, one of the first things they taught us was never to promise a patient anything. Doctors were not gods; we were merely skilled healers who tried to defy the odds of nature. We cheated death every time we held a scalpel or administered a medicine. But with every procedure, operation or medication, came a risk. There was no give without take. There was nothing that was without risk of complication. And yet, I stood over this boy who was petrified and promised that I would keep him alive.

I had to keep my promise.

He released my hand and turned his gaze to the ceiling. I looked at the two men he had come in with and gave them a hard stare.

“We gave him a localized anesthesia, but it’s still going to hurt like hell. I’m going to need you two to hold him down.”

The two men moved into action. They pinned his arms down, making sure that he wouldn’t move. One look at the three of them and I could tell that they were all close. It was the despair in the two men’s eyes that confirmed it for me.

I steeled my back, readying myself. “What’s his name?”

One of the two men replied, “Aiden.”

“Okay Aiden,” I felt around the wound. “This is going to hurt a little, but the less you move, the better. It will be over before you know it.”

He nodded, setting his jaw into place.

The bullet was currently holding back the bleeding, but I was almost certain that it had not hit a major artery. The clinic was not equipped for procedures like this, but I had seen enough of these wounds to know my way around them.

“One… two… three …” I sliced through his skin.

“ Ahhh! ” He let out a blood-curdling scream that could be heard far across the city. He writhed against the two men who held him down.

This was going to be a long procedure.

I walked out of the procedure room, the screams of the man still echoing in my mind. I removed my mask and leaned my back against the wall. I tilted my chin up to the sky and let out a shaky breath.

“Breathe, Juliette… Just breathe.” I closed my eyes and counted to twenty in my head.

Ah, yes, the selfless life of an emergency doctor.

A cold shiver ran down my spine as my mind recapped what had just happened.

Living in Chicago, I was used to seeing gunshot wounds, stab wounds, and burns. I saw more gore in one morning than an ordinary person saw in a lifetime. And yet, some cases still stuck with you.

It was the panic in his eyes that had gotten to me. The fear of him possibly losing his life. And his fear was justified. The boy could not have been more than 20 years old. He even had little acne spots on his face. And yet he had made it onto my table with bullet wounds.

He was lucky to be alive.

“I take it the boy is well,” a thick voice broke through my loud thoughts.

My eyes snapped open and found the tall, leering figure in the corner of the waiting room. He stood in black slacks with a tucked-in white button-down, the sleeves rolled up all the way to his elbows showcasing a large tattoo that traveled under the shirt.

“What are you doing here? This is a prohibited area,” I retorted. “Please, go into the waiting room.”

Even under the harsh fluorescent lights, his whiskey eyes glistened brilliantly. I had never seen eyes quite like his before. They were smooth like fine liquor, yet held so much power their gaze was unnerving.

He pointed to the door I had just walked out of. “That boy in there is mine.”

“Your son?” There was no way that the two of them could be related. They looked nothing alike, and this man couldn’t be more than 32.

He rubbed his stubbly jaw. “One of my men.”

My body tensed. “ Los Fuertes .”

One side of his lips tilted upward into a devilish smirk. “It seems you’ve heard about us.”

“Nothing good,” I gulped. I tried to conceal the obvious fear that poured into my system. I was in the presence of an apex predator, and one thing those nature shows Ethan made me watch had taught me, was to never show fear when confronted with a killer. They fed off it.

What cocaine was to an addict, fear was to a killer like him.

He kicked off the wall and stalked toward me. I didn’t dare move, though my brain screamed at me to run.

Hold your ground, Juliette. Hold your ground .

I tried to talk myself into bravery. But was it truly bravery when you placed yourself in the path of a devil like him?

“Tell me, chica , how do you know of our Brotherhood?”

Their name ran deep through the streets of Chicago. Everyone knew of them, and no one ever wanted to encounter them. Depending on who you spoke to, they were either heroes or villains. Most referred to them as the devil knights. They were responsible for half the gunshots and stabbings I saw in ER at Grace Memorial.

“I repair the bodies you carve.” I jutted my chin up feigning the bravery I needed to take him on. “I make a habit of finding diseases, and your group is the virus that has contaminated this city.”

I had expected to see anger flare in his liquid gaze. But instead, I saw a spark of intrigue.

“A virus?”

I gave a curt nod. “Or a cancer. And as a doctor, I tend to cut those out, eradicate them from the body.”

Oh my God, I had a death wish.

His lips quirked into that smirk of his. My entire body buzzed with fear as he took another step closer, leaving us to only but a few centimeters apart.

He was so close to me that I could smell the woody scent of his cologne. A delicate chain hung on his neck and glistened against the lights.

The man oozed power and wealth. I wondered how much blood painted his palms. How many lives had been taken from the very hands that were twitching at his sides.

“Is that what you want to do?” He leered down at me with vicious intimidation. “You want to eradicate me from Chicago?”

“If I could manage it without consequence, I would do so in a heartbeat.” The strength in my voice dwindled toward the end of my sentence. My false bravado was weaning, and my mask slipping.

“You know, stronger men than you have tried. And died.”

“I guess they weren’t woman enough.” I dared to hold his stare. “You know what they say, never send a man to do a woman’s job.”

He huffed, his smile fully coming to his lips. “You intrigue me, Juliette.”

My back stiffened. “How…”

How did he know my name?

He pulled back. “I have a feeling I will be seeing you around, doc. Take care of the boy, will you? It would be a shame if we allowed a measly bullet to take his life.”

He turned on his heels and made his way out of the empty room, leaving me there, standing alone. It wasn’t until the door locked behind him that I let go of the heavy breath that had been trapped in my throat.

I pressed my hand over my chest and doubled over, trying to collect myself.

I had watched patients meet death a dozen times over, and many times I had pulled them from its porch. But today, I had been the one to face death, and his name was Manuel Gomez. The Mexican Drug Lord of Chicago.