Diavolo (Devil’s Playground #1)

1. Chapter 1

1

WHAM!

Elyse groaned into her pillow, swearing in the same breath, " Vete a la chingada ." Fuck off.

WHAM!

But the uninvited guest had no intention of fucking off. It sounded like he was about to shatter her front door with his pounding fist.

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

Dead tired, Elyse wanted nothing more than to ignore the relentless asshole. But doing so would only lead to bigger problems. She rolled over to grab her phone, not the regular one, but the burner that hid her fucked up predicament from the world. Its screen glowed in the dark as she checked the time. 2:07 am. Elyse winced as her vision adjusted to the light. A barrage of notifications greeted her. Seventeen unread texts. Five missed calls. All from the same asshole who was currently trying to break into her apartment.

What fresh hell was he bringing to her doorstep this time?

He was saved in her contacts as Pendejo , but his real name was Stefano Russo. Some people could take no for an answer. Stefano wasn't one of them. He expected her world to revolve around him. Usually, Elyse replied as soon as possible whenever his demands popped up on her phone. Today was the exception. The hospital had been more chaotic than usual. In addition to scheduled procedures, she'd been summoned to the ER. After treating a teenager with burns on both hands, a car accident victim with a traumatic brain injury, and a smoker who needed a part of her lung removed, her mind felt frayed, nerves were shot, and exhaustion took over. By the time Elyse made it home, the burner diminished to an afterthought, and she'd collapsed in bed without switching out of silent mode.

Such a fuck up was about to cost her.

Elyse forced her body out of bed in a half-awake stupor. Lethargic steps led her to the front door. Rising on her toes, she peered through the peephole. Her mouth flattened into a tight line. As she feared, Stefano and his merry band of fuckers had come to call in another favor. Through the small, rounded glass, two men in their forties came into view. She recognized Stefano and Mikey right away. But a third man also accompanied them. He was younger than the others, and she didn't recognize him at all. Elyse honed in on the last fucker. Something felt off.

"Just… a minute," she called out hesitantly.

"Open the door," came the terse reply, "before we kick it down."

Tension strained her jaw as Elyse undid the chain guards. She then unlocked the swing guards. Finally, she got to the slide bolts. There were seven locks in total. These barriers, Elyse suspected, were useless against the criminals they were guarding against, but the delusion of being in control helped her sleep at night.

With a turn of the knob, the door swung open to reveal the three dark-haired men. They stood like reapers in the shadows. Well, technically, she noted,only two of them were standing. Slumped like a ragdoll, the third man's arms were draped over Stefano and Mikey's shoulders. He'd probably be facedown on the ground if they weren't supporting his weight.

Curiosity trickled through dread. Elyse recognized Stefano, of course, and his long-time associate, Mikey, but she'd never laid eyes on the third man, and her memory was damn near photographic. Stefano and Mikey never brought new faces to her door. Discretion was key to their operation. She sensed the man wasn't a nobody. Guys like Stefano and Mikey wouldn't bend rules for nobodies. This stranger was definitely a somebody . Important enough for them to care whether he lived or died. Or maybe he simply owed them a fuckton of money. Greedy shits .

Elyse narrowed her gaze. Either way, the poor man needed a doctor. If only to survive long enough to settle his debts. She assessed the damage, scanning the stranger from head to toe. He appeared to be semi-unconscious. Dark red stained his expensive-looking suit. A fatal amount. The blood-soaked fabric seemed to be concentrated near his stomach.

Green eyes darted over to Stefano as she deduced, "Abdominal wound?"

Stefano nodded and added with a grunt, "From a goddamn bullet."

To date, Elyse had treated several drug and alcohol overdoses, three broken limbs, and a few other blunt force trauma injuries in her apartment. Surprisingly, though, given the violent nature of their work, this was the first gunshot wound that Stefano had presented to her.

Elyse cursed under her breath. "You brought me a GSW? I can't run a CT scan or X-ray in my living room. Take him to the ER."

"You telling us to fuck off?"

Biting back a smirk, she nodded. "In a very nice way, yes."

Mikey spat, "Bitch, I thought we had an agreement?"

"We do."

"Then pull your fucking weight before I fuck you up."

Without flinching, she pushed back quietly, "You're asking for a miracle I can't deliver."

"Look, doc, our friend traveled a long way to take care of some important business, and he wants to keep things quiet," Stefano growled. "You know to keep your mouth shut. That's why we brought him here."

"Even if I manage to get him through the next few hours, shit can still go south while he's in recovery. Infection. Blood clots. Internal bleeding. Trust me, he needs a fucking hospital."

Angrily, Stefano argued, "Does it look like we have time to drive him there? He's half-dead. You're his only hope now."

"Don't let him die," Mikey warned.

Threats no longer fazed her. She heard them so often. Elyse taunted softly, "Or else— what? You’ll kill me?"

Stefano let out a snort of laughter. It was a raspy, unpleasant sound. "If this bastard doesn't survive, we won't be the first in line to bury you. Just know. He's very important to Cosa Nostra ."

Elyse recognized this chilling entity. Cosa Nostra referred to the Sicilian Mafia. Stefano and Mikey didn't belong to Cosa Nostra . They answered to the Mancini family here in Queens. The Mancinis were vicious and brutal, but their crimes were child’s play compared to the atrocities that Cosa Nostra was known for. Her cool expression wavered.

Stefano growled, "Anything happens to him tonight? His men will be ready to sink a bullet between your pretty green eyes. You'll be a stain on the ground before you can even blink."

She fell silent for a moment, contemplating the weight of his words. Stefano had never threatened her in this way. At least, not in the sense she might die from a bullet that didn't belong to his Glock. She took the warning to heart.

"Bring him inside," Elyse murmured. "I'll do my best to keep him alive."

The three large men entered her small apartment. Elyse rushed to her closet and pulled out the heavy-duty tarp kept for this sort of situation. Bloodstains were a bitch to clean up. The square of blue plastic was spread across the floor. Elyse then set up her surgical supplies. She always maintained a generous inventory on hand for the injured criminals that Stefano dumped on her. Such as this stranger with a hole in his stomach.

She glanced over. "Were you with him when it happened?"

"Yes."

"How many shots did you hear?"

"Just one. Once we started firing back, the shithead ran off."

This meant there would only be one bullet to worry about. Good . The man's chances of survival ticked up. But she couldn't relax yet. Low, intermediate, and high velocity GSWs required very different levels of care. Oftentimes, it was safer to leave the bullet inside the patient's body. Elyse needed to pinpoint as many details as possible to determine the best course of action. Such as the make and model of the firearm. Or the approximate distance between the shooter and victim. And whether or not there might be an exit wound. There was no time to waste. Every second was precious.

"Tell me everything you remember," Elyse demanded.

After answering the onslaught of questions she fired at them, Stefano and Mikey lowered the bleeding man onto the tarp as though he was made of glass. Never had she seen these two brutes look so anxious. Elyse tried not to let their nerves rattle her. It appeared her new patient wielded some clout in the underworld, which meant the less she knew about him, the better. La curiosidad mató al gato , and she wasn't keen on being shoved into the Hudson with a sack of bricks tied to her ankles. Curiosity killed the cat.

Elyse took in a deep, shaky breath to get in the zone. Out in the real world, this stranger was likely a killer who wouldn't think twice about slitting her throat. But inside her apartment? He was a patient who needed care. Nothing mattered except his survival. She couldn't lose herself to what ifs and God forbids . Not now. Not ever.

Without wasting another second, Elyse snapped on surgical gloves and got to work. A lamp was turned on. Under the light, Elyse cut away her new patient's clothing to inspect the bloody mess up close. Clean wound edges. No bone involvement. Relief eased the tightness in her chest. The bullet sat relatively close to the surface of his skin, and, somehow, by the grace of God, it hadn't shattered on impact. The little fucker could be removed in one piece with minimally invasive surgery. Judging from the position of the entry wound and the shallowness of it, his internal organs seemed to be intact. A promising sign. Of course, without a CT scan or X-ray, she couldn't be sure.

Perhaps, she'd be able to perform a miracle, after all.

In a steady, reassuring voice, Elyse addressed the fading man, "My name is Dr. Elyse Romero. I'm a trauma surgeon from Sawyer Memorial Hospital in Queens, New York. I'm here to help you, and I'll need your cooperation if you want to survive the night."

She instructed Mikey to turn on more lights. As the living room lit up even more, the man's eyes flickered open for a brief moment. Their gazes locked. Her mouth parted in surprise. His eyes were very different colors. The right one was fiercely dark. Almost black. Grim as death. The left was bluish-gray. It reminded her of calm seas after a storm. Such duality was perplexing. If eyes were windows to the soul, Elyse couldn't tell whether she was about to save a sinner or a saint.

" Angelo ..." he whispered.

Was he calling her an angel? She frowned at his sorry state. Sinner or saint, the man's olive-toned skin looked too pale, his breathing was becoming labored, and blood loss was making him delusional.

"I'm no angel," Elyse mumbled as she picked up her scalpel and forceps, "and you'll probably call me a fucking devil by the time I'm done. A warning, my friend, I don't have anesthesia. This shit’s going to hurt like hell."

The man closed his eyes as though in resignation. He replied in heavily accented English, "Do your worst, angelo ."