Diavolo (Devil’s Playground #1)

2. Chapter 2

2

Stefano and Mikey held down the man as Elyse removed the bullet from his body. She operated with the precision of a machine. Lacking anesthesia, all she could offer the poor bastard was a towel between his teeth to dampen the hellish experience. To the stranger's credit, he made every effort to lie still during the operation and only released a handful of groans as Elyse disinfected the area, descended upon his wound, disinfected the area again, and stitched him up.

When the most grueling part of her job was done, she relayed in clipped tones, "That's the best I can do. For now. The rest will be up to him."

At this point, Elyse was only talking to Stefano and Mikey. Her patient had passed out cold. Most likely from pain or fatigue. His vitals were steady, though. Gracias a Dios. Thank God. The stranger had lived. She might live, too.

Raised Catholic by her Mexican father, Elyse proceeded to offer a prayer of gratitude even though she doubted that anyone would hear it. She hadn't stepped foot inside a church in years, but, during times of duress, such as tonight, she found herself clinging to religion in the way a frightened child might clutch a security blanket.

"Is he outta the woods?" Stefano demanded anxiously.

"Most likely," she replied. "But your friend is at risk for infection. I'll put him on some antibiotics and pain relievers. A tetanus shot wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Get him everything he needs, doc."

Elyse pulled out her burner phone. "I'll text Benny for the prescriptions."

Mikey asked, "How long until he's back on his feet?"

Setting aside the phone, Elyse advised quietly, "He should be on bed rest for a few days. After he regains mobility, don't let him engage in strenuous activity for two weeks."

Just then, Stefano's phone started to buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket, took one look at the screen, and swore loudly, "Shit! Gotta take this."

He stepped into the kitchen and came back a minute later with a thunderous expression on his face. "Code red, Mikey! The boss needs us."

Mikey's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Now?"

Stefano gave a curt nod. "Yeah."

Mikey's beady eyes darted toward the man lying on Elyse's living room floor. He was still unconscious. "What about Aless—"

"Shut up, dumbass," Stefano snapped in warning tones.

"Right, right," Mikey grumbled. "Sorry, I forgot. No names. "

Stefano turned to Elyse. "Keep an eye on this guy for us?"

Tensing up, Elyse bit back a protest. "For how long?"

This wasn't the first time Stefano had forced her to take in one of his cronies, and she hated sharing her apartment with criminals day in and day out. Granted, Elyse had grown familiar with Stefano and Mikey's inner circle by now, and most of the patients left in her care were too beat up to try anything funny, but sleeping beside ex-convicts and violent sociopaths was as fun as it sounded. Like drinking cyanide.

"A few days," Stefano answered. "Give or take."

"Like you said," Mikey pointed out, "our man needs to rest, right?"

"Right."

"Don't worry," he added, "We'll be back to check on him. Tomorrow . Take good care of him, or else, you know—"

"I die?" she supplied with an arched eyebrow.

"Watch it, you mouthy cunt. No one likes a smartass."

Now that the crux of their crisis had been averted, she was no longer untouchable. In a blur, Mikey's arm swiped toward her. His fat, beefy fist bashed the side of her face. Elyse's nerves spasmed with pain, and the impact sent her hurtling to the ground. Within the same second, her temple slammed against the cold, hard tiles near the entryway.

He reminded her, "You know how much I hate it when bitches talk back."

It took a second to regain her bearings. Elyse felt lightheaded. What was his fucking problem today? Usually, Mikey struck her in areas that could be hidden with clothes. He must have forgotten that her coworkers had eyes. Questions were going to be raised at the hospital once they saw her face. Mikey was growing bolder. And dumber.

As soon as she could stand, Elyse picked herself back up. She glared but said nothing. This hill wasn't worth dying on. She'd lay low and bide her time. Darkly, Elyse fantasized about sinking her scalpel into Mikey's throat and carving out his vocal cords. Not for revenge. Just so he'd shut up.

She didn't like it when bitches talked back, either.

Grinning, Mikey continued to taunt, "Pretty sure that shit's gonna turn black and blue. If someone asks about it, what do you say?"

Elyse's answer was soft and submissive, but there was murder in her eyes, "That I tripped and fell. Or something."

Bitches tended to get hurt whenever Mikey was in a shit mood. Bitches like her . Mikey never hit hard enough to warrant an ER visit, but every time he turned violent, resentment and shame cut deeper than the scars left on her body. Elyse hated Mikey because she couldn't retaliate. And he fucking knew it. She was no match for him. Physically or otherwise. The fucker relished in her helplessness. He was counting on the fact that she'd never do anything to fuck up her chance at freedom. Her debt was almost paid off. Elyse had come too far, the finish line was too fucking close, and she was desperate to cross it. Then and only then could she escape the shackles that the Mancinis placed on her. Shackles named Stefano and Mikey. For now, she needed to grin and bear it.

Stefano released a nasty chuckle. "Smart girl. You know how this shit works by now."

"See ya, doc," Mikey chirped.

Elyse's left cheek stung like a motherfucker. Where Mikey smacked her. Her right temple ached, too. Where she hit the ground. The two older men hurried out, and, once the front door clicked shut, Elyse was alone in her apartment with a busted face and a total stranger. Well, maybe not a total stranger. Thanks to Mikey's earlier slip-up, Elyse caught the first two syllables of her patient's name— Aless .

What was his full name? Something Italian, most likely. Elyse quickly shoved these thoughts aside. The less she knew about him, she reminded herself, the better.

The man began to stir. Her gaze drifted toward him. Now that his life was no longer in danger, Elyse couldn't help regarding him as a man, instead of a patient, for the first time since he stumbled into her home tonight.

Or was it morning?

She didn't know anymore. Her temple still pulsed with discomfort, but the pain in her cheek began to subside. In her sleep-deprived and adrenaline-charged state, reality disconnected from her mind. Against her better judgment, Elyse found herself sneaking glances at the man shuffling on her floor. He looked neither young nor old, maybe somewhere in his early thirties, and he was very handsome. Black hair. Long, lean, muscular build. A few tattoos. Quite possibly the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on.

With a moan, he settled back to sleep. Elyse's muscles relaxed slightly. Good . He was out again. This meant he wouldn't be raising any hell. She went to retrieve a spare pillow and blanket. Elyse tucked the pillow under his head and laid the thick blanket over him. He needed to keep warm after losing all that blood. Elyse set an hourly alarm on her phone to check on his vitals.

Finally, she settled on her couch to get some rest. She usually opted to stay close to her patients when they were in critical condition, like this man, instead of retiring to her bedroom. If he died on her watch, she might as well save Stefano and Mikey the trouble and go drown herself in the fucking Hudson. The night's harrowing events had left her nerves stretched thin. Yet, as soon as Elyse lay down on the couch, it didn't take long for her distress to take a backseat. She passed out from exhaustion within seconds.

At 6 am, her hourly alarm sounded. Dim light trickled through the window, and Elyse awoke again to check on her sleeping patient. Her shift at the hospital would be starting soon, she needed to get ready for work, but the man had bled through his bandages. They needed to be redressed right away. Reluctantly, Elyse decided to call in sick. Over the past few months, her fucked up arrangement with Stefano and Mikey had eaten away much of her PTO. And then some . Her Chief of Surgery wasn't happy with her at all. She was skating on thin ice. But what could she do? A lo hecho, pecho. What was done—was done. Only the future was unwritten. She needed to be a woman of action. Not one who dwelled on the past. The man in her living room wasn't stable enough to be left alone for the whole day. Right this moment, staying alive felt more important than keeping her job.

His eyes fluttered open right as Elyse started cleaning his wound. He smiled at her faintly." Angelo ."

Her heart skipped a beat as his dual-colored eyes landed on her face. A frown appeared. Gently, he raised his fingertips to her cheek and temple, tracing the spots where Mikey had wounded her.

"What happened here?"

Anxiety coiled in her. "Nothing."

When the man's hand fell away, Elyse's skin still felt warm from his touch. Caught off guard in more ways than one, her brow rose as realization struck. Were the bruises visible already? Mierda . Shit.

"They do not look like… nothing. They look fresh. You did not have them earlier."

Something moved within her chest. Shock . And something else. It felt impossible to describe. This man had been half-dead the first time he laid eyes on her. The fact that he noticed such a trivial detail about her face—while fighting for his life, no less—put Elyse on edge. "You must be mistaken."

The man's stare, an unwavering brown and blue-gray, lingered on her face. "How did you get hurt? Tell me."

"I tripped and fell," she lied just to get him off her back, "and some doors got in my way."

Or something .

He glared at her bruises. "Both times?"

"Accidents happen."

The man gave a pause and then asked, "Is that what they told you to say?"

He knew .

Elyse smiled faintly. "Does it matter?"

His gaze narrowed. "I could have them removed. If you wish."

A chill ran through her as she echoed, "Removed?"

"They can splintered by an ax. Or a sledgehammer. I imagine they burn easily, too," he drawled. "The possibilities are endless. Like you said— accidents happen ."

Her expression hardened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

One corner of his mouth lifted in a sly smile. "Doors, of course."

Disbelief rolled through Elyse. Between Stefano and Mikey, he couldn't possibly know which one maimed her. The man had been unconscious at the time. But she had to hand it to him. Not many patients would awaken from near death with enough composure to analyze someone else's well-being. The man's unshakable calm shook her, and his motives were confusing.

Why was he offering to backstab Stefano and Mikey? She couldn't remember the last time anyone stood in her corner, and it was throwing her for a loop. They barely knew each other. Only a fool would trust that his intentions were good. Maybe Mikey put him up to it. To test her loyalty . If word got out that she was plotting to dispose of Stefano and Mikey, they'd poison her within the week and make it look like suicide.

"Just drop it," muttered Elyse. "It was my fault. I should've been more careful."

"But anything that harms you," he argued, "hurts me, no?"

Dios , the low, smoky timbre of his voice was distracting. The man smiled again. "My life is in your hands. I must protect you if I wish to live."

Elyse glanced down. The sentiment behind his words was appreciated even if it was self-serving. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that her fingers were touching bare skin along the muscled ridges of his stomach. She wore gloves, but—

Elyse willed herself to stay unaffected. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. You're the one who needs medical attention."

In wry tones, he remarked, "You are right. I almost died last night. Perhaps, we should focus on me."

Hiding her nerves behind a mask of professionalism, she prompted, "How are you feeling?"

"Alive," he responded in quieter tones. "I owe you my life, Dr. Romero. Grazie."

Grazie? Elyse wasn't familiar with Italian, but she was pretty sure that he'd thanked her. It held an echo of Spanish. Gracias.

Her brow furrowed. "You're welcome. I'm surprised you remember my name, considering the state you were in when I introduced myself."

"A beautiful woman is a beautiful woman," he murmured. "Even at death's door, it would be a sin to forget her name."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Elyse let his compliment glide right over. His accent was thicker than ever, carrying traces of an Italian who grew up speaking British English. The words flowing out of him didn't belong to a low-life thug from Cosa Nostra . He spoke like someone who'd been highly educated. Or a centuries-old vampire from a shitty romance novel.

To combat his flirtation, Elyse chose to respond in all-business tones. "On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you experiencing right now?"

He winced, whether it was from pain or her lukewarm reception, she couldn't tell. His answer was vague, "A tolerable amount."

"Give me a number."

"Five."

Only a five? Elyse blinked a few times. He wasn't on painkillers yet. The man seemed to possess a high threshold for pain. She supposed that it wasn't surprising, given his ties to violent criminals. She scanned his body. There were remnants of old injuries all over. Punishing, pale lines. Some were thin. Some thicker. She spotted two other prominent scars on his shoulder and upper back. Rounded bits of raised, jagged flesh. About the size of quarters. It struck her then. This wasn't the first time he'd been shot.

Jesus, fuck.

How many people wanted him dead? Her hands continued to skim over his skin, expertly redressing his wound in a practiced blur. Yet, despite Elyse's familiarity with this task, the way he watched her every movement left her feeling somewhat nervous. "After I get these bandages on you, I'll run over to Benny's to pick up some antibiotics and pain relievers."

His gaze sharpened. "Who is Benny? Can we trust him?"

Suspicion clouded his handsome features. Elyse furrowed her brow as she studied him closer. There was definite fear in his eyes. Rightfully so. Someone tried to kill him less than twenty-four hours ago.

"Benny is one of Stefano's oldest and most reliable associates," she explained hurriedly, not wanting to alarm him. "He runs a pharmacy a few blocks from my apartment. It's where I fill the prescriptions for my, ah, special patients. Such as yourself."

Understanding shone from his face. "I see."

Once Elyse finished up with his bandages, she rose from the floor, away from him, to search for her keys, cell phone, and purse. "I'll be back in half an hour with your meds."

" Grazie ," he muttered again.

"Rest—if you can," Elyse advised as she moved toward the front door. "I'll make breakfast when I return."

"What if I need to take a piss?" he called after her.

She halted in place and glanced over her shoulder. He wore a slight smirk on his handsome face. The man seemed to be baiting her on purpose. Calmly, Elyse asked, "Do you need to use the bathroom before I go?"

" No ."

She glowered at him. "In that case, I'm leaving."

His two-toned eyes danced with amusement. "Wait."

Elyse's mouth flattened into a line of disapproval. Eyeing him with suspicion, she crossed both arms over her chest. "Yes?"

His eyes flicked over her breasts. In a not-at-all-innocent manner, he teased softly, "Will you bathe me when you come back?"

Summoning her final shred of patience, she tried not to snap at him. "I can. If needed."

His gaze darkened with interest. "Had I known doctors like you existed—"

Irritation ticked through her. "That's enough."

The bastard must be well on the mend if he was capable of thinking with his prick. Elyse sensed he was trying to get a rise out of her. As a thirty-two-year-old New Yorker who grew up in the heart of Queens, she was too thick-skinned at this point to be bothered by fuckboy-isms. Thisman was hardly the first to hassle her, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. Elyse refused to give him the satisfaction of getting under her skin.

Without a trace of emotion, she reminded him evenly, "I dug a bullet out of your stomach less than four hours ago. You can't move freely on your own, therefore, whatever happens between us over the next few days will be for medical purposes and medical purposes only."

"You certainly know how to put a man in his place."

She gave a half-hearted shrug. "I work with a lot of men. If I didn't grow a pair, they'd walk all over me."

The man proceeded to stare her down, brazenly so, but he spoke with more caution, "It was not my intention to offend you. Mi scusi . I am weak as a kitten, angelo . You do not need to guard against me. I only wish to express how much I appreciate you.”

Elyse refused to play along, muttering, "Oh, Dios , here we go…"

He flashed her a winning smile. “It is comforting to know that you will be tending to all of my needs."

The innuendo wasn't lost on her. Elyse cast him a dirty look before marching away. "I should get going."

"Hold on. Just one more thing."

She was forced to stop again. "What is it?"

He gestured to the blue tarp and frowned. "Am I to stay on the cold, hard floor until you return?"

Despite her annoyance with him, she had to commend his resolve. The man was nothing if not persistent. The corner of Elyse's mouth twitched. "Yes."

His gaze floated to her couch. "I would prefer to rest there."

She denied him with a shake of her head. "I'll be using the couch while you're here. I have an air mattress, though. I'll set it up for you later."

His dark eyebrows rose in surprise. "You will not sleep in your bed?"

"I need to stay close to you," she explained, "so I can monitor your condition. I've been setting an alarm every hour to check your vitals."

He clicked his tongue. "You take your job very seriously."

"No, I take my life very seriously," she retorted. "Don't die while I'm gone, okay?"

This drew a light chuckle from him. Elyse was about to head out when his next question caught her by surprise.

"I am curious, Dr. Romero," he drawled, "how did a woman like you become acquainted with men like Stefano Russo and Michael Bianchi?"

Her chest clenched at his inquiry. A barrage of unhappy memories attacked her senses, but she managed not to lose her cool.

Break his legs, Mikey. First the left one. Then the right. Make him scream so he'll remember not to fuck us over again.

Elyse willed her expression to remain unmoved. Stefano had always been the brains behind the operation. Mikey was his muscle.

But he can keep his hands. The bastard will need them to play.

Unreadable.

If you can't pay up after the tournament, Romero, we'll kill your daughter.

Emotionless.

After we take turns popping her tight, little cherry.

Fortunately, Elyse's father managed to fork over enough cash to keep their dicks at bay. After finishing high school in three years instead of four, she went to college, and Papá begged her to stay away. He protected her by dealing with Stefano and Mikey on his own. For a while, life in her twenties was okay. Elyse kept her head down, studied hard, and received her undergraduate degree early as well. She was accepted to med school.

Stefano and Mikey didn't forget about her, though, and shoved themselves back into her orbit about a year ago.

At thirty-two, Elyse might not be immune to Mikey's fists, but she was safe from his cock. She'd long aged out of Stefano and Mikey's preferences. The bar was in hell, but bruises seemed better than the alternative. They liked their victims virginal and young. Too young . In a way, she'd been fortunate to escape their clutches. Not everyone was so lucky.

Filth like Stefano and Mikey deserved to burn in hell. Maybe, someday, she'd get the chance to send them there. A bitch could dream. Until then, Elyse had to focus on saving herself first. The evil that simmered in Stefano and Mikey was always one trigger-happy pull away from being unleashed. If she fucked up their agreement, there was no doubt that Stefano would order Mikey to kill her.

The man eyed her expectantly.

She gave him nothing, muttering, "Get some rest. I'll be back soon."

Then, Elyse hurried out the door without a backward glance.