Chapter 9 - Sirens and Cinders
The red and blue flashing lights of Boston Police cruisers painted the study walls in frantic, rhythmic strokes. Federal agents and local authorities swarmed the mansion, kicking open doors, disarming guards, and securing the perimeter.
I sat slumped against the base of the mahogany desk, holding a blood-soaked cloth to my temple, watching the chaos unfold through a veil of exhaustion.
Viktor was handcuffed and dragged out of the room by four federal marshals, cursing and bleeding profusely from a broken nose. Camila was already cuffed and sitting in the back of a transport van outside, her expensive clothes stained with dust and defeat.
And Massimo...
The mafia boss was sitting on the edge of the desk, refusing medical transport, his breathing heavy and ragged as two paramedics nervously checked the stability of his lumbar region. He looked battered, bruised, and utterly exhausted, but his dark eyes were fixed entirely on me.
As the lead detective walked over to take my statement, Massimo raised a bloodied hand, cutting the officer off completely.
“Leave her alone,” Massimo commanded, his voice carrying the inescapable weight of absolute authority. “She’s the only reason I’m breathing right now.”
The detective hesitated, looking between the powerful crime lord and the exhausted, twenty-seven-year-old physical therapy student sitting on the floor. He nodded slowly, stepping back.
Massimo pushed himself off the desk. With a visible wince, but without his crutches this time, he took two slow, deliberate steps across the room until he was standing right in front of me. He knelt down on one knee, ignoring the pain in his spine, and extended a large, calloused hand to help me up.
“You missed your physical therapy session this afternoon, Dr. Fitzgerald,” he said softly, a ghost of that familiar, wicked smirk touching his lips.
I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet, swaying slightly against his chest.
May you like
“Your clinic attendance policy is terrible, Mr. Pascale,” I whispered back, a watery laugh escaping my lips.
“Consider my tuition debt your retainer,” he murmured, his dark eyes holding mine with a fierce, unbreakable intensity. “Because you’re not going anywhere.”
