Chapter 5 - The Medical Bag
The reinforced concrete bunker beneath the Russo wine cellar smelled of damp earth, chilled vintage wine, and copper-laced panic.
Maria sat calmly on a velvet bench in the corner, clutching a rosary between her weathered fingers, though her lips were pressed into a thin, white line. Vane stood by the heavy steel blast door, his tactical radio squawking with unintelligible static and frantic voice traffic from the guards upstairs.
I was pacing back and forth across the concrete floor, my hands trembling as I clutched a first-aid kit I had managed to grab from the hallway closet before the second blast.
“He’s going to be fine, dear,” Maria said softly, her voice remarkably steady for a woman whose home had just been bombed. “Antonio has survived worse than a bunch of thugs from Queens trying to make a name for themselves.”
“They blew up the front gate, Maria!” I said, my voice rising. “That wasn’t a warning shot. That was an assassination attempt!”
“Which is why my son is out there ending it,” Maria replied simply, bowing her head to continue her prayers.
Ten minutes crawled by like a lifetime. Every muffled thud from above sounded like another bomb, another wall collapsing. My mind raced back to my grandmother, sitting in her small apartment in Flatbush, completely unaware that I had been dragged into a bloody mob war over a cup of tea and a pill organizer.
Suddenly, the heavy steel door hissed open.
Antonio stepped into the bunker.
He looked like he had walked through hell. His jacket was gone, his white shirt torn at the shoulder and stained with soot and blood—some of it his, some of it clearly not. A long, ugly graze ran down his left cheek, and his knuckles were raw and bruised.
Behind him, Vane slammed the heavy door shut and threw the locking bolts.
“Is it over?” Maria asked, standing up quickly.
“The Moretti advance has been neutralized,” Antonio said, his voice flat, exhausted, but carrying an unmistakable tone of absolute victory. “Vane’s men cleaned the courtyard. The local police have been paid off to classify it as a gas main explosion. Nobody talks.”
He walked over to a small wooden table and dropped his empty pistol onto it with a heavy thud.
I didn't think. Training took over.
I grabbed the first-aid kit, marched right up to the most feared crime lord in New York, and shoved him down onto the bench.
“Sit down,” I ordered.
Antonio blinked in surprise, looking up at me through a smear of black gunpowder. “Sophie, I’m fine—”
“Shut up and sit down,” I snapped, ripping open the antiseptic wipes and sterile gauze. “You’re bleeding onto your shirt, your shoulder is torn open by a splinter of oak wood that probably carried enough bacteria to rot your arm off, and if you bleed out in your own bunker, your mother is going to have to listen to me lecture you in the afterlife.”
A stunned silence fell over the bunker.
Vane looked away, coughing loudly into his fist to hide a sudden, unexpected smirk. Maria pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Antonio stared up at me for a long moment, a slow, bewildered smile finally breaking through the grime on his face.
“You really don’t care who I am, do you?” he murmured, leaning back as I pressed an alcohol wipe against his torn shoulder.
He hissed softly through his teeth, his muscles tensing, but he didn't pull away.
“I know exactly who you are,” I whispered, working with quick, practiced precision to clean the wound and apply antibiotic ointment. “You’re the arrogant idiot who thinks he can handle a turf war while bleeding out like a stuck pig. Hold still. This is going to sting.”
As I wrapped the sterile bandage tightly around his shoulder, Antonio’s large, calloused hand suddenly reached out, gently gripping my wrist. His fingers were warm, steady, and impossible to ignore.
May you like
He looked up into my eyes, the cold, lethal warlord completely gone, replaced by a man who looked at me as if I were the only anchor holding him to reality.
“The Moretti family wanted to break me today,” Antonio whispered softly, his thumb lightly stroking my pulse point. “Instead, they just reminded me of what I have to lose.”
