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"I was going to make this quick, but now you've pissed me off. I'm going to carve you up nice and slow." He presses the razor sharp blade to my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut, steeling myself for the pain.
Suddenly, the front door explodes inward in a shower of wood fragments and billowing dust. Antonio storms in, his fierce expression evidence of his barely leashed rage. The enforcer pauses, momentarily startled by this new threat. Seizing on his split second of distraction, I drive the pointed heel of my boot down onto his injured foot with everything I have left.
He howls in fresh agony, his grip on me loosening. I wrench myself free, stumbling away. Before the enforcer can recover, Antonio is upon him. With swift, deadly precision honed from years navigating the mafia underworld, Antonio delivers a punishing blow to the side of the enforcer's head. The impact of flesh on flesh resounds sickeningly through the apartment. Without uttering a sound, the enforcer crumples to the floor in an unconscious heap.
Chest heaving, I meet Antonio's blazing gaze across the debris-strewn room. Relief and admiration stir behind those intense brown eyes. In two quick strides, he closes the distance between us, pulling me into his solid frame. One hand cradles the back of my head while the other presses firmly into the small of my back. I cling to him like a lifeline, the adrenaline draining from my body. Now that the immediate danger has passed, reactionary tears sting my eyes. Antonio's strength surrounds me, allowing me to momentarily relinquish the need for bravery.
"It's alright, I've got you now," he murmurs, his breath warm against my hair. His muscular frame radiates heat and power, his steady heartbeat and sandalwood scent calming my rattled nerves.
Our chests press tightly together as our mouths meet in a fiery kiss brimming with a myriad of emotions – relief at my safety, passion restrained for so long, and overwhelming gratitude. Antonio's lips are warm and firm against mine. My knees go weak, only his secure hold keeping me upright. His tongue sweeps insistently along the seam of my lips and I open for him readily. Our kiss deepens, both of us pouring everything we dare not speak into it. For the span of several heartbeats, nothing else exists but his searing kiss.
The pained groan from my father shatters the moment. We break apart, chests heaving, as reality comes crashing back. My pulse is still racing, but now with desire rather than fear. A flush creeps up my neck that has nothing to do with exertion. Antonio's eyes smolder, his jaw tight with restraint.
My father slumps against the wall, fresh blood dripping from his split lip onto the faded floral couch. Antonio's brow furrows with concern as he takes in my father's worsening condition. His sharp eyes catalog every contusion and laceration marking my father's face. A muscle in his jaw ticks with barely contained rage, but his voice is steady when he speaks.
"We need to move quickly," he urges, tone low but commanding. "I have contacts at a private clinic just outside the city. They're expecting us."
He crosses over to my father and lifts him easily into his arms, eliciting another pained groan. Dad's head lolls weakly to the side, his face drained of all color. Fear for my father's life overrides the ache in my heart from leaving everything I've ever known behind. Antonio is right - we're out of time. The wail of distant sirens echoes faintly down the street outside. Soon the authorities will be swarming this part of town, searching for clues. I know Antonio has no desire to involve the police in mafia business. Antonio inclines his head toward the door, face set with determination.
"Let's go."
I follow him swiftly down the back stairwell of my building, avoiding the main lobby exit. The cool night air washes over me as we emerge into a dimly lit alleyway behind the apartment complex. Antonio guides us deeper into the maze of narrow backstreets, clearly knowing the area well.
Adrenaline keeps my exhaustion at bay as we navigate through the shadows. Antonio maintains a brisk pace, even carrying my father's dead weight. Power and danger radiate off of him, but I know that raw strength is tempered by loyalty and protectiveness. Glancing over, I study Antonio's chiseled profile. His jaw is tense, eyes continuously scanning our surroundings for any possible threats. He moves with feline grace, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.
My father stirs weakly in his arms, muttering my name. He's lost in a haze of pain and delirium. Worry creases Antonio's brow.
"Just hold on, William," he murmurs. "We're almost there."
His voice is gentler than I've ever heard it, soothing despite the gravelly undertone. My heart swells, knowing that beneath his ruthless reputation lies the heart of an honorable man.
At last we reach a nondescript sedan idling near the end of an alley. Antonio quickly but gently settles my father into the backseat as I slide in beside him. My father's eyes flutter open briefly, confusion clouding his glazed gaze.
"Shh, it's alright, Daddy," I whisper, smoothing back his disheveled, blood-matted hair. "We're safe now." I try to make my voice as reassuring as possible, hoping my own doubts don't show. Truthfully, I have no idea if we're safe, but continuing to run is our only option.
The car pulls smoothly away from the curb with barely a sound. Antonio sits ramrod straight in the front passenger seat, sharply instructing the driver on the quickest route to avoid any police checkpoints. His commanding presence leaves no room for debate. The driver, a muscular bald man I don't recognize, complies without question, clearly respecting Antonio's position.
I glance anxiously down at my father. His breathing seems more labored now, reduced to shallow, panting gasps. A light sheen of sweat coats his pale face. My stomach twists with fear at how much blood he's lost. Vivid crimson stains his shirt beneath the haphazard bandages we applied.
"Just stay with me, Daddy," I plead softly, grasping his limp hand in both of mine. His skin feels clammy and cool. His eyelids don't even flutter in response.
Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I brush them away angrily. Crying won't help him. I feel utterly helpless. Antonio twists around to face me, his strong hand coming to rest reassuringly on my knee. His eyes radiate calm and certainty.
"He's going to make it, Clara. I swear to you. We'll get him patched up and safe." His voice resonates with conviction born of experience. I cling to his words like a lifeline, willing myself to believe. Right now, hope is all I have left.
At last we pull up outside an unmarked concrete structure on a quiet side street in a semi-industrial area on the outskirts of the city. There are no signs or identifying markers on the windowless building. Heavy steel doors and security cameras guard the entrance. The neighborhood seems largely deserted at this late hour, the street bathed in shadows. Two men dressed in medical scrubs emerge, pushing a gurney and help Antonio gently transfer my father onto it. They disappear back inside without a word, moving with quick, efficient motions that speak of competent experience.
Antonio guides me briskly inside. The interior looks like a standard medical clinic, clean and sterile. Harsh fluorescent lights reflect off the white linoleum floors. The smell of antiseptic hangs heavy in the air. My father is whisked into an exam room where a team immediately begins assessing his injuries. I hover anxiously just outside the closed door, wrists crossed tightly as if in prayer. I flinch involuntarily at every pained grunt and moan I hear, clenching my jaw against tears.
Antonio confers in hushed tones with a man in a long white lab coat whom I presume must be the doctor. Their voices are too low for me to make out more than murmurs. Antonio's expression remains stoic, but his body language suggests he respects the doctor. It eases my mind slightly, knowing my father's care is in good hands. Time seems to crawl by with agonizing slowness as I wait for any scrap of news.
After what feels like an eternity, the doctor finally exits the room, wiping his hands on a towel. He looks to be in his 50s, hair silver at the temples, with an air of calm confidence and competence. His expression is serious but not grim. He addresses Antonio in a voice meant to inspire trust.
"Your friend has lost a significant amount of blood, but we've managed to get him stabilized. No major internal damage that we could detect. He has several broken ribs, some deep facial lacerations, and a concussion we'll need to monitor closely. I'd like to keep him here under observation for at least 48 hours."
Relief washes over me. My father is alive and in good hands. I can ask for nothing more at the moment. I thank the doctor profusely, clasping his hand in gratitude. Antonio nods, looking equally relieved.
"You should get some rest, Clara. I'll have my driver take you back home." He pauses, correcting himself. "Back to the mansion. I'll stay with your father. He won't be alone."
