---
The metallic scent of blood mixed with the sharp tang of antiseptic, saturating the air of the emergency room. Natasha Rex leaned over the operating table, her gloved hands steady despite the chaos around her. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, adding to the cacophony of monitors beeping and muffled voices shouting.
"Clamp," Natasha demanded, her voice cutting through the noise. A nurse handed her the tool without hesitation. The patient before her—a man no older than his mid-twenties—was a battlefield of injuries. The bullet had torn through his abdomen, nicking an artery. Blood soaked the table, pooling beneath him.
"This is bad," murmured one of the assisting nurses, her voice trembling.
Natasha shot her a sharp look. "Focus. He's not dying on my watch."
She ignored the pounding in her chest and the nagging feeling that something about this case was wrong. Gunshot wounds weren't uncommon, but the sheer brutality of this one screamed trouble.
"Heart rate's stabilizing," someone called out.
"Good. Keep it that way," Natasha replied, her tone clipped but calm. She worked swiftly, stitching up the artery, her hands moving like a seamstress weaving life back together.
When the final suture was placed, Natasha stepped back, pulling her gloves off with a snap. She glanced at the man's face—pale, unconscious, yet somehow peaceful despite the war his body had endured.
Her gaze fell to his arm, where a tattoo peeked out beneath the bloodied sleeve. A black rose entwined with a dagger. Natasha's heart sank. She recognized the symbol.
The Moretti Mafia.
---
Later that night, the hospital's parking lot was eerily quiet, the hum of distant traffic the only sound. Natasha's heels clicked against the pavement as she approached her car, her mind racing. She'd documented everything in the report—the injuries, the suspicious tattoo—but part of her hesitated to file it. The Moretti name wasn't just notorious; it was deadly.
The sudden roar of an engine snapped her out of her thoughts. Headlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating the lot like a stage. A sleek black car rolled to a stop a few feet away. Natasha froze, her pulse quickening.
The car door opened, and out stepped Matteo Moretti.
Even in the dim light, his presence was overwhelming. Tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed, Matteo exuded an air of control that bordered on suffocating. His sharp jawline, piercing gray eyes, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips made him look like he belonged on the cover of a magazine—but Natasha knew better.
"You're Dr. Natasha Rex," he said, his voice low and deliberate, like a knife slicing through silk.
She straightened her spine, refusing to let him intimidate her. "Who's asking?"
"You saved my brother," he said, taking a step closer.
"I save everyone," she shot back. "It's my job."
Matteo's smirk deepened. "You also filed a report with the police."
Her breath hitched. How did he know that already?
Natasha clenched her fists. "I don't take threats lightly, Mr. Moretti. If you've come here to intimidate me—"
Before she could finish, Matteo closed the distance between them, his gray eyes locking onto hers. "Intimidation?" he echoed, his tone almost amused. "No, doctor. This is a courtesy visit."
"Courtesy?" Natasha scoffed. "Is that what you call stalking someone in a parking lot?"
A soft chuckle escaped Matteo's lips, dark and humorless. "You're bold. I'll give you that." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But boldness can get you killed."
Natasha's heart hammered against her ribcage, but she refused to back down. "If you're trying to scare me, you're wasting your time. I'm not the type to back down just because some mafia kingpin thinks he owns the city."
For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy and charged. Then, to her surprise, Matteo straightened, his expression softening—just barely.
"Let me give you some advice, Dr. Rex," he said, his voice quieter now. "Stay out of things that don't concern you."
"And let me give you some advice," Natasha shot back, her voice firm. "Don't let this happen again. Don't put your brother—or anyone else—on my operating table because of your recklessness."
Matteo's smirk faltered, replaced by something unreadable. He studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to be insulted or impressed.
"Noted," he said finally, his tone neutral. He took a step back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before turning toward his car.
Natasha watched as he slid into the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life. As the car sped off into the night, she released the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to stay upright. She'd stood her ground against Matteo Moretti, but she couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
---
---
The next morning, Natasha Rex woke up to the pale glow of dawn filtering through her apartment window. Sleep had come in fleeting bursts, haunted by gray eyes and the weight of a conversation she couldn't shake. Matteo Moretti's words lingered like smoke, twisting through her mind with every breath.
"Stay out of things that don't concern you."
As she sipped her coffee, Natasha scrolled through the morning news on her tablet. A headline caught her attention: Gang Violence Spikes; Authorities Investigate Links to Organized Crime. She skimmed the article, her stomach knotting. No names were mentioned, but the details were all too familiar.
The knock at her door was sharp and deliberate, startling her from her thoughts. Natasha frowned, setting her mug down as she walked cautiously toward the door. Peering through the peephole, her heart skipped a beat.
It was him.
Matteo stood in the hallway, dressed in a tailored black suit that only emphasized his commanding presence. For a moment, Natasha considered pretending she wasn't home. But that wasn't her style.
With a deep breath, she opened the door.
"Mr. Moretti," she said, her tone clipped. "You have a knack for showing up uninvited."
He smiled faintly, though his eyes remained cold. "Good morning, Dr. Rex. May I come in?"
"No." Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "If you're here to issue more thinly veiled threats, save your breath."
Matteo raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "I'm not here to threaten you. I came to thank you—for saving my brother."
Natasha blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. She quickly masked her surprise. "You already thanked me last night. Or was that not enough of a 'courtesy visit' for you?"
He smirked, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—amusement, maybe. "Fair enough. But my family believes in repaying debts. I'd like to offer you protection."
Natasha laughed, the sound sharp and incredulous. "Protection? From what? You?"
Matteo's smirk disappeared, replaced by a seriousness that made the air around him feel heavier. "From the people who won't hesitate to hurt you if they think you're a threat."
Natasha's jaw tightened. "I'm not interested in your protection. What I am interested in is making sure your family's 'business' doesn't send more bodies into my ER."
Matteo stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You have no idea what you're stepping into, Dr. Rex. The world I live in—it's not black and white. It's survival. And people who interfere don't last long."
Natasha held her ground, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Then maybe it's time for someone to change the rules."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Matteo's eyes searched hers, as if trying to decipher how someone so defiant could exist in his world.
Finally, he sighed. "You're either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish."
"Maybe I'm both," Natasha replied, her voice steady.
Matteo's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. "You're something, that's for sure."
He stepped back, his demeanor shifting as he adjusted his cufflinks with a calculated ease. "I'll leave you to your day, Dr. Rex. But consider my offer—it may save your life."
Natasha didn't respond, watching as he turned and walked down the hallway. The sound of his footsteps echoed long after he was gone, leaving her standing in her doorway, a mix of frustration and unease swirling in her chest.
She closed the door, leaning against it as she exhaled. Her day had barely begun, and Matteo Moretti was already casting a shadow over it.
Natasha knew she should be afraid. Most people would be. But fear wasn't what she felt.
It was curiosity.
---