Chapter 6 - Scars and Whispers: Tending to the Wounds of Chicago's Most Dangerous Man
I stayed in the dark for six hours. The gunfire eventually died down, replaced by sirens and shouting. When the heavy steel door finally beeped and swung open, I gasped. Mateo stood there, swaying on his feet. He was covered in soot, sweat, and blood.
"It's clear," he managed to say before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.
"Mateo!" I caught him, struggling under his immense weight, lowering him to the floor. "Medic! Somebody get a doctor!" I screamed into the hallway.
"No doctors," a voice rasped. It was Don Salvatore, walking with a heavy limp, flanked by surviving guards. "The police are outside. We can't have medical records of gunshot wounds. You are a nurse, Tessa. Fix him."
My hands shook as I looked at the man who had just saved my life. I was a student. I had never done trauma surgery. But I had no choice. We dragged Mateo to the massive kitchen island, wiping away the flour and vegetables to make a sterile surface. I commanded the guards to bring me the estate's medical kit, boiling water, and strong alcohol.
For two agonizing hours, I played surgeon. I picked shards of glass from his back, stitched the jagged tear in his shoulder, and bandaged his ribs. He was conscious through most of it, biting down on a leather belt to keep from screaming. I saw the expanse of his tattoos—skulls, roses, and the Vitiello crest—marred by new, brutal scars.
"You have steady hands," he rasped, his gray eyes watching my face intensely as I tied off the final stitch on his shoulder.
"I told you I was good at disappearing into my work," I whispered, wiping sweat from my forehead.
He reached up with his good arm, his bloodstained fingers tracing my jawline. "You're not disappearing anymore, Tessa. You saved my life."
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"You saved mine first."
"I'd do it a thousand times," he murmured, before finally passing out from the pain and exhaustion.
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