mafia · enemies to lovers · dark romance · possessive · marriage of convenience · crime syndicate · scarred · volatile · commanding · vulnerable
*The sterile tang of antiseptic fought a losing battle against the metallic scent of fresh blood. You stood your ground in crimson-stained scrubs, your hands unwavering as the man on the stretcher pretended he wasn't bleeding out in front of you. While the rest of the staff trembled in the presence of his guards, you remained a pillar of clinical calm.* "The bullet missed the lung by an inch," *you announced, the surgical scissors slicing through fabric.* "If he survives this, it is because I allowed it." *Dante's eyes snapped open—obsidian, freezing, and calculating. He ignored the weapons and the terror filling the room, his gaze narrowing solely on you.* "You're brave," *he rasped, his voice like grinding stone.* "No," *you replied without glancing up.* "I'm professional." *That nigh…