Claimed by the Mafia King

Alessia's POV 

"Clamp."

"Got it," A nurse said, slapping it into my hand without hesitation.

"Pressure’s dropping," the anesthesiologist warned.

"Not for long," I muttered. I found the tear and sealed it. Blood slowed. "Bleeding’s under control."

"Vitals stabilizing," someone confirmed.

"You’re clear to close, Dr. Bianchi," the resident said, their voice steadier now than when we had started.

I worked on the stitching, trying to be as careful as always.

"Last stitch—" I looped the thread and tied it off. "—Done."

"Nice work, doctor," someone murmured.

I stepped back and peeled off my gloves. My fingers ached.

"Let’s move him to post-op," I said, already heading for the door.

Outside, the hall felt colder and quieter. But the kid was alive. That was the only thing that mattered.

He had been brought in early in the morning. Reports had it that he had been constantly abused by his parents. A bunch of sickos.

"Dr. Bianchi!" A familiar voice called out, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Speaking of sickos. I let out a sigh before turning to meet the sicko who had called me.

"Hi, Dr. Conti," I muttered trying to sound nice.

I couldn't help but stare at the weirdo. He was an ugly old man in his late fifties—short as a twig and round as a ball—with a scalp that was tired of growing hair.

He was the assistant director of the hospital and a pervert. Well, I don't blame him. The ladies in the hospital make him feel like he is special.

I remember the first time I walked into his office. He was all teeth, with sweat breaking from his forehead. He was so quick to dismiss me. But that wasn't before I saw the shoe of a woman poking out from beneath his table.

Since that day he had been acting all nice around me. What he didn't know was that I preferred the cold shoulder he used to give to me.

"I have to say, you are such a talented person. I couldn't help but admire you while you worked."

I forced my lips into a curve. "Thank you, Sir. Coming from you that means a lot."

Yuck! Even saying those words felt disgusting.

I was about to turn when his words made me halt.

"I was wondering..."

I rolled my eyes inwardly. Now what?

"If you would like to go out for dinner with me tonight?"

"Definitely not, you pervert delusional old man!" I thought to myself.

I couldn't say that out loud. This was the third hospital I was working in within just two years—and the longest I've stayed in.

The last thing I needed was to lose my job.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Conti, but I'm feeling a little bit sick, and I need to rest up a bit—" I lied. It was better than getting fired because of some loser, anyway.

"Oh, I understand," He replied.

I smiled, turning around. Thank goodness.

But before I could take a step forward, I felt a hand grip one of my b*tt cheeks.

That was it. F**k the job. I'm killing him.

I turned, slamming him against the wall as I reached for the spare scalpel in my pocket.

"Listen here, Old man," I whispered as I let the scalpel hover above his groin. "The next time your hand touches a part of me, even if it's a strand of my hair, I'm going to make sure I cut off that thing in between your legs that's making you feel like a man. Got it?"

He nodded eagerly as he swallowed hard, his face void of any color.

I let him go and turned to walk away. Luckily for me, the hallway was empty, and no one knew what had happened.

That was a win-win for me.

A few minutes later, I was out of the hospital, in my car, and on my way to my apartment.

I showered and was about to jump on the bed when my alarm rang.

"Argh!" I screamed. Here I was thinking I was going to get a few hours of sleep before heading out.

Sighing, I dressed up in my usual disguise before walking out of the house.

I wasn't only a neurosurgeon that most people know me as, I was also a tourist manager. But what made me different from the others was, "Porta Inferni." That's what we called it—the most dangerous place in the city.

No one comes to Italy again to see the arts and pretty crafts. They came for the dark stuff—what lies in Porta Inferni. 

They say it's been run by the devil himself. 

Well, I'm the girl who isn't afraid to make a deal with him.

My job was both easy and hard. I go undercover into the gates of hell, check for the places where the most dangerous stuff happens, and then I inform my boss, and it's added to the list of our places to tour. The dark list.

But lately, the Porta Inferni had been quiet. Rumors say it's because the Boss—Salvatore—had been out of town.

No one knew him—or her. We only knew the name, and it scared the shit out of everyone. Well, except for me. After what happened twenty years ago, nothing scared me anymore.

I took a detour down the main street and into the gates of hell. No one bothered stopping me. They all recognized my bike.

I stopped in front of a club, taking off my helmet.

"Ciao, bella signora," Luca called out to me, a smile arching his lips. 

"Ciao, brutto," I replied, winking at him as I got down from the bike.

"You're still not going to loosen up around me," He muttered.

I chuckled. "Only when you stop trying to steal my bikes." 

He laughed as he hugged me. Luca was one of my main informants. He ran a network of thieves and was also working for the Cops. Talk about weird.

"Are you here to spend some time with me?" He asked.

"You wish," I scoffed. "I'm here for some information, as always."

I was about to walk into the club when he held my hand.

"What?" I said as I turned to him. His smile had vanished, replaced with a frown.

"I told, Lombardi to tell you not to show up today. Didn't he?"

"Why?" I asked, confusion and curiosity creeping in.

I didn't bother to tell him that Lombardi—my boss—didn't say a word to me. He had always been a sc*m bag.

"You can't be here," He muttered, pulling me towards my bike.

"Why?" I asked again, pinning my feet to the ground. "What's going on."

He was silent for a while before finally speaking.

 "Salvatore. His third in command is around." He pointed to my eyes. "And for some dumb reason...he hates ladies with those eyes of yours."