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EIGHTY SIX
Last Updated:
2025-09-16 01:00:34
Latest chapter
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 140
Jeremiah's POVI’m drunk, whiskey torching my throat raw, my bad leg pulsing a hot, angry beat that matches the chaos in my skull. Two days since the accident turned the Cali estate into a crypt, and I’m sinking fast, bottle in hand, the air thick with dust and ghosts. Elena’s sobs drift from upstairs, a relentless wail I can’t shut out, each cry a hammer to my temples. The TV blares in the parlor, looping Jeremy’s crash, Mama’s fall—Sheila’s voice steady, slicing: “Jeremy Cali, critical, glass in his lungs; his mother’s condition still unknown.” It plays on repeat in my head, a nightmare I can’t escape. Jeremy’s Maybach twisted, Mama tumbling down those stairs—and my gut churns, fate cackling at me. I’m 33 now, a man forged by the Calis, but my past is a festering wound, and this mess rips it wide, whiskey the only balm I’ve got.I was a wreck before Jeremy found me, a scrawny 17-year-old in a Naples shack, fists bloody from pounding my dad to a pulp. He was a drunk, a mean basta
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 139
Dr. Alexandra's POVI’m splintering, 48 hours without sleep, my body a trembling wreck on the edge of collapse. Coffee’s a bitter sludge coating my tongue, cold in a chipped mug I’ve clutched too long, its rancid taste the only anchor keeping me from crumbling. It’s been 24 hours since Jeremy Cali’s crash tore him apart and Mama’s fall landed her in my shaking hands, and Palermo General’s a hellscape ready to swallow me whole. I stand in the scrub room, water scalding my forearms until they sting red, soap sudsing pink as it swirls down the drain, the antiseptic reek clawing my throat. Jeremy’s lungs are bleeding again, glass we missed in the first surgery slicing deeper, and I’m about to carve him open a second time. My hands tremble, knuckles scraped raw, and I choke out a curse, willing them still, but they won’t obey. I’m Dr. Alexandra Moretti, Central Europe’s most decorated surgeon, director of this gleaming hospital, yet today I’m a man unraveling, the Calis’ lives slippin
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 138
The President stepped from the blacked-out SUV into Palermo’s morning haze, his navy suit pressed sharp, his face carved into a mask of solemnity. Eighteen hours had passed since Jeremy’s crash shattered all of Italy, and the hospital loomed ahead, its white facade stark against the flickering sea of candles lining the street. Luca flanked him, gray hoodie swapped for a dark jacket, his eyes scanning the crowd, while the press team trailed close, cameras clicking like gunfire. Hundreds gathered, mostly young faces, their vigil a glowing tide that parted as he strode forward. Candles trembled in their hands, wax dripping onto the pavement, a soft hum of grief rising with each step he took. He kept his head high, shoulders squared, but inside, his chest tightened, old memories clashing with the game he had to play.The hospital doors hissed open, and he entered the ICU wing, the air thick with antiseptic and the faint beep of machines. Jeremy lay in the first room, a broken figure
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 137
Cali estate, night after the accident (12 hours post-crash) Elena's POVThe nurses at the hospital had nudged me out—hands soft but insistent, voices weary from the night’s toll. “Go home, Ma, get some rest,” one murmured, her badge glinting under the harsh lights. “At least grab a change of clothes, you need a break.” I’d mumbled agreement, too numb to argue. JJ was heavy in my arms, his tear-damp cheeks pressed to mine. Now I’m back at the Cali estate. 12 hours since the world cracked open with Jeremy’s crash and Mama’s fall—and guilt’s a beast gnawing my bones. I stagger into the upstairs hall, my taupe sweater sour with sweat and tears, sticking to me like regret. Bags slump across the hardwood—half-unzipped, spilling socks and JJ’s stuffed bear, its lone eye watching me fall apart. The air hangs thick—old wood, faint wax polish—and JJ’s cries bounce off the high ceiling, a jagged echo of my own mess.I drop to the floor, knees smacking hard, clutching JJ tight as he writh
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 136
Dr. Alexandra's POV Six hours after the crash, and Italy’s drowning in sorrow; I feel it pressing against the hospital walls, a tidal wave of grief I can’t outrun. I’m in the scrub room now—hands under scalding water, soap foaming pink as it swirls down the drain; the air’s thick with antiseptic sting, the hum of the vent a low drone beneath my pulse. I’m Dr. Alexandra Moretti—smartest surgeon in Central Europe, they say. Director of this gleaming excellence of a hospital. All of that but I’ve never faced pressure like this. The Calis are bleeding out under my roof—Jeremy and Mama, both critical, both mine to save. The rapid response team hauled them in six hours ago; now, it’s my hands, my steel, my faith against the clock.The Cali estate’s a mausoleum now—grim faces haunting its halls; even Jeremiah, that cold bastard, pacing with eyes red-rimmed, his limp dragging louder than his curses. “Prep OR One and Two—full trauma teams, now!”—and rushed to the east wing, where Jeremy
TRAPPED WITH THE MAFIA BOSS 135
The intersection on Via della Liberta was a madhouse—metal twisted into grotesque shapes, glass glittering like shattered stars across the asphalt. Jeremy’s Maybach, a sleek black predator, had T-boned a silver Camry, its hood crumpled inward like a fist had punched through its heart. The impact had flung both cars sideways, the Maybach’s grille buried in the Camry’s passenger side, a tangle of steel and blood steaming in the cool Sicilian night. Sirens wailed—a rapid response team already swarming—paramedics in neon vests darting through the chaos, their boots crunching glass; a fire truck’s hose hissed, water pooling red under flickering streetlights. The air stank of gasoline and burnt rubber, thick with the metallic tang of blood; a child’s scream pierced the din—high, raw, unending.The Camry was a tomb; its driver—a man, thirtyish, dark hair matted with gore—slumped over the wheel, neck snapped at an angle no spine could survive; his wife beside him stared blank, her face a m
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