Dante Falconeri General Hospital Novels & Stories

one of the Virelli soldiers called. Dante swallowed hard, voice steady despite the storm inside. “Clear.” The footsteps moved on. Dante quickly made a call on a burner phone, voice low and urgent. “Private extraction. North side service entrance. Get him to the safe hospital—Dr. Moretti. No records. Tell no one.” His voice cracked with emotion as he looked down at Giovanni’s pale face. “You better survive this, you idiot. We’re not done yet.” Tears stung his eyes as he slipped out, leaving Giovanni for the covert team.

I turned back toward the hospital, but this time, I wasn’t alone. A man in a long white doctor’s coat and a nose mask, walking toward me from the parking lot. His gait was casual, confident and purposeful. My stomach twisted. Ready to run. Then he stepped into the light. I froze. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. “Ciao, Piccolo Fuoco,” he whispered, only loud enough for me to hear. “Meet me inside the hospital, theatre 3” My mind exploded. Dante? Here? Now? It was insane.

My mind churned with questions, and I knew I had to see her myself. I hurried to the hall, my boots echoing on the marble floor. The guards stood around her, looking nervous as I approached. Valeria was slumped on the floor, the bag unzipped around her. Her eyes were half-open, her face pale, and her dress was torn. She looked weak, confused, like she’d been through something rough. My chest tightened at the sight, and for a moment, I wanted to pick her up, to make sure that she was okay. But I pushed that feeling down. I was Dante Moretti, the man who made people tremble. I couldn’t let her see me soften, not when I didn’t know the truth.

"Perhaps you should spend less time policing my bedroom and more time patching your firewalls." Dante’s jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white as his posture shifted into a defensive stance. Before he could issue a counter-threat, the heavy security door swung open. Roman Falcone strode into the medical bay, his massive frame instantly shifting the room’s air pressure. He wore an immaculate black suit, the scent of sharp cedarwood and rich espresso radiating off his chest. His dark, cold eyes immediately locked onto the small cotton bandage on my arm. "Is the extraction complete?" Roman demanded, his deep voice bouncing off the sterile white walls. "The centrifuge is finishing its final c

His hands shook so badly it took him three tries to dial Marcus’s number from memory. Marcus picked up on the first ring. “Cedric? Where are you? Are you okay? Talk to me.” Cedric opened his mouth, throat tight and raw. “Marcus, I… I don’t know what to do anymore. He…” A black SUV pulled up slowly to the curb right beside the phone booth. The tinted window rolled down with a mechanical hum. It wasn’t falcone’s men. Dante Falcone sat in the back seat, smiling like a shark that had finally caught its prey. He looked older, sharper, and far more dangerous than falcone. His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.

Zeke said, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, “Giovanni always says what an amazing doctor and brother you are, but--” Wheezing a bit, and startling them all, the patient on the table rumbled out, “Ferrari… Dan … te.” “Ah,” Gianna said, peering up at her patient. “So he has a name. Dante.” Ferrari Dante was an odd-looking man, not overly handsome like Gianna had seen before, but there was certainly something appealing about him. He was the kind of person who looked like he had a magnetic personality, and looked a force to be reckoned with.

Diana’s injuries were indeed severe, with critical head trauma. Calming her unsteady heartbeat, Suzy approached the operating table and began the delicate craniotomy. Throughout the procedure, the attending medical staff looked on in awe. Even the surgeon who had initially taken charge of Diana’s case—a doctor with an international reputation—was stunned. Until now, he had harbored a quiet skepticism about Red Falcon, dismissing the figure as a glorified myth or a mere gimmick, someone hiding behind a mask of secrecy to build mystique. In fact, he’d mentioned Red Falcon to Dylan earlier simply to deflect blame, knowing that Red Falcon was nearly impossible to summon. If Diana didn’t make it,

Marco began. “Track his phone,” Dante snapped, the command sharp as a whip. “If he thinks he can deceive me, he’s a bigger fool than I ever imagined. I want to know the hospital he’s currently at, and I want to know now.” Marco obeyed swiftly, his fingers hovering across his device. Within minutes, a red dot blinked on the screen. He raised his head. “Boss… he’s at St. Augustine’s Hospital.” “Drive.” Dante flexed his jaw immediately.

Damien returned to the room in the hospital where Ariel laid, her condition now worsening. He entered to see the doctor and nurses around her trying to examine her condition. The doctor there was checking the life machine they had placed Ariel on and the nurses all stood too watching him and awaiting his directives. Damien inside the room now became confused as to what they were doing there. He had left her side not long ago and she was perfectly okay so he wondered what the problem might be now as anger began to build within him. He began demanding from them what was wrong and what they were there doing to her. Restless and impatient for an answer, he began snapping at everyone there. They

She convinced herself that she needed something intense enough to kill whatever feeling she had for him. She inhaled deeply. “Come in.” Dante’s voice came from inside. She almost groaned. Right. The stupid man had a mobile CCTV camera on his phone. He already knew she was there. She pushed her hair from her face and walked in. Dante was seated on the table, wearing simple pyjamas, eyes moving between his laptop and his phone. There were open files beside him with a tag that read: From Luca. Her interest picked up instantly. Luca was his loyal consigliere. If anyone was going to dig out the person behind the pictures, it would be him.