Valentina's POV

The piercing wail of sirens cut through the chaos of the emergency room, a sound I have learned to tune out a long time ago. My nimble fingers worked quickly, stitching a deep gash on a young boy's forehead.

The child whimpered, and I offered him a reassuring smile.

"You're doing great, sweetie. Just a few more stitches, and you'll be good as new."

As I finished, the ER doors burst open. Two paramedics rushed in, wheeling a gurney. The man on it was barely visible beneath an oxygen mask and bloodied clothes.

"What do we have?" I loudly called out, already moving towards them.

"Male, mid-thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen. BP's dropping fast," one paramedic rattled off.

My eyes widened as I caught sight of the patient's face. Even pale and covered in blood, I recognized him instantly. Luca Moretti. The most notorious mafia don in Chicago.

For a split second, I hesitated. This man was responsible for countless deaths and for flooding the streets with drugs and violence. A small, dark part of me whispered that maybe the world would be better off if I just let him die.

But my oath as a doctor, the core of who I am, kicked in.

"Get him to Trauma 1, now!".

The next few hours were a blur of blood, sweat, and laser-focused concentration. My hands moved with precision, extracting bullets, repairing damaged organs, and stopping the stream of blood that threatened to take over Luca's body.

"We're losing him!" a nurse called out as the heart monitor flatlined.

"Not on my watch," I growled.

No matter my personal feelings and thoughts, I refuse to do everything I can to ensure this man lives another day. I did what I did best and grabbed the defibrillator paddles.

"Clear!"

Luca's body convulsed as electricity ran through it. Once, twice, three times. Finally, the monitor beeped back to life, a steady rhythm that felt like a victory.

Exhausted, I stepped back, peeling off the bloodied gloves. I had done it. I'd saved the life of Chicago's most dangerous man. And as I looked down at Luca Moretti's unconscious form, I couldn't shake the feeling that my life had just changed forever.

Luca's POV

Pain. That was the first thing I had become aware of as consciousness slowly returned. Every breath felt like fire in my chest. I tried to open my eyes, but even that tiny movement sent waves of agony through my body.

Fragments of memory flashed through my mind. The ambush. The impact of bullets tearing into his flesh. The taste of blood in my mouth as darkness came over me.

I should be dead. How was I not dead? I thought to myself

Slowly, painfully, I forced my eyes open. The harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room greeted me, momentarily blinding me. As my vision adjusted, I became aware of a presence beside my bed.

She was bent over a chart, her dark hair falling in waves around her face. Even through the haze of pain and medication, I was struck by her beauty. But it was more than that. There was a strength in her posture, a determination in the set of her jaw that intrigued me.

As if sensing my gaze, she looked up, her brown eyes widening slightly as they met mine.

"Mr. Moretti," she said, her voice professional but with an undertone of... something.

Wariness? Curiosity?

"I'm Dr. Rossi. You're in St. Mary's Hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, and my voice was a barely audible rasp. Dr. Rossi quickly poured me a glass of water, holding it to my lips. The cool liquid was a blessed relief.

"Ambush," I managed to croak out.

She nodded, making a note on my chart. "You were brought in with multiple gunshot wounds. You flatlined twice on the operating table, but we managed to stabilize you."

My eyes narrowed. "You saved me?"

A flicker of emotion passed across her face, too quick to decipher. "I did my job, Mr. Moretti. Nothing more."

But I knew better. I'd cheated death, and this woman - this beautiful, skilled doctor - was the reason. Looking into her eyes, I felt something I hadn't experienced in years: hope.

"What's your name?" I asked, my voice growing stronger.

She hesitated for a moment before answering. "Valentina. Dr. Valentina Rossi."

"Valentina," I repeated, savoring how it rolled off my tongue. "I owe you my life."

She shook her head, a hint of steel entering her voice. "You don't owe me anything. I'm a doctor. Saving lives is what I do, regardless of who the patient is."

Her words were professional, but I could sense the conflict behind them. She knew who I was and what I was capable of, yet she had saved me anyway.

As pain and exhaustion began to pull me back towards unconsciousness, I made a decision.

This woman, Dr. Valentina Rossi, had saved me, and I was determined to change hers in return.

My last thoughts before darkness claimed me again were of her - her skilled hands that had pulled me back from the brink of death, her compassionate eyes that held so much strength. There I was, the feared don of Chicago's underworld, falling asleep with a smile on my face, dreaming of the doctor who had stolen more than just my life.