Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

POV: MARCO

Marco had been in firefights before.

Iraq. Afghanistan. Places where combat was expected.

But this....watching Dimitri move through the Calabrians like death incarnate....this was different.

This wasn’t combat.

This was execution.

Dimitri dropped three men before they could even raise their weapons. Headshots. Clean. Efficient.

Marco and the other soldiers opened fire, taking cover behind cars, returning suppressing fire.

But Dimitri didn’t take cover.

Dimitri advanced.

Walked straight into the Calabrian positions, gun in one hand, knife appearing in the other, and started killing.

Shot a man in the throat. Stabbed another in the kidney. Grabbed a third and used him as a human shield while shooting two more behind him.

It was brutal. Savage. Beautiful in the way apex predators are beautiful when they hunt.

This was why they called him the Devil.

The firefight lasted maybe three minutes.

When it ended, all fifteen Calabrians were dead.

Dimitri stood in the center of the carnage, breathing hard, covered in blood....some his, mostly theirs.

”Boss!” Marco ran to him. ”You hit?”

”I’m fine. Get Marcelo out of here. Use the secondary route. Get him to the airport, put him on a commercial flight to New York. Give him a new identity packet. He’s burned here.”

”Boss, you’re bleeding....”

”I said I’m fine.” Dimitri holstered his gun, started walking toward their car. ”We need to move before cops show up. Go. Now.”

They ran.

Piled into the cars, tires screeching as they pulled away from the scene.

Behind them, fifteen bodies cooling in a Roman alley.

And Dimitri in the front seat, his hand pressed to his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.

”You’re shot,” Marco said.

”Just grazed. I’ll be fine.”

”Boss....”

”Drive to the airfield. We’re going home.”

Marco drove.

But he watched Dimitri in the rearview mirror, watched the way he held himself too still, the way his breathing was too controlled.

That wasn’t a graze.

That was a bullet wound.

Maybe more than one.

***

POV: DIMITRI

The pain didn’t hit until they were twenty minutes outside Rome.

Then it hit like a freight train.

Two points of fire, one in his left shoulder, one in his lower back.

Dimitri pressed harder, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to stay conscious.

”How bad is it?” Marco asked, glancing back.

”Bad enough.” Dimitri’s voice was tight. ”But I can make it to New York. Get me on the plane Marco.”

”Boss, we should stop. Find a doctor. Remove the bullets....”

”Not here. Not in Italy. We just killed fifteen Calabrians. Every rival family is going to be looking for us. We stop, we die.” Dimitri closed his eyes, focused on breathing. ”Get me on the plane. There’s a medical kit. You can remove them in the air.”

”On the plane? Dimitri, that’s....”

”An order. Get me home, Marco. Get me to Eve.”

Marco’s jaw clenched, but he nodded.

Pushed the accelerator harder.

They made it to the airfield in forty-five minutes.

Dimitri could barely walk by then.

His soldiers had to half-carry him up the stairs into the jet, laid him down on the leather couch that ran along one side.

The pilot took one look and blanched. ”Sir, should I....”

”Just fly,” Marco ordered. ”Get us in the air. Now.”

The plane took off immediately.

And Dimitri felt his consciousness starting to slip.

”Marco...”

”I’m here, boss. Stay with me.” Marco was opening the medical kit, pulling out supplies. ”This is going to hurt. A lot. You sure you don’t want to wait until we land?”

”Can’t. Bullets might shift. Might hit something vital.” Dimitri grabbed Marco’s wrist. ”Do it now. Do fast. And don’t be gentle.”

”Never am.”

Marco cut away Dimitri’s shirt, revealed the two wounds.

One in the left shoulder.....through and through, clean exit.

One in the lower back, bullet still lodged, probably against his spine.

”Fuck,” Marco breathed. ”Boss, this is bad. The back one....”

”Remove it.”

”If I hit the wrong spot....”

”Then I’ll be paralyzed. But if you leave it, I’ll die from internal bleeding or infection. Your choice, but make it fast.”

Marco didn’t hesitate.

Pulled out forceps, disinfectant, gauze.

And went to work.

Dimitri bit down on a leather strap, felt the metal digging into his back, searching for the bullet.

The pain was white-hot. Blinding.

He heard himself screaming through the leather, couldn’t stop it.

Finally....finally....Marco pulled the bullet free.

”Got it. Jesus Christ, boss, I got it.”

Dimitri spat out the leather, gasped for air. ”The shoulder?”

”Through and through. I’ll clean it, pack it, bandage you up.” Marco worked fast, efficient. ”But this isn’t professional medical care. This is field medicine. You need a real doctor when we land.”

”We’ll see.”

It took twenty minutes to clean and bandage both wounds.

By the end, Dimitri was gray-faced, sweating, barely conscious.

But alive.

”Rest,” Marco said. ”We’ll be home in eight hours. I’ll wake you when we land.”

Dimitri closed his eyes.

Thought about Eve.

About seeing her. Holding her. Making sure she never knew how close he’d come to dying today.

And let the darkness take him.

***

They landed on the rooftop helipad of Dimitri’s building at 4 AM New York time.

Dimitri woke to Marco shaking him gently.

”Boss. We’re home.”

”Eve....”

”Asleep. She doesn’t know anything.” Marco helped him sit up. ”Can you walk?”

Dimitri tried.

Got three steps.

His knees buckled.

Marco caught him, strong arm around his waist, taking most of his weight.

”Okay. Plan B. Lean on me. We’ll get you inside quietly.”

They made it to the elevator.

Down to the penthouse.

The apartment was dark except for the ambient city light.

And standing in the kitchen, turning on lights....Nonna.

She took one look at Dimitri, bloodstained and bandaged and barely standing, and her face went hard.

”Bring him to my room,” she said. Not a request. ”Now.”

”Nonna, I’m fine...”

”You look like death. You are not fine. My room. Now.”