Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

POV: DANTE

The pain was a white-hot thing, consuming everything.

Dante’s leg was useless, hanging limp and useless beneath him as Luca practically dragged him from the SUV. His shoulder screamed with every movement. His ribs felt like they were caving in with each breath.

But he was alive.

That was what mattered.

The safe house was in the industrial district of Jersey City, a nondescript warehouse that looked abandoned from the outside. Inside, it was fortified. Reinforced walls. Multiple security checkpoints. Enough firepower to hold off a small army.

”Get him inside,” Luca commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos with absolute authority. He was already moving, already assessing, already doing the thousand things that needed to be done to transform a temporary shelter into a war room.

Dante’s men moved with the efficiency of people who’d trained together for years. Two of them took his weight, practically carrying him toward the entrance. His bodyguards formed a protective perimeter, weapons visible, making it clear that anyone approaching uninvited would be met with lethal force.

”Secure the perimeter,” Luca was ordering. ”I want eyes on every approach. Two men on the roof. Two on each side entrance. I want to know if a bird lands within a mile of this location. Move.”

His men scattered, following orders without question or hesitation.

This was why Luca was valuable. This was why Dante had kept him at his side for twelve years. Because Luca understood the rhythm of crisis. Understood how to move from chaos to control in seconds.

”Status on the vehicles?” Luca asked one of the drivers.

”Three destroyed completely,” the man reported, his voice steady despite the chaos. ”Dimitri’s people torched them the moment we cleared. The other three are heading to secondary locations for scrubbing and disposal.”

”And the men?” Luca’s jaw tightened. ”The ones in the vehicles?”

”All accounted for. None of them made it out before the explosives detonated.”

Dante heard the number that Luca didn’t speak aloud: twelve men dead. Maybe more if some of the wounded didn’t survive the burning.

They got Dante inside, laid him out on a metal surgical table in what had been converted into a makeshift medical room. Luca had come prepared. Always came prepared. He’d learned from Dante that in their world, preparation was the difference between living and dying.

”Get me the medical kit,” Luca commanded,”And I need light. More light. And clean water. A lot of it.”

Dante’s men moved like a well-oiled machine, producing supplies from hidden locations around the warehouse. Within ninety seconds, Luca had a full surgical setup: instruments, bandages, antibiotics, sterile water, painkillers.

”This is going to hurt,” Luca said, cutting away Dante’s shirt to assess the damage. His dark eyes traced over the wounds with clinical detachment. ”And I mean really hurt. But the pain means you’re alive, so I suggest you embrace it.”

The leg wound was the worst. The bullet had gone clean through, shattering bone on its way. Luca examined it carefully, his fingers probing the entry and exit wounds.

”The bone is broken,” he said matter-of-factly. ”But cleanly. If we keep it immobilized and infection doesn’t set in, you’ll walk again. It’ll take months of physical therapy, but you’ll walk.”

”How long before I can be mobile?” Dante asked, his voice tight with pain.

”Real answer? Two weeks before you can limp around on crutches. One month before you can put weight on it. Three months before you’re fully functional.” Luca started cleaning the wound with meticulous care. ”But the most important thing right now is preventing infection. If that wound gets infected, we’re looking at amputation or death.”

Dante closed his eyes against the pain as Luca worked. The wound cleaning was brutal and Luca wasn’t gentle about it. He flushed the wound repeatedly, examining every millimeter of damaged tissue.

”I’m going to pack it with antibiotics,” Luca said. ”And immobilize the leg. You’re going to need crutches for at least two weeks, and you cannot put any weight on that leg. If you do, if you tear open the wound or compromise the healing process, you’ll be back where you started.”

”Do it,” Dante said.

Luca worked with the precision of someone who’d trained in field medicine. Which he had. Twelve years with Dante meant he’d learned everything there was to know about survival in their world, including how to treat gunshot wounds when proper medical care wasn’t an option.

The shoulder wound was next. The bullet had passed through clean, missing major arteries by inches. Lucky. That was the only word for it.

”This one’s better,” Luca said, examining it. ”The bullet missed everything vital. Clean through and through. I’ll clean it, pack it, bandage it. Pain management will be your main concern for the next few days.”

The ribs were bruised, possibly cracked, but nothing was broken. Small mercies.

By the time Luca finished, Dante’s body was wrapped in bandages from his waist to his shoulder. An IV was running fluids into his arm. Multiple medications had been administered: antibiotics, pain management, anti-inflammatory.

”You look like hell,” Luca said, stepping back to assess his work.

”I feel like hell,” Dante replied, his voice rough. ”How many did we lose?”

Luca’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. ”Twelve in the vehicles that were torched. the rest were killed inside the warehouse by Dimitri. Three more are critical and probably won’t make it. Total body count: twenty.”

Dante felt something cold settle in his chest.

Twenty men. Twenty people he’d sent into that warehouse thinking they’d be walking out with a victory.

All dead.

Because of Dimitri.

”And Dimitri?” Dante asked, his voice dropping to something lethal.

”Alive. Uninjured.” Luca’s jaw clenched. ”He killed all twenty men single-handedly. Walked through them like they were nothing.”

Dante closed his eyes. Saw Dimitri in his mind—moving through the warehouse, covered in blood, absolutely untouchable.

”He’s not human,” Dante said quietly. ”No human moves like that. No human is that efficient. He’s something else entirely.”