Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

POV: DANTE

The physician arrived at midnight, exactly as the voice on the phone had promised.

Dante had told Luca to clear the household staff from the east wing for the evening, a precaution that felt excessive until he saw the man Luca escorted into his study. Tall, silver-haired, carrying a case that looked more like something out of a military field kit than a doctor’s bag.

”Mr. Romano,” the man said, his accent unplaceable, a mix of something Eastern European filtered through years elsewhere. ”My name isn’t important. Call me Doctor, if you need to call me anything at all.”

”That’s not reassuring,” Dante said.

”I’m not here to reassure you,” the doctor replied, setting his case on the desk. ”I’m here to fix your legs. Reassurance is Dr. Fabrizio’s job. I understand he’s already told you the honest, disappointing truth about your recovery timeline.”

Luca stood near the door, arms crossed, watching the exchange with open suspicion.

”How does this work?” Dante asked.

”The compound is administered directly into the affected nerve cluster,” the doctor said, already unpacking vials and a slim injection device unlike anything Dante had seen in a hospital. ”It stimulates regeneration at a rate roughly twenty times faster than the body’s natural healing process. You’ll feel significant improvement within seventy-two hours. Full mobility within three to four weeks, assuming no complications.”

”Assuming,” Dante repeated.

”I won’t lie to you and tell you this is risk-free,” the doctor said, glancing up. ”This compound was developed for exactly this kind of injury, but it hasn’t gone through the kind of testing your regulatory bodies would require. You are, in the truest sense, a continuation of research that a man named Dimitri Valentino tried to burn out of existence.”

Dante felt something settle cold and hard in his chest at the name.

”What are the risks?” Luca asked, stepping forward for the first time.

”In rare cases, inflammation at the injection site. In rarer cases still, temporary loss of sensation before the regeneration takes hold.” The doctor shrugged, entirely unbothered by the possibilities he was listing. ”We’ve administered this compound eleven times previously. Nine successes. Two complications, both resolved with follow-up treatment.”

”And the other two?” Dante asked.

The doctor didn’t answer immediately, which was answer enough.

”I appreciate your honesty,” Dante said flatly, ”even when it’s the honesty of a man who doesn’t actually care what happens to me.”

”I care whether you can walk,” the doctor said. ”Whether you can hold a gun steady enough to finish what you started. Beyond that, Mr. Romano, my concern for your wellbeing is professional, not personal. I think you’d respect a lie less than that truth.”

Dante almost laughed. There was something refreshing about a man who didn’t bother pretending to feel something he didn’t.

”Do it,” Dante said.

Luca stepped forward. ”Boss....”

”Do it,” Dante repeated, not looking away from the doctor. ”I’ve spent three weeks in this chair listening to Dr. Fabrizio tell me to be patient. I don’t have patience left to give.”

The doctor nodded and began preparing the injection site, cleaning a section of Dante’s lower back with brisk, practiced efficiency.

”This will hurt,” the doctor said. ”Significantly. I won’t pretend otherwise.”

”I’ve been shot,” Dante said. ”I think I can manage.”

The doctor almost smiled. ”Everyone says that before the injection, Mr. Romano. Very few of them mean it once the compound hits the nerve.”

He wasn’t wrong.

The needle went in, and for the first three seconds, there was only pressure, a strange, deep ache that Dante could have tolerated indefinitely.

Then the compound hit the damaged nerve cluster, and Dante’s entire world went white.

It wasn’t pain like a bullet, sharp and localized. It was pain that seemed to come from inside the bone itself, a burning that radiated up his spine and down through legs that hadn’t felt anything in weeks. He heard himself make a sound he didn’t recognize, something between a scream and a growl, his hands gripping the arms of the chair hard enough that his knuckles went white.

”Breathe through it,” the doctor said, unmoved by the reaction, already withdrawing the needle. ”The worst of it lasts perhaps ninety seconds. Your body is registering nerve signals it hasn’t processed in weeks. That confusion is actually a good sign.”

Dante gritted his teeth and breathed, sweat beading on his forehead, his vision swimming at the edges.

Luca had moved to his side without being asked, one hand on his shoulder.

”Boss. Look at me. Ninety seconds. You’ve survived worse.”

Dante focused on Luca’s face, using it as an anchor while fire raced through his lower body. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the burning began to recede, replaced by something else entirely.

A tingling. Faint, but undeniable, starting in his toes and working upward.

”Do you feel that?” the doctor asked, watching him closely now.

Dante looked down at his legs, at feet he hadn’t been able to feel properly in weeks.

”I feel my toes,” he said slowly, disbelief creeping into his voice.

”That’s the beginning,” the doctor said, already packing his equipment away with the same brisk efficiency he’d used to prepare it. ”The nerve pathways are reawakening. Over the next several days, you’ll experience increasing sensation, followed by the return of voluntary movement. I’d recommend Dr. Fabrizio’s physical therapy team begin gentle exercises within forty-eight hours to help guide the regeneration properly.”

”You’re leaving already?” Dante asked.

”My part is done for tonight,” the doctor said. ”I’ll return in one week to assess progress and administer a second dose if needed. In the meantime....” He paused at the study door, looking back at Dante with something that might have been genuine curiosity. ”I trust you understand the arrangement continues to hold, regardless of how quickly you heal.”

”I understand,” Dante said.

”Good.” The doctor’s eyes moved briefly to Luca, then back to Dante. ”We’ll be in contact about the intelligence package once you’re mobile again. Rest well, Mr. Romano. You have a great deal of work ahead of you.”

He left as quietly as he’d arrived, and Luca closed the study door behind him, turning back to Dante with open concern.

”You’re sure about this?” Luca asked. ”We don’t know who these people really are. We don’t know what else they might want from you beyond Dimitri’s death.”