Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

”No,” Dimitri confirmed. ”I’m not.”

”Even though Dante just demonstrated that he’s capable of strategic planning and has resources and can execute complicated operations?”

”Even though,” Dimitri agreed. ”Because that’s his problem now, not mine. He’s chosen to involve himself with the Russo family and potentially The Covenant’s attention. Those are his consequences to manage.”

He pulled her closer.

”My focus is here,” he said, and he kissed her forehead. ”My focus is on keeping you safe. Everything else is noise.”

Eve understood what he was saying: he’d compartmentalized. He’d looked at the situation, analyzed it, determined it wasn’t relevant to his immediate concerns, and moved on.

It was brilliant and cold and completely logical.

It was also absolutely him.

”Don’t worry about any of this,” Dimitri said. ”None of it concerns us.”

But even as he said those words, Eve understood that the world outside their penthouse sanctuary was moving in complex ways. That other people were making moves. That wars were beginning. That the city around them was shifting and changing and accelerating toward something.

They were safe in this moment, But the peace was temporary.

The larger game was in motion.

And eventually, it would reach them.

***

They stayed in bed for another hour, Dimitri holding Eve, both of them processing the morning’s information in their own ways.

Eventually, they got up and showered together and after that, Eve just watched Dimitri move through his morning routine with the same precision he applied to everything else.

He was a man of power and strategy, living in a world of complexity and danger.

And somehow, against all logic, he’d managed to keep everything in check.

***

By midmorning, they were on the penthouse balcony, looking out at Rome. The city stretched below them, beautiful and ancient and completely indifferent to the wars being fought within it.

”Do you regret coming here?” Dimitri asked, and there was something vulnerable in the question.

Eve turned to look at him.

”No,” she said absolutely. ”Do you regret bringing me?”

”Not for a moment,” Dimitri said. ”Even knowing what I know now about the complications it creates.”

”Then that’s all that matters,” Eve said.

***

*SAFEHOUSE*

POV: ISABELLA

Isabella hadn’t made it out of bed.

By day three of her withdrawal, her body had begun to rebel in ways that were impossible to hide anymore.

The tremors had evolved from subtle to pronounced. Her hands shook so badly that holding anything was difficult. Her jaw was clenched so tightly that eating had become nearly impossible. The anxiety that she’d been managing with breathing exercises was now a constant, physical pressure in her chest that made every breath feel like a battle.

She’d spent most of the morning in the bathroom, her body unable to settle, unable to find any position that brought comfort.

When she finally emerged, she was pale....almost translucent. Her eyes were hollow. Her body was visibly thinner, as if the withdrawal was consuming her from the inside out.

Dante was waiting for her on the master balcony.

He took one look at her and understood that waiting any longer would be a mistake.

”Isabella,” Dante said gently, ”we need to talk about your medication.”

Isabella’s entire body went rigid.

”What about it?” she asked, and her voice was defensive, scared.

”You’re getting worse,” Dante said, and he wasn’t accusing, just stating facts. ”Every day, you’re deteriorating physically. Your body is screaming for something. And I need to understand what.”

”I’m fine,” Isabella said, but her hands were shaking so badly that the lie was obvious.

”You’re not fine,” Dante said, and he moved closer to her. ”And I’m not judging you. I’m not angry. I just need to help you. So I need to know: where does your medication come from?”

Isabella’s eyes filled with tears.

”It’s just anxiety medication,” she whispered. ”I’ve been taking it since I was sixteen. It’s legitimate. It’s from a doctor.”

”I believe you,” Dante said. ”But I need you to tell me where it comes from. Who prescribes it? How do you get it? Everything.”

Isabella sank into a chair on the balcony, her body too exhausted to remain standing.

”Dr. Armani,” she said finally. ”His name is Dr. Armani. He prescribed it when I was sixteen for my anxiety disorder. I’ve been getting monthly deliveries for eight years.”

”Where is his clinic located?” Dante asked.

Isabella looked at him, and her expression was confused.

”I... I don’t know exactly,” she said slowly. ”The delivery address has changed a couple of times over the years. I never really paid attention to where it was coming from. As long as the medicine arrived, I didn’t think it mattered.”

Dante processed this.

”How do you get the deliveries?” he asked.

”A courier,” Isabella said. ”They come to wherever I’m staying. My apartment in Rome, the Russo estate, wherever. They just... deliver it. I sign for it. That’s all.”

”And you’ve never questioned this?” Dante asked. ”Never wondered who Dr. Armani really is? Never thought it was strange that the delivery address kept changing?”

”No,” Isabella said, and the admission seemed to shame her. ”I just trusted that it was legitimate. My father found Dr. Armani for me. Why would I question it?”

Dante knelt in front of her, taking her trembling hands in his.

”Has anything ever seemed off about the medication?” he asked carefully. ”Any changes in how it looks? How it feels? How it tastes? Anything unusual?”

Isabella thought about this, really thought about it for the first time in eight years.

”No,” she said finally. ”It’s always looked the same. White pills. Small. They come in a bottle with Dr. Armani’s clinic label. I take one every day. That’s all I know.”

Dante watched understanding dawn on Isabella’s face.

She realized, in that moment, that she knew almost nothing about the medication she’d been taking for eight years.

She knew the doctor’s name. She knew it came monthly. She knew she’d been taking it since age sixteen. But she didn’t know where it came from. She didn’t know who actually ran the clinic. She didn’t know how the delivery system worked. She didn’t know anything about the medication’s actual composition or origin.

She’d simply taken it because she was supposed to.

Because a doctor prescribed it.