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Roman gritted his teeth, striving for patience. He couldn’t believe the balls on the woman. To not so much as flinch when he held a gun to her head? Grown men couldn’t boast the same. “The adjoining room is set up as an OR. It is fully stocked. If there’s something you need that isn’t there, tell me. I’ll see that you get it.”
She looked through the window into the other room. “You have a fully equipped operating room here?”
Roman nodded once.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked.
He figured it was a rhetorical question, considering he had already told her his name. Still, he answered, reminding her, “Roman. Call me Roman. Who are you?”
“I won’t be calling you anything. Thanks all the same,” she responded primly. She hesitated for a moment before saying grudgingly, “I’m Dr. Angela Hawthorne.” Then she ordered everyone to stay out of the operating theater in order to keep it as sterile as possible and wheeled Luca away on the bed.
“Doctor Hawthorne.” Roman waited until she looked over her shoulder at him. “If my brother dies... so do you.”
She didn’t respond, simply turned and walked through the double doors. He really wished it was a threat that held weight with her, but he could tell it wasn’t. She simply didn’t give a fuck.
“Ballsy, huh?” Abel said, stepping up beside Roman and rubbing his throat.
“That’s one word for her,” Roman muttered, glaring at the closed doors. He nodded to some of his men, knowing they would watch the outsider like a hawk. They wouldn’t hesitate to step in if she made one wrong move.
Roman ran his hands through his hair, grumbling when his gun got in the way. He tucked it into the back of his slacks, thinking about the doctor. She was absolutely stunning. But it wasn’t the long, honey-blonde hair or the full lips—or the even fuller breasts—that claimed his attention. It was the shadows in her green eyes. Shadows he was well familiar with.
She didn’t lie earlier. She would have let Luca die. The knowledge enraged him as much as it turned him on. He hadn’t met a woman yet who could stand up to the likes of the heir of not one but two mafia families. He wanted her. Badly. He told his cock to stand down. There was no point lusting for a woman he could very well have to kill. Even his kinks had their limits.
He walked over to Salvatore, who had his head in his hands. “Luca’s a tough little shit. He’s going to be fine,” he said.
“What if he isn’t?” Salvatore whispered, looking up at Roman.
Roman squatted down, gripping his friend by the back of the neck. “Then we make the world burn.”
“Yes,” Salvatore rasped, his hands fisting on his thighs. “We burn it all to the ground.”
“How many of those Razor fuckers are still alive?” Abel asked, patting Salvatore on the back.
“Enough to release some stress,” Roman assured him. He stood and held out a hand to Salvatore. “Coming? Or do you want to stay close to Luca?”
Salvatore gripped Roman’s hand, allowing his friend to pull him to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere.” His bloodshot eyes met Roman’s. “Save some for me?”
“You got it, brother,” Roman promised. “Do you think you’re up for some research while you wait? I want to know more about Dr. Angela Hawthorne.”
Salvatore looked longingly at the closed doors where Luca was hopefully being saved. “I can try. But Luca is the computer genius. Not me.”
Roman grunted at that. Luca was their resident computer whizz. At first, he had been dead set against Luca having anything to do with the business. He wanted his little brother to live a normal life, free of violence and danger. But Luca was determined and damn hard to say no to. In the end, he had gotten his way and was now their official technology specialist.
“I’ll do it.”
Roman whipped his head to the doorway. His distant cousin—the only female in his inner circle—was standing there looking like the badass she was. With red hair and hazel eyes, she was a throwback to a time when the Sicilian side of his family had married into the Irish Mafia. Maria, or Morrigan as she preferred to be called these days, was dressed from head to toe in black and looked to be carrying enough weapons to take down the government.
“Morrigan,” Roman greeted her. “How are our guests finding their new accommodations?”
Her lips twitched as she made her way closer. “There have been some complaints.”
Roman clucked his tongue. “How rude.”
“That’s what I said. I also told them you have no patience for rudeness.” She smirked. Morrigan wasn’t a touchy-feely person, but she still gave Salvatore a brief hug, whispering in his ear.
“I don’t know,” Abel said with his trademark grin. It was somewhat strained due to his worry for Luca, but it brightened his eyes momentarily. “I think Roman could be getting better at it. You should have heard the way the doctor spoke to him. Our boy here didn’t so much as twitch.”
“What did she say?” Morrigan demanded, looking murderous. “Do I need to teach her a lesson in manners?”
