I Kidnapped The Mafia Don, Tied Him To My Bed Chapter 07

I Kidnapped The Mafia Don, Tied Him To My Bed Chapter 07

I rented a place in a small Southern town.

Figured people come from the hustle, should leave in the hustle too.

It was a courtyard house. Different tenants in each room. A writer. A painter. A photographer. A doctor on

sabbatical.

Gideon Reeve was a freelance photographer. I’d seen his work. That indescribable feeling.

After we got familiar, he offered to take my photo. I was flattered. But refused.

“Thanks. But I’m too ugly right now.”

He didn’t push. Until he found my pill bottle in the common area upstairs.

He read the label. The diagnosis. Didn’t make a scene. Found me.

“This medication is wrong.”

I blinked.

Gideon frowned. Voice low. “It doesn’t look like treatment for terminal brain cancer. More like suppression of some neurological inflammation. Zoya, whoever gave you that diagnosis is either an idiot or evil.”

I laughed. “You’re overthinking.”

But his hands were shaking. A doctor who’s seen life and death shouldn’t shake over a pill bottle.

I didn’t press. I had no energy left for questions.

I didn’t expect Caspian to show up.

With his pissed-off face.

“Zoya! You’re getting more capable every day!”

Gideon stepped in front of me at the critical moment. “Can’t you talk to a girl properly?”

Caspian stared at him for a long moment. Then laughed. “Zoya, you’ve really upgraded. This is your new

type?”

Gideon threw a punch.

Caspian straightened up. Didn’t back down.

And I stepped in front of Gideon.

This had nothing to do with him. Couldn’t let an innocent guy take a beating.

Caspian pulled his fist back. But his eyes went red.

I avoided his gaze. Couldn’t look at him. “Go away. Don’t disturb my life.” I looped my arm through Gideon’s

“Actually, I prefer artists.”

Caspian left.

Gideon seemed to understand something. “You shouldn’t do that. He’ll suffer when he learns the truth. If he

stays with you, you’ll be more comfortable too.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been selfish enough. Already satisfied.”

Gideon stayed silent a long time. Finally said, “At least let him know. You might not be terminal.”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t believe it anymore.

My body kept getting worse.

I went back home from the town. After another hospital admission, I called Lara Quinn.

She came fast. Took one look at me. Burst into wails.

Sunken cheeks and eye sockets. Connected to countless machines. This was me now. I pulled off the

oxygen mask. Forced my lips into a grin. “Stop crying. You look ugly.”

I told Lara a lot. My properties. Savings. Funeral arrangements.

My brain was getting worse. Knew there was more I hadn’t said. Couldn’t remember. “That’s it for now. If I

think of anything else, I’ll text you.”

Lara was already sobbing uncontrollably. Reached out to hug me. But hesitated. Too afraid to touch. “Zoya!

Why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

I patted her hand gently. “Telling you sooner would’ve just made you suffer. Had to tell you now, though.”

She stayed with me at the hospital that night. Next morning when she left for work, I called out to her. “Don’t

tell Caspian about me.”

I didn’t want him forgiving me out of pity because I was dying. “Also, I’m transferring hospitals. Don’t come

anymore.”

I knew how painful it was watching someone march toward death. Didn’t want her hurting.

“Zoya, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t. I’ll stay put in the hospital. If we ever meet again outside a hospital, I’ll give you the biggest hug

I didn’t say the rest. But she understood.

If we never met again, didn’t be sad.

After Lara left the hospital, she didn’t go straight home.

A black sedan parked at the hospital back entrance. Two men in black suits blocked her path.

“Miss Quinn. Don Ferretti wants to know why his woman is planning her own funeral.”

Lara was brought before Caspian.

She didn’t hide. Told him everything. Zoya’s condition. The diagnosis. The funeral arrangements. All of it.

Caspian listened. Stayed silent a long time.

Then he mobilized the Ferretti family medical team.

Not to see Zoya. First, to examine that diagnosis report.

Four hours later, the chief family doctor called.

“Don Ferretti, the diagnosis report is compromised. The patient’s imaging and identity information may have

been switched.”

“She likely doesn’t have terminal brain cancer. A treatable neurological inflammation. Someone deliberately

made her believe she was dying.”

Caspian shattered his phone.

Not anger. Something colder than anger.

He grabbed his coat. Walked out of the estate.

This time, he wouldn’t let her run.