Quit the Mafia Crown, Took the Healer Scalpel Chapter 05

Quit the Mafia Crown, Took the Healer Scalpel Chapter 05

The wind and rain hammered the old apartment, shaking the whole building.

Burning with fever, Lina stumbled for the door as a crash brought half the old building down.

She fled with her last strength into a small clinic, already packed with sheltering people.

Someone whispered that the old doctor had been killed by debris in the hurricane, his body still in the back room, untouched.

Lina swallowed the ache, stepped inside, and, out of a medical student’s conviction, gently closed the old doctor’s eyes.

She found anti-inflammatories and fever medicine, swallowed two pills dry, then used gauze and alcohol to dress her wounds.

After that, she handed out medicine to the elderly and children nearby, treating scrapes and fevers.

A young man had his arm cut by broken glass.

Lina bent down to disinfect and bandage it, speaking softly. “Don’t get it wet. Change the dressing on time.”

The young man’s ears went red, shyness flickering in his eyes.

Just then, a dark figure burst through the door with an umbrella.

Dante was soaked, hair in disarray, the panic not yet gone from his eyes.

But when he saw Lina safe and smiling at another man, worry turned to jealousy in an instant.

He stepped forward, looking down at her with a sharp, arrogant tone.

“I thought you’d be worse off. I worried for nothing. You adapt fast, even flirting in a place like this.”

Lina’s hands stilled on the cotton swabs. When she looked up, there was only coldness in her eyes.

Last night’s contemptuous words still rang in her ears; she couldn’t be bothered to pretend.

“Thanks to you, I’m fine,” she said, each word cutting. “Shouldn’t the Don be making an heir with his new Donna?”

Dante gave her a half smile. “Jealous?”

He grabbed her wrist.

“I’m here to collect what a mistress owes.”

Lina tried to pull free, but his grip brooked no refusal.

People stared. She refused to be the East Coast’s joke in a refugee shelter, so she got into his car without a word.

The car stopped in front of a club.

Dante tossed her a red slip dress. “Change.”

“No.” Lina refused.

“You’re not the Donna anymore, just a mistress,” Dante said coldly. “I say, you do.”

Lina clutched the dress, and finally went into the dressing room.

When she came out, Dante led her to a private room on the top floor.

Inside sat four or five men, all well-known playboys of New York high society.

One of them looked up, startled. “Don Dante? Isn’t this Mrs. Conti?”

Dante kept his hand on Lina’s waist, his tone flippant. “You’ve got the wrong woman. She’s my new mistress, Iris.”

The dim light hid her face, and the men took her for Iris, their manner turning crude and bold.

“So you’re the little beauty who looks like Mrs. Conti. You were hidden away all this time. Why show her now?”

“House rules say if you bring one, you share one.”

Drink after drink was pushed at Lina while Dante watched, cold-eyed, doing nothing to stop it.

So Lina drank, glass after glass.

Feverish, alcohol burning her throat and stomach, she gritted her teeth and held on.

When she couldn’t take any more, she got up and said quietly, “Bathroom.”

She fixed her makeup, then started back and saw Dante taking a call outside the private room.

When he saw her, he said quickly, “Tomorrow’s arrangements cannot go wrong,” and hung up.

His eyes moved over her pale face; his expression was complicated, as if he wanted to speak and stopped.

Lina looked down and asked idly, “What’s tomorrow?”

Dante couldn’t believe it. “You forgot? Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary.”