The Mafia's Rose

The Art of Persuasion

Illyana's POV

Friday night in the ER. Organised chaos. A symphony of ringing phones, hurried footsteps, and the low murmur of worried voices. It was the kind of night that left you simultaneously exhausted and strangely exhilarated, riding a wave of adrenaline and black coffee.

I was midway through triaging a woman who'd managed to sprain her ankle while dancing on a table (a story for another time, she'd insisted with a boozy wink) when I noticed him. Alessandro.

He sat alone in the corner of the waiting area, his back against the wall, his posture radiating the same guarded tension I remembered from our first encounter. But something was different this time. He wasn't just radiating tension, he was nursing it.

His leather jacket was resting beside him on the chair’s arm, revealing a tight black t-shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the lean muscle beneath. One arm hung at an awkward angle, cradled close to his chest, his jaw clenched tight against what I could only assume was a great deal of pain.

My heart lurched, a strange mix of concern and a ridiculous sense of relief flooding through me. It had been almost a week since he'd walked me home, a week of wondering, worrying, and telling myself I didn't care. Now, seeing him here, vulnerable and in pain, all my carefully constructed walls crumbled.

"Sofia," I said, catching my colleague's eye as she rushed past, a clipboard clutched in her hand. "Man in the corner, black t-shirt. Dislocated shoulder, I'd bet my next paycheck on it."

Sofia, ever efficient, took one look at Alessandro and then back at me, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. "Don't need a medical degree to see that," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "Go play Florence Nightingale. I'll cover for you."

I shot her a grateful smile and crossed the waiting area, my pulse quickening with every step. As I got closer, I noticed the way his gaze followed my every move, a flicker of something unreadable in his blue eyes.

" Alessandro?" I asked, stopping a few feet away, my voice a strange mix of professional concern and something altogether more personal. "What happened?"

He met my gaze, his jaw relaxing slightly as a wry smile touched his lips. "A disagreement," he said, his voice raspy, a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

"A disagreement that left you with a dislocated shoulder?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. "It happens."

"Right," I said, trying to maintain a professional distance, even as my fingers itched to reach out and examine the injury. "Well, you're out of luck. It's a full moon tonight, so we're overrun with clumsy dancers and heartbroken poets. You might have to wait a while for a doctor."

"I'm not waiting for a doctor," he said, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.

"You need an x-ray," I said, my voice firm, even as my heart did a ridiculous flip-flop in my chest. "And probably some pain medication. And then, depending on the severity, you'll need it reset."

"I know what I need," he said, his voice low and insistent. "I need you."

The words hung in the air between us, charged with an unspoken meaning that sent a jolt straight to my core. I stared at him, my mind struggling to process his words, my body reacting in ways that both excited and terrified me.

"I can't…" I started to say, but he cut me off, his hand reaching out to gently grasp my wrist.

"Please, Illyana," he said, his voice surprisingly soft, the use of my name sending a shiver down my spine. "I don't trust anyone else."

His touch was electric, sending a wave of heat through my body. I looked down at his hand, his long fingers wrapped around my wrist, the contrast between his tanned skin and my own pale hand startling.

"It's against protocol," I said, my voice barely a whisper, my resolve crumbling faster than I cared to admit.

"I'll take full responsibility," he said, his thumb gently stroking my skin, sending shivers up my arm. "Just… please."

I looked from his hand to his face, his blue eyes filled with a vulnerability I hadn't seen before. It was that vulnerability, that flicker of something raw and unguarded, that broke down my last defences.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely audible above the din of the ER. "But if anyone asks, you begged me."

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features, erasing the hard lines and revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the guarded exterior. It was a smile that made my stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with the controlled chaos of the ER.

"I can be very persuasive," he murmured, his gaze holding mine captive.

I tore my gaze away, my cheeks burning under his scrutiny. "Follow me," I said, leading him through a maze of corridors to a small, rarely used treatment room. It wasn't exactly protocol, but it was Friday night, and I had a feeling bending the rules was something Alessandro was quite familiar with.

As I gathered the necessary supplies – a sling, pain medication, and the tools I'd need to reset his shoulder – I stole glances at him. He sat on the edge of the examination table, his injured arm cradled close to his chest, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond the wall.

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "how exactly does one get into a disagreement that results in a dislocated shoulder?"

He turned his head, his blue eyes meeting mine, a flicker of amusement dancing in their depths. "Let's just say," he said, his voice low and laced with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite place, "persuasion sometimes requires a more… hands-on approach."

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "Right," I managed, my voice a little too high-pitched. "Of course."

I turned my attention back to the task at hand, my fingers working with practiced efficiency as I prepared the pain medication. I could feel his gaze on me, a tangible weight that made my skin tingle.

"You're good at this," he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

"It's my job," I replied, my voice deliberately neutral, even as my pulse quickened under his gaze.

"No," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I mean… you're good with people. Patient. Kind."

I met his gaze, surprised by his words, by the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. "You don't strike me as someone who's particularly interested in kindness," I said, unable to keep the challenge from my voice.

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "There are many sides to a man, Illyana," he said, his gaze holding mine captive. "Even one who settles disagreements with his fists."

I swallowed, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. He was right, of course. I'd seen glimpses of those other sides, the protector, the saviour, the man who had looked at me with such tenderness it had stolen my breath away.

"Ready?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, hoping to dispel the sudden intimacy that had settled between us.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the task at hand. Resetting a dislocated shoulder was never pleasant, but with Alessandro, I had a feeling it would be… different.

I instructed him to relax as much as possible, which, given the circumstances, was easier said than done. As I touched his skin, his muscles tensed under my fingers, his breath hitching.

"Relax, Alessandro," I said, my voice soft but firm, my touch surprisingly gentle. "I know it hurts, but tensing up will only make it worse."

He closed his eyes, his jaw clenched tight, but he didn't pull away. I could feel the heat of his skin beneath my fingers, the way his muscles jumped at my touch. It was a strangely intimate moment, our bodies so close, his pain a tangible thing between us.

I worked quickly, my movements precise, my focus absolute. And then, with a soft click, his shoulder popped back into place.

He gasped, a low groan escaping his lips. I quickly checked for any signs of further injury, my fingers tracing the contours of his shoulder, my touch lingering longer than necessary.

"How does it feel?" I asked, my voice a little breathless, my own body reacting to his nearness in ways that both excited and terrified me.

He opened his eyes, his gaze meeting mine, a strange mix of pain and something else, something that made my heart race, swirling within their depths.

"Better," he said, his voice raspy. "Much better."

And in that moment, as our gazes locked, the chaos of the ER faded away. It was just us, two souls connecting in the most unlikely of places, a shared experience, a silent understanding passing between us.

The moment was broken by the shrill ringing of Alessandro’s phone, a jarring reminder of the world outside our little bubble. He winced, the sound a harsh intrusion in the sudden intimacy of the room.

"I should answer that," he said, his voice reluctant, his gaze lingering on mine as if he, too, was hesitant to break the spell.

I nodded, stepping back to give him space, my skin still tingling where he'd touched me. As he answered the call, his voice low and guarded, I busied myself with cleaning up the medical supplies, my mind racing.

What was this hold he had on me? This pull that defied logic, that made me forget my carefully constructed walls, that made me crave his touch even as my instincts screamed at me to run?

He ended the call with a curt goodbye, his gaze finding mine across the room. "I should go," he said, his voice laced with regret.

"Of course," I said, my voice betraying none of the disappointment I felt.

He stood, his movements a little stiff, and reached for his leather jacket, which I'd draped over a nearby chair. As he shrugged it on, I noticed a new addition to his collection of tattoos – a single, delicate rose etched on the inside of his wrist, just below his palm.

"It's new," I said, my voice barely a whisper, unable to stop myself from reaching out to trace the outline of the rose with my fingertip.

He looked down at my hand, his expression unreadable. "It is," he said, his voice low.

"It's beautiful," I said, my gaze meeting his, my heart pounding against my ribs.

He held my gaze for a long moment, the air between us crackling with unspoken tension. Then, he reached out, his hand closing around mine, his touch sending a jolt through my body.

"Thank you, Illyana," he said, his voice husky, his thumb gently stroking my skin. "For everything."

And then, before I could gather my wits, before I could say a word, he leaned down and brushed his lips against mine.

It was a featherlight touch, gone as quickly as it came, but it left me breathless, my body trembling with a mixture of longing and fear.

He pulled back, his gaze searching mine, a question in his eyes. I stared at him, my mind a jumble of conflicting emotions, my body thrumming with a desire I couldn't deny.

He took a step closer, his hand moving from mine to cup my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin. "Until next time, Illyana," he murmured.

And then, with a final, lingering look, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, my hand pressed against my lips, my heart a chaotic mess of fear and longing.

As the door closed behind him, the spell broke, and the familiar sounds of the ER rushed back in – the ringing phones, the hurried footsteps, the low murmur of worried voices. But nothing felt familiar anymore. Because Alessandro, with his dangerous aura and his unexpected tenderness, had just irrevocably shifted the axis of my world.