The Don's Doctor

Be Uncomfortable

Chiara's POV

Fresh coldness chills my bones, as the moon is only just beginning to fade. I have decided to wear a decorative scarf to cover my neck, but I am also thankful for the little warmth it offers. Renzo is already in his car, but he has prepared the car we would be using by putting the heating on. Who knew he could be so thoughtful?

“Darling, you’re due your next dose of pain relief in an hour, make sure you take them.” My father instructs, still wearing his nightwear and looking more tired than I have ever seen him, which is quite a statement considering he did night calls as part of his job.

I can only nod. I feel judgmental towards myself about how I communicate with him, but he feels like a stranger to me, and only time will allow me to see and accept him for who he really is: an associate of the mafia. Vincent goes into his own pocket and pulls out the medication that he has already prepared. I notice that he had cut two tablets off the strip for me. I see he has thought about my needs and, despite all my reasoning, my emotions find his attention endearing, so I don’t tell him I already have them in my own coat pocket too. I don’t need to be cared for by anyone, but he doesn’t need to know that.

The drive to my apartment is silent, and it is hard not to keep drifting into an embarrassing sleep that is only disturbed by my soft snores. When the peaceful hum of the engine stops, I’m instantly alert and a little nervous-it is the first time I have been outside since meeting Barone at the hospital.

“This is not the time to become a recluse and develop Stockholm syndrome. Get out of the car!” I order myself, determined to let logic drive me forward.

It seems strange as I put my key in the lock,, it is the same residence, but for some reason I don’t feel like the same person that entered it as cheerfully as I did last week. Perplexing me further, Vincent gently stills me and enters the living room first, switching a light on before allowing me into my own home.

“Go and pack a bag, take only what is essential and be quick. We can’t wait here for long.” Vincent orders, his face void of expression.

Following his instructions, I cram clothes into my bag, not bothering to fold them. Hidden in my underwear drawer is my mechanical boyfriend. I try to cover it up in case Vincent walks in and sees it. The more realistic side of me, reminds me that I could be at Casa Benedetti for longer than I would like, my hand hovers over it, weighing up the pros and cons of bringing it along. Being sexually emancipated is nothing to be embarrassed about, and I wish this was the thought that compelled me to pack it into a carry-on, but to my intrigue it was the idea of the mirror on the ceiling of the bed that had me slipping it between my vest and scrubs.

Returning to the living room, I heave the bag with me, and suppress my laughter when I see Vincent roll his eyes. On the table-top is an unfinished cross-stitch, and eagerly I slip it into the side of my laptop case and pass it over to Vincent.

“What is the sewing for?”

“It’s good for practising different stitch types, and exercising the mobility and dexterity in my hands.” I answer.

A steady vibration interrupts his witty reply, and he pulls his phone from his pocket. I notice that he never speaks, he only ever listens. Abruptly, he pulls me back into the bedroom, pushes me against the wall behind the bedroom door and drops my bags next to me. Leaning close to my ear, our bodies are sealed together, and he whispers to me softly.

“Don’t panic. Barone’s men have been watching the flat. They are on their way up.”

Immediately, I start to pant, heavily, frightened that this will be my last moments. Reacting to my fear, Vincent places his hand over my mouth, and his lips are brushing against my ear lobe.

“I will never let anyone hurt you. As long as I am here you are safe.” He kisses my forehead, and the gesture is so comforting that I start to relax. “A million men could walk through that door and as long as I am with you, they will never come close to you!” He vows, with such import that I can’t help but believe every word.

I hear a click, and notice a silver glint in his hand. A small switch knife in his grasp smiles at me, and he goes to pull away and meet the enemy at the door. Instead, I hold onto his lapels even tighter.

“Don’t go.” I mouth to him, and reading the terror on my face, he presses my head into the crook of his neck and holds me still.

Scratching at the door, alerts me to the imminent danger. I have the sudden urge to relieve my bladder, and try to cross my legs to help with my desperation. A thud tells me that killers have gained access to my home, and when I look at Vincent’s face I am convinced that there has been one here the entire time, shielding my body with his own. Looking at the focus in his eyes, he reminds me of a type of intimidating mastiff. I had read once that these were hunting dogs for Roman soldiers, and the irony isn’t lost on me. Crashes can be heard on the other side of the wall, making me jump in fear each time something breaks that sounds closer to the bedroom. It is at this point that I hear the predictable floor board, just outside the room we are trapped in, squeak. Vincent turns his back to me. A single man entered the room. Confident at having found his target, he looks behind the door with a smug expression. An arch of blood splatters across the white gloss on the skirting board, and when I dare to look down, I notice that he hasn’t had time to adjust his face to one of shock. He dies, with a countenance of a man who thought he had won.

When Vincent turns around to look at me, his eyes are flitting around the sockets as if he can’t see properly. There is a wildness about him that is animalistic and alluring in equal measure. I reach my hand out to him, he growls in protest, and I quickly retreat and kneel on the ground, like a mirror he copies me. Confused, he looks as if he is trying to make his mind recognise me, and for a moment he does. Until the second man enters the room with a gun held high, perfect if two people had been standing at that point. Vincent plunges his switch knife into the man’s leg, and wrestles the gun from his hand. The wound is fatal. Struck in the femoral artery, there is a chance that he could be helped if the weapon isn’t removed, but it has been. Vincent is repeatedly jabbing it into the man’s stomach, long after he is dead. Nothing can stop him.

Renzo rushes into the room and tries to pull him off, but he is no match for his crazed leader, and he is soon knocked to the floor. Vincent is lost to us for the moment. Taking a chance, I cover his back with the front of my body, and hold on to his biceps.

“You can stop now, the danger is over.” I repeatedly whisper, and with relief I feel his body still.

It feels like I have put a draining tube in him as the tension reduces. Keeping hold of his arms, I stand up, relieved to see him mimic me. Reason displaces his earlier manic features.

“Are you OK?” He asks me, and I nod.

Unable to restrain himself, he pulls me against his chest, patting my back and arms, looking for any injuries. Renzo picks up my heavy bags with ease and raises his eyebrow at the cross stitch that is sticking out.

“It’s for her to practise different stitches.” Vincent defends me. “Seems she’ll be able to try some on you when we get home. Did one of them catch you off guard?” He asks his friend.

“Yes, I just got caught, I wasn’t paying attention,” Renzo replies, cheerfully, as if they were sharing a great big joke.

I know I shouldn’t say anything. Clearly, lying to Vincent about what he is like during these moments of extreme aggression is part of Renzo’s routine and total loyalty. I can’t hold my tongue.

“You hurt Renzo when he was trying to pull you off the dead man you kept on stabbing!” Vincent looks shocked at my revelation, but Renzo appears more annoyed.

To my surprise, they don’t speak, but Vincent embraces him and pats his back. It was the most tactile I had ever seen him be with anyone except for me.

“What will happen to the bodies? Will the police come now? Will we have to give some statements?” I panic, trying to work out the legal approach to the situation.

“The cleaners will fix the room, you won’t know it’s ever happened.” Renzo replies, and I wish that was true, but I know I will never forget. When I look at Vincent, he seems to share my outlook.

The front door clunks shut, and Renzo is running down the steps, scouting for any other of Barone’s men. The hollow sound of the wood filling the hole seems very reminiscent. I can’t explain the certainty that overcomes me, but I know I will never return to my apartment. A squeak alerts us to the presence of our neighbour. Mrs Hobbs stands in her doorway carrying my black and white cat, Bobbles, in her arms.

“Have you come to collect him, dear? I must say I will miss him, he’s been lovely company.” She smiles, while holding him out to me.

It isn’t that I don’t love my pet. I will be really sad to say goodbye to him, but he has become accustomed to the luxurious, lazy life, and lately my life has been anything but peaceful.

“Actually, Mrs Hobbs, I’m moving out of the apartment, I’ve been offered a promotion in another city. Would you like to keep him? He clearly loves you too.” I suggest.

Her smile tells me the answer, before she pulls Bobbles back into her hug.

“Good luck with your new horizons, my dear.”

By the time we are back in the car, the tears are streaming down my face. I want to explain to Vincent that it isn’t just because of my cat, but rather an accumulation of everything. By the time we are approaching his house, the tears are stopping, but Vincent looks terrified that I will start again at any moment.

“Let him be uncomfortable.” I think to myself. “It’s the least he deserves!”