~~Marek POV~~
"Shit. Get the doctor here. Right now," I bark at one of the soldiers as we arrive at the De Luna estates.
"Yes, on it, sir."
How can this happen? How did we let our guard down just because we were at the club? Who the fuck is that bitch? Because of my stupid mistake the Boss is gravely injured.
"Sir Marek, the doctor is here."
"You can leave now. Also, stay on guard, don't allow anyone in."
"Yes sir."
"Marek, what happened?" Doc Zen, De Luna's private doctor and close friend to the boss, asks, as he rushes into the room, moving towards the Boss's side. "Fuck! What's this? Why is Sinveer this badly hurt? Why don't you take him to the hospital, instead of calling me over?"
"This is an assassination attempt."
"Assassination?" He shouts, his two fingers at the side of the Boss's neck checking his pulses, as he frantically reaches for his box.
"Doc, how bad is his condition? Hope he's not going to die?"
"He could die."
Oh, I know the situation is dire. But I've been hoping it won't cause him his life. What wishful thinking.
"He has lost too much blood and his system is starting to shut down. He needs blood transfusion and surgery. The stab wounds at both sides and the cut across his chest are severe, almost too damaging. We have to take him to the hospital quickly, not keep him here."
"No."
"No? What bullshit is that? He could die here. And I believe you don't want that?"
"You think I don't know that? Even though i am aware of his grave state, we still can't take him to the hospital. We can't."
"And why is that? What rubbish am I even listening to?"
I know he wants to understand the reason why I'm being like this, and he has to know.
"Doc, this must be kept undercover. If not, the other families will start raising their heads, and that outcome will be really bad with the Boss in this state."
"That is not more than his life. Right now, his life is the priority."
"I'm aware. But if we handle this the wrong way all of De Luna's remaining establishment, alliance, insurance everything will be burned to the ground by those hungry old pigs. Even the Boss will die, and it will be quick."
Sigh. "That's reasonable, but not convincing. What are you suggesting we do? Because we need blood, a lot of it. And surely, we can't test his blood here."
"The Boss is O negative, so you can take my blood. This must remain a secret, treat him here, in De Luna's estate. It should be strictly between us."
"What are you saying? What about those who have seen him? How are you going to keep them quiet?"
"They have already been taken care of. The only people aware of this are you, Enzo, the guard who just left, some other trusted individuals and me. The other thinks he's in the Russian region for cooperation with new allies, and it will take some time for him to come back."
"Great. I see you are well prepared. Okay then, roll him to the theater room, since that is the only room with strong lights. I will need every hand I can find."
"No problem, 'm here to help."
"Start moving then."
We lead the Boss into that theater room—our torture ground. As we enter the room it is cold as it has always been and smells of metals. A large table sits in the middle of the room, under seven different surgical lights. I move to the table in one stride, pushing aside the torture equipments. I spread the clothes and plastic the doctor provides, adjust the light as he directs, and lay the boss on the table as he instructs. While the doctor lays out his dissecting instruments, gloves on, mask on, and an overall.
"Marek, stand over there. You'll be giving me these knives accordingly, be informed, that the risk of infection is immense, but we have no choice. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now put these on. Go clean your hands and stand at the position I showed you earlier. Let's begin."
For what seems like hours, the doctor opens, cleans, and stitches as I hand him everything.
Please, Boss, survive this. You have to survive this to carry out the legacy you planned.
"It's done. Take him to a warmer room. This place is too cold. I'll be with you after I've cleared these things."
"Okay."
I move him quietly, deeper into the estate—into a room behind two security-coded doors that even most lieutenants don't know exist. A room reserved for when De Luna secrets bleed too loud.
Immediately after arriving in the room. The doctor arranges IVs, machines, and heat pads while I stand guard like sentinels. For hours, the only sounds are beeping monitors and shallow, sluggish breaths.
"When will he wake?"
"He could wake up, probably after the anesthesia wears off or not even today. But for clarity, the surgery is a success."
"Is there anything else to do while he's unconscious?"
"There's nothing for you to do. I will be checking on him myself."
For two days the boss still hasn't woken up. Zen goes in and out of this room, checking on his condition. While Enzo and I haven't slept, doing everything to find that bitch who did this to our Don.
"Fucking shit!" Enzo curses as another lead turns cold. "Another fake identity? Why does this whore keep using a different accent? He slammed his fist on the desk. "The only thing that has turned out right, is her signature kill. It's almost the same."
I stare at the wall covered in pinned photos, reports, weapon types. "And the same blade," I mutter, tracing my hand through my hair. "Sometimes a single stab, upward angle, same killing pattern, same precision."
"So why can't we locate her?" Enzo stands, pacing the room, his eyes bloodshot, hair a mess, his shirt? I don't even know what to say about that. "Serena has tried matching her face, but nothing comes up. He continues, "How can she leave bodies behind and still not exist?"
"Enzo, choose your words with care. The boss is not dead."
"Are you sure? Then he should be awake now."
During our investigation, all track data trails to a dead end. Leading only to a whore with a fake passport from France, the U.S…Russia and some others. Her hair changes, it's either blonde, sometimes red, black, but never the same twice. Different unfamiliar faces but similar—which are all fake. Useless. She is using a disguise.
"She keeps disappearing like smoke," Enzo growls, slamming his fist on the wall. "Every time."
"Enzo, you have to calm down."
"Calm down! Did you just say calm down? The Boss has been lying there motionless for days now, we are not even sure if he's going to wake up any time soon or not. And you are telling me to calm down?"
"You being this agitated won't change anything. As much as you are mad. I'm angry too, I want to find that woman and make her bleed, to see if her blood is also as blue as her eyes."
"I hope your word is as truthful as you say it, because you are too calm about this." He says storming off, slamming the door that the walls nearly crack.
Another three days have passed.
The boss doesn't stir. His body fights, but his mind hasn't returned. The wound on his sides stitched clean—but the silence is louder than the heartbeat monitor.
By the end of day three, all we have is one truth: She's no freelancer. She is a trained and well known assassin. Who's been hunting down different prominent figures. Called Butterfly—she is more dangerous than we expected.
But none of this matters now, not until the Boss wakes.
I enter the recovery room, checking the monitors.
The Boss still hasn't moved, an exhale escapes my lips and I mutter to myself. "You better wake up, Boss. We're standing on a fucking fault line."
I turn to leave, but a sound halts me. A rasp…barely audible. I glance back. His fingers twitch. Then his eyelids flutter, slow and steady, before cracking open.
I step closer, my heart lodging in my throat.
"Boss?" I whisper, stepping closer. His gaze, shifting to me.
Then a whisper, hoarse and dry, scrapes from his throat.
"Find her."