Flash Marriage With The Mafia Lord

MELANIE

"Oh, my God! Is he dead?"

My voice echoed off the brick walls of the narrow alley, trembling as much as my hands. The man lay crumpled on the cold concrete, a dark pool spreading beneath him. My heart raced as I crouched closer, desperately hoping for any sign of life.

His shirt, once white, was now streaked with red, soaked through to his skin. I held my breath, staring at his chest, waiting for movement. There-a shallow rise and fall. Relief rushed through me, though it did little to quell my panic.

"Sir?" I called out, my voice barely a whisper. He didn't respond.

I had to do something, but what? Call an ambulance? The police? My finger hovered over my phone, trembling, but then his eyes flickered open, and a weak, bloodstained hand reached for mine.

"No..." he croaked, his voice almost lost in the cold night air. "No... hospital..."

"You've been shot!" I said, my voice shaking. "You need help. I can't just leave you here."

He groaned, his head lolling to the side. "They'll... kill me..."

And then he lost consciousness again. I cursed softly under my breath, my mind racing. Whoever had shot him could still be out there. If I took him to the hospital, whoever wanted him dead might finish the job. But if I left him here, he wouldn't last long.

"I'm going to regret this, I know I will," I muttered.

There was no way I could carry him on my own. He was much bigger than me, his body heavy and muscular even as he lay there limp. I bit my lip and dialed the number of the one person I knew would help me, no questions asked.

["Mel!"] Spencer's voice came from the other end of the line.

"I need you to come pick me up... by car. It's really urgent!"

["What's wrong? Are you having one of those days?"]

"Spencer! Please, just come! I'm at... Melrose and 152nd St. Please, just come. I'll explain it later!"

Spencer, as always, complied with my request, and not long after, we were putting the strange, semi-conscious man into my best friend's car.

"You better explain this to me very well, Melanie Walton. There's a man shot in the backseat of my car!"

"Sorry, Spencer! He... he said he couldn't go to the hospital, he was in danger..."

Spencer shook his head and sighed, looking at me through the rearview mirror. "Your soft heart is going to get you in trouble. And I'm going to get in trouble too, because I can't say no to you!"

I smiled and winked, which made Spencer snort. He couldn't resist my cuteness, even when we were doing something this crazy.

Once at my apartment, Spencer helped me put the stranger to bed and clean the wound. He was a nurse, for which I was immensely grateful.

"You owe me one, cutie. Wow, look at those ripped abs! And those tattoos add the finishing touch..."

"Spencer!" I scolded him. Yes, the stranger had an enviable body, but please, that wasn't the moment!

Spencer shrugged. "I'm not blind, thank God. Now, I have to go to my shift at the hospital. If you need anything, call me and I'll see if I can help you, okay?" He kissed my forehead. "As soon as he wakes up, Mel, talk to him and send him away. If someone is after him, they'll come after you too."

Spencer left me there, alone with the stranger.

I decided to make something to eat, hoping he'd wake up soon and I could get some answers. When I returned to the room, the 'patient' was stirring, his eyes fluttering open. He put his hand on his waist, feeling for something, but his eyes narrowed when he found nothing there. His gaze moved to me, sharp and suspicious, as if he could see right through me.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, after all, things like 'wow, you're awake' or 'are you okay?' didn't seem appropriate.

"Who are you?" His question was full of suspicion and... accusation?

I raised an eyebrow. How dare he?

"I should be the one asking you that," I snapped. "After all, you're in my house. A stranger I found shot in an alley, in the middle of the night, and who refused to go to the hospital," I placed the bowl of soup and juice on the bedside table. "I'm Melanie Walton. Who are you, sir?"

"Where's my gun?" he asked as if he was asking where his phone was. I swallowed hard.

"You didn't have a gun when I found you," I replied, my voice shaky. So, he wasn't just a victim of an assassination attempt-he was dangerous.

"Cazzo!" he muttered under his breath. Okay, I wasn't fluent, but I had studied a little Italian. Italian, weapons...

"Are you from the mafia?" I asked. Why beat around the bush?

His eyes narrowed further. "If you don't know who I am, you better keep it that way. I need a phone," he said, his breath labored. It was obvious he was in pain.

"Okay. But first, eat something. I made potato soup with chicken. I blended it in the blender. It's pretty easy to digest," I said, following Spencer's instructions. The man looked at me suspiciously and I rolled my eyes. "Sir, if I was going to poison you, it would have been easier to kill you when you were unconscious, don't you think?"

I clicked my tongue and grabbed the spoon, tilting my head back and pouring some of the soup into my mouth, not touching the utensil. He was hurt, and I didn't know if it was safe to transfer the bacteria from my mouth to his. I glared at him, daring him to say that the food was poisoned.

He moved his mouth and motioned for me to bring the plate closer to him. I filled a spoon, sat on the edge of the bed, and brought the soup to his mouth. The man stared at me in a disturbing way, because at the same time that he was a little scary, he was very handsome, and I had to admit that I was enchanted.

He ate in silence, not answering any of my questions.

"You've been shot. Are you sure you don't want to go to a hospital? My friend took the bullet out, but I still think it's best..."

"Who's your friend?" His eyes darted to the door and then back to me. I touched the man's lips with the spoon, and he opened his mouth and sipped the contents.

"My friend is my friend. And he's not a dangerous person!" I shook my head. "You should be more grateful!"

He said nothing and looked at his soup, indicating that I should serve him more. He really was insufferable! But he was hurt, and I would be a good Samaritan and swallow the harsher words stuck in my throat.

"I need a phone," he repeated, and I wiped his mouth. The man looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "What's your name?"

"Mel," I replied. "And yours?"

"How many hours have I been here? I need a phone," he said, ignoring my question.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. "First, answer what I'm asking you!"

His gaze darkened, and he leaned forward slightly, wincing from the pain. "If you think I won't do anything to you because I'm hurt, you're wrong."