Chapter 6 - The Blood On His Hands
The gunfire on the security monitors ceased twenty minutes later.
The quiet that followed was absolute, heavy, and suffocating. On the black-and-white screens, dark figures moved across the gravel driveway, clearing away debris and dragging unconscious or dead men into the shadows. The floodlights cast long, eerie shadows across the stone facade of the estate.
The heavy steel door of the bunker unlatched with a loud pneumatic hiss.
Marco stepped inside first, his gun holstered, though his dark coat was torn at the shoulder and covered in dust. He stepped aside, making way for Mateo.
Mateo walked into the bunker slowly.
His charcoal sweater was ruined—singed near the collar, covered in grey concrete dust and dark splatters of blood across his left sleeve. His jaw was tight, his face smeared with soot, but his grey eyes were entirely clear, sweeping over the room until they landed on Tessa.
Tessa immediately stood up, the silver handgun slipping from her lap onto the leather sofa cushions.
Salvatore looked up at his son, nodding once. “Dominic?”
“Dead,” Mateo said, his voice cold and raspy from the smoke. “His crew is finished. The rest of the Chicago families have already been notified. Nobody will touch this house again.”
Salvatore let out a long, satisfied sigh, closing his eyes. “Good. Clean the driveway before the police start asking questions.”
“It’s already being handled,” Mateo replied. He walked across the concrete floor, stopping directly in front of Tessa.
He looked down at her small, trembling frame. He saw the horror in her wide brown eyes as she looked at the blood splattered across his sleeve.
Mateo lifted his hands, keeping them several inches away from her, as if afraid he might stain her pure, clean world with his touch.
“It’s over,” Mateo said softly, his voice carrying a rare, exhausted gentleness. “You’re safe.”
Tessa didn't pull away. Instead, her training as a nurse took over her panicked mind. She stepped forward, reaching out to touch his arm, examining the dark crimson stain on his sweater.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. “Is this your blood?”
“No,” Mateo said quietly. “It’s not mine.”
Tessa let out a long breath she didn't realize she was holding. She looked up into his face, seeing the deep exhaustion hidden behind his sharp grey eyes. Without thinking, she lifted her right hand and gently wiped a smudge of black soot off his cheekbone.
Mateo froze at her touch. His eyes widened slightly, leaning his face into her warm palm for a fraction of a second before catching himself.
“We need to get you home,” Mateo said, gently taking her wrist and pulling her hand away from his face. “Before the city avenues are blocked off.”
“Yes,” Tessa whispered, suddenly feeling the full, crushing weight of the night’s events crashing down on her shoulders. Her knees felt weak, her head throbbing with a violent headache.
The ride back to downtown Chicago was made in complete silence.
This time, Mateo sat beside her in the back seat of the armored Mercedes. He had removed his ruined sweater, wearing a clean black shirt provided by his staff, but the faint scent of gunpowder and iron still clung to his skin.
Tessa leaned her head back against the leather headrest, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. The rain had begun to fall again, streaking down the glass in long, glittering lines.
When the car finally pulled up to her crumbling brick building on 14th Street, the street was quiet and deserted. The dark gray sedan that had been watching her earlier was gone, replaced by two of Mateo’s permanent security cars parked discreetly at either end of the block.
Marco unlocked the doors.
Tessa turned to Mateo. “Thank you... for keeping me safe tonight.”
Mateo looked at her, his face half-hidden in the dark shadows of the car interior. “You shouldn't thank me, Tessa. I brought you into that nightmare. If I hadn't invited you to dinner, you would have spent tonight in your apartment, reading your textbooks in peace.”
“I don't think my life was as simple as I thought it was,” Tessa admitted softly, looking down at her hands. “You opened a door today, Mateo. You showed me where I came from.”
“And now that you know... what are you going to do?” Mateo asked, leaning closer, his tone laced with a desperate, hidden hunger. “Are you going to run away? Change your name again? Hide in another hospital?”
Tessa looked up, meeting his intense grey gaze.
“I have an exam at eight o'clock tomorrow morning,” she said quietly. “I’m going to go upstairs, study for two hours, and take my exam.”
Mateo stared at her for a moment, then let out a low, breathless laugh that echoed softly in the quiet car. “You truly are incredible, Tessa. Men were dying two hours ago, and you’re worried about an exam.”
“Medicine doesn't care about mafia wars, Mr. Vitiello,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “And patients don't care if their nurse knows Don Salvatore.”
She pushed the door open, but before she could step out into the rain, Mateo grabbed her hand once more.
“I’m coming to Bellori on Tuesday,” Mateo said, his voice flat, demanding, yet carrying an underlying plea that made her heart race. “Table Four. Be there.”
Tessa looked down at his fingers wrapped tightly around hers. She knew she should say no. She knew she should demand that David Mercer transfer her to a different section, or resign from the restaurant entirely and find a job at a quiet suburban clinic.
Instead, she squeezed his hand back gently.
May you like
“I’ll be there,” Tessa whispered.
She stepped out into the cold rain, rushing up the wet stone steps of her building without looking back.
