A Bloody Homecoming

POV Cora.

Rocco checked the rearview mirror, his eyes scanning the dark, desolate highway trailing behind our vehicle. "Miss Navarro, won't you catch a cold if you leave the window open?"

I shook my head and leaned closer to the crisp night wind flowing into the speeding car. "I will be fine, Rocco. Just let me breathe."

I wanted to fill my lungs with the raw, untainted air of freedom before I was thrust back into the gilded cage of my father’s sprawling estate. I was born into the suffocating darkness of the Navarro mafia clan, a world defined by relentless, senseless violence and endless power struggles. If I could have chosen my bloodline, I would have picked a mundane, quiet existence over this waking nightmare. I loved my family with everything in me, but I deeply despised the criminal empire my father commanded. The Navarro name carried a heavy weight of terror across the country. For my entire childhood, I breathed the metallic scent of bloodshed and lived under the constant threat of retaliation. That was exactly why I fled. I spent seven arduous years in Europe studying medicine, burying myself in textbooks and clinical rotations far away from the turf wars. I finally returned to American soil today as a fully qualified doctor, resolute in my conviction to save lives rather than extinguish them. My deep-seated disdain for the underworld left me with a singular, unwavering goal: to sever any remaining ties with the mafia.

Rocco reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a sleek black pistol, and extended it toward me. "Take it. Just in case we run into danger on this stretch of road."

I stared at the weapon resting in his palm. It felt like a direct betrayal of the medical oath I had sworn at my graduation ceremony. Reluctantly, I snatched the gun and hooked it into the waistband of my pants. The cold metal pressed against my skin, a grim precaution and a stark reminder that no matter how many lives I saved, I was still Arturo Navarro's daughter. My fingers drifted up to the heavy silver necklace resting against my collarbone. It bore the unmistakable Navarro family crest. Being away for so long made me forget the sheer danger attached to my identity. My father did his best to hide my face from anyone outside our trusted inner circle, but one could never be too careful. I hated that I had to carry weapons just to survive a car ride home from the airport.

The highway was barren, devoid of streetlights or passing cars. Suddenly, the tires screeched violently against the asphalt. Rocco slammed on the brakes with brutal force. The vehicle lurched, throwing me hard against the seatbelt as a sickening thud echoed through the cabin.

I grabbed my gun instantly, the heavy metal settling into my palm. Adrenaline spiked through my veins, wiping away the deep exhaustion of my twelve-hour flight. My finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger. We were stranded on a desolate stretch of road in the dead of night. I did not want to take any chances with a potential ambush.

Rocco unbuckled his seatbelt in a flash and pushed his door open, sweeping the darkness with his weapon. "Someone is injured. There is a man on the hood."

I shoved my door open and stepped onto the freezing pavement, my boots crunching against the loose gravel. The headlights illuminated a chaotic scene. A man lay sprawled across the hood of our car, groaning as he drew in shallow, labored breaths.

I stepped into the glare of the high beams, keeping my stance guarded. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Before he could answer, his body went limp. He slid off the slick metal of the hood and crumpled onto the unforgiving asphalt, rolling onto his back. The stark white fabric of his dress shirt was saturated with crimson, revealing a severe gunshot wound to his abdomen. The dark stain spread rapidly. Considering the catastrophic amount of blood pooling beneath him, my clinical training told me he would not make it to a hospital.

I turned back to the car. "Rocco, get my first aid kit from the trunk!"

Rocco stood frozen, his eyes frantically scanning the dark tree line for potential threats. "Your father is waiting for you to arrive, Miss Navarro. This could be a trap."

I rushed toward the dying man. "I will handle my father. I need to save this man."

With a heavy sigh of disapproval, Rocco pivoted and popped the trunk. I dropped to my knees on the gritty road and tore a clean piece of cloth from the stranger's ruined shirt. I pressed the fabric hard against the profusely bleeding wound, applying intense downward force to stem the hemorrhage.

The man winced, letting out a sharp hiss. His muscles coiled tight beneath my hands. He opened his eyes, staring at me with a wary, predatory intensity. Even in his critically weakened state, his knuckles were white as he maintained a vice-like grip on his heavy firearm. Who was he? A cartel enforcer? A hitman? A logical part of my brain warned me that it would be a smart move to leave him by the roadside and drive away. However, my medical oath overrode my fear. It did not matter if he was a hardened criminal; I was obligated to help.

Rocco dropped the trauma bag beside me. The piece of cloth was soiled in seconds, but the bleeding lessened slightly. I unclasped the bag, slid a pair of sterile gloves on, and grabbed a bottle of saline solution.

I looked down at his hardened face. "This will hurt. Although, I am sure you can withstand it. Be careful with that gun. I do not want a bullet in my head tonight."

He glanced at the weapon in his hand, but he made absolutely no attempt to lower it. I poured the cold saline directly into the mangled tissue, washing away the blood to disinfect the area. My mind raced with conflicting thoughts. He seemed so familiar. Was he one of my father's ruthless acquaintances?

His piercing gaze focused squarely on my face. "Are you a doctor?"

I grabbed a stack of hemostatic gauze from my kit and prepared to pack the wound. "Fortunately for you, I am. You have a ruptured artery. You need to save your strength instead of asking unnecessary questions."

He let out a dark, derogatory rasp. "I cannot let a quack perform first aid on me."

I scoffed, pressing the specialized gauze deep into the wound cavity. "Like you have a choice."

Trying not to let my rising irritation show, I motioned for Rocco to step closer. "Hold his shoulders up so I can wrap his torso."

Rocco knelt and supported the man's broad back. I worked efficiently to stabilize him, wrapping tight bandages around his waist to secure the pressure dressing. I was fighting severe jet lag and genuine anger. I was in no mood to coddle an ungrateful gangster who should be thanking me for saving his life.

Suddenly, his piercing gaze dropped to my exposed chest. He squinted through the haze of pain, taking a proper look at my necklace. I froze in sheer panic. The heavy pendant bearing my family's unmistakable crest had slipped out from beneath my dress during the frantic movements. I hastily concealed it, terrified of exposing my Navarro identity to a potentially lethal stranger.

I zipped up my medical kit and stood up, wiping a smear of blood from my wrist. "This is all I can do outside a hospital. I will call an ambulance so you can get proper surgery."

His voice cracked like a whip, sharply rejecting the notion. "No. You do not need to. I can take care of myself."

What else did I expect? He was clutching a gun while bleeding out on the highway. He was probably a wanted criminal who would rather die in the dirt than visit a public hospital.

Rocco grabbed my arm, his panicked voice cutting through the air. "We need to leave now, Clara."

The fragile peace shattered instantly. Clara? Why was he calling me Clara? Rocco only used fake names when a catastrophic threat was imminent. It was a blaring alarm that this bleeding man was the exact breed of danger I needed to flee. Rocco had recognized the peril.

I scrambled backward on the pavement and bolted toward the open car door. Just two more steps. If I could just get inside and lock the door—

The chilling, mechanical click of a gun being cocked right behind my head froze the blood in my veins. A shadow loomed over me, blocking out the moonlight. The cold steel of a barrel pressed firmly against the base of my skull.

A lethal voice whispered against my ear. "Move a muscle, and you die."

This was exactly the drama I was trying to avoid. How did I manage to get entangled with the mafia the second I arrived in the country? I raised my hands above my head in a slow gesture of surrender. The assailant patted me down, yanked my pistol from my waistband, and threw it clattering onto the asphalt.

The man behind me barked a harsh demand. "Who are you?"

I kept my voice steady, though my heart hammered against my ribs. "I am not the one you are looking for. I just happen to be here."

Rocco swung into full defense mode. He planted his feet in a combat stance, his weapon aimed dead at the man holding me hostage. "Let her go."

Before Rocco could pull the trigger, the rustle of dry brush surrounded us. From the pitch-black shadows of the roadside, multiple armed enforcers materialized. Laser sights painted Rocco’s chest, and assault rifles locked us into a lethal cage. We were completely outnumbered. I gave up all thoughts of self-defense. If I tried to fight back now, Rocco would be gunned down in a heartbeat.

A commanding, authoritative voice sliced through the chaos. "Lower your weapon, Damián. I do not want a single scratch on that woman."

At that order, the man holding me hostage lowered his gun, though the surrounding enforcers redirected their aim squarely onto Rocco. I turned around slowly, my jaw dropping in utter disbelief.

Standing beside the car was my grumpy, bleeding patient. He was standing tall, his posture rigidly straight despite the massive hole in his gut. His expression was an unreadable, stony mask of supreme authority. He was not a foot soldier. He was their boss.

I forced my shoulders back, maintaining an iron facade of courage. "Tell your men to let us go. Is this your twisted sense of gratitude after I just saved your life?"

He tilted his head slightly to the side, studying my defiant stance. A faint flicker of dark amusement crossed his stoic features. "Aren't you scared?"

I shot back, lifting my chin to meet his cold stare. "Of who? You? Do you think you are a god?"

Completely ignoring my fiery defiance, he turned his chilling gaze to his subordinate and delivered the final verdict.

"We are taking her with us."