I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession.

- Strict no-dying policy here.

Madeleine

𓎢𓎠𑄻𑄾𓎠𓎡

He was still out cold, but his body had started twitching, twisting under the blanket like he was trapped in some kind of nightmare.

I knelt beside the mattress, “Hey... shh, it’s okay,” I murmured, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. I reached out without thinking and brushed the sweat-drenched hair off his forehead. It was sticking to his skin. Burning hot.

Too hot.

I froze. Then scrambled for the glass of water on the nightstand, dipped the edge of my sleeve into it, and gently dabbed at his temples.

“You’re burning up,” I whispered to him, “Oh no, no no no... this is bad. This is very, very not-good.”

His lips parted.

“Stronzo figlio di puttana… ti scavo la gola a mani nude… bastardo maledetto…” he slurred.

I froze.

He kept going, breath ragged, “Ti faccio ingoiare i denti, uno per uno… ti spezzo il collo e ci ballo sopra…”

I blinked, heart aching at the pain in his voice. He sounded so desperate. So broken. I had no idea what he was saying, it wasn’t Spanish, and I barely knew any Italian beyond ciao and grazie but it had to mean something awful had happened to him.

Maybe, he was asking for help.

“Bastardi… ve lo giuro… vi scuoio vivi…”

I brushed the back of his hand with my thumb, trying to soothe him. “Shhh… whatever you’re saying, it’s okay now,” I whispered, “But you need help. Real help. And I know you said no hospitals, but... I can’t just sit here and watch you melt into the sheets. That’s not a plan. That’s a medical emergency.”

I looked down at his flushed face, fever burning through him like wildfire, and sighed, “You’re not gonna die in my apartment, okay? I draw the line at that. Strict no-dying policy here.”

Jason would’ve known what to do, but he wasn’t here. My mind raced, Carlos. St. Margaret’s Health Center. Quiet, low-profile, underfunded. Carlos, my EMT boyfriend, wouldn’t ask questions. He wouldn’t betray me. I turned back to the man, brushing his hair again.

“I’ll be right back, alright? Mister Bloody Man,” I whispered, “Just... hang in there.”

I sprinted barefoot across the cold apartment floor, grabbed my phone off the couch, and dialled in Carlos’s number with shaking hands.

He picked up on the third ring, “What did I say about calling when I’m on shift?” he snapped.

“I need an ambulance,” I gasped. “There’s this man, he’s really hurt, Carlos, he’s burning up and I tried, I swear I did everything, but he’s not getting better! Please, just come.”

There was a pause, and then static. Then his voice, “A man?”

My throat tightened. “I was going to tell you earlier but... you listen to me.”

“You’ve had some stranger in your apartment and you didn’t think that was important enough to lead with?”

“He was bleeding out on my floor, Carlos! I couldn’t just leave him!”

“Fuck, Maddie.”

“Please don’t be mad—”

He let out a harsh sigh, “Send me your address so it gets logged in the system. I’ll come. But we’re talking about this later.”

Relief flooded my chest, “Okay. Thank you.”

I hung up, heart pounding, and ran back to the bedroom.

“Help’s coming,” I whispered, crouching beside the man again. His skin was burning. I touched his wrist lightly, afraid even that would hurt him, “Just hold on a little longer.”

Ten minutes later, tires screeched outside. I bolted for the door, yanking it open just as Carlos stormed up the stairs, EMT jacket half-zipped, jaw tight.

“Maddie,” his eyes swept over me like I was something fragile, aw, he was worried for me. He pulled me into a one-armed hug, too hard, “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” I breathed, “It’s him. He’s in bad shape. I tried to clean the wound and—”

Carlos didn’t let me finish. He grabbed my face and kissed me hard. I kissed him back, clumsily, more out of reflex than anything else, I was too anxious, too tense, my lips not catching up with my brain.

Still, I smiled without meaning to because if he kissed me, he wasn’t mad mad.

“Where the hell is he?” he asked.

“Bedroom. But Carlos, wait, he said no hospitals. He’s scared. He thinks someone’s after him and—”

Carlos was already pulling gloves from his pocket, “We’ll stabilize him. That’s it. Don’t get it twisted, Maddie. But you shouldn't have dragged a sketchy-ass guy home like a stray animal.”

“He’s not dangerous,” I whispered. “He was scared.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “So you thought, ‘Hey, I’ll just let him crash here’? That’s normal behavior now?”

“I didn’t know what else to do...”

“You call me. That’s what you do,” his voice dropped lower, “I bend over backwards helping you, and this is what you do? Out yourself in danger? Risking your life for some guy you don’t even know?”

I deflated, “I didn’t want to make you mad.”

“You should’ve wanted to make me mad. Maybe then you’d actually think for once.”

He pushed past me and entered the bedroom. I followed, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

He crouched beside the man, checked his pulse and temp, and muttered, “Shit. We don’t have time.”

Carlos stood fast. “Grab that bag. We’re loading him now.”

“Wait, baby, what if he wakes up in a hospital and panics? He trusted me.”

“Yeah? And I don’t get that trust?” he snapped his fingers, “Get the bag, Maddie. I’m not playing.”

I scrambled to obey.

We got the stranger onto the stretcher. Carlos moved fast, like he wasn’t pissed two seconds ago. He climbed into the rig and held out his hand.

I hesitated.

“You coming or not?” he said flatly.

My heart clenched and I climbed in.

The doors slammed shut behind me and the siren lit up the night. The man’s face was soaked in fever sweat. I reached for his hand, curling my fingers around his when Carlos wasn't looking.

“I’m still here,” I whispered.

And just like that, I knew, there went my last shred of savings.

I sat in one of the orange plastic chairs at St. Margaret’s, fingers clenched so tightly around each other they’d gone pale.

When the double doors opened, I shot to my feet, nearly toppling the chair. Carlos walked out first, hair a mess, EMT jacket hanging open over sweat and blood-stained scrubs. Behind him was Dr. Lane, someone I recognized from a community vet drive.

“We stabilized him,” Dr. Lane said. “But it’s serious. The stab wound nicked his small intestine. You did the right thing, but it’s the kind of injury that can be deceptive. He’ll need antibiotics, rest, and monitoring.”

I swallowed hard. “Is it... like sepsis?”

“We caught it early, but infection’s still a risk. He’ll be in pain, sore and weak. Any strain could cause internal bleeding.”

I nodded, jaw tight.

“There’s more,” he added. “He has a clean gunshot through the shoulder, plus two grazes, one on the ribs, one on his arm. Nothing fatal, but everything combined? He’s not out of the woods.”

“He must’ve been in so much pain...”

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Lane said. “Shock, fever, and weakness are expected. We’ve started IV fluids and pain meds, he’ll sleep most of the time, which is good. His body needs it.”

Carlos finally spoke. “We can’t keep him here, Maddie. You said no hospitals. I vouched for you, we’ll keep it off the books but he still needs care.”

“I’ll take care of him,” I said quickly

I’ve got soup, blankets, a humidifier, even a spare toothbrush.

Dr. Lane smiled faintly. “More important is keeping him clean, dry, still. Watch his fever. Change his bandages. And yes, comfort matters too. We’ve started him on IV antibiotics and mild sedation, not enough to knock him out fully, but enough to keep him calm and limit movement. Too much strain could reopen internal bleeding, so keeping him semi-sedated for the next few days is critical.”

Carlos turned to me. “I’ll bring supplies and check in after shifts. But Maddie, this guy? He didn’t get those wounds by accident.”

“He’s not dangerous,” I whispered. “He was scared.”

Carlos ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, sharp breath, the kind that meant he was upset about something.

“You can take him,” Dr. Lane said. “But if anything changes, fever spikes, vomiting, call me right away.”

“I will. I promise.”

Carlos stayed silent until we were loading the stranger into the van. Even unconscious, he twitched and shifted, like his body didn’t know how to stop fighting.

Back at my apartment, I had already tucked a clean set of sheets on the bed and fluffed the pillows. Carlos and I eased the man down carefully.

“Watch his left side,” I murmured, reaching out instinctively.

Carlos grunted, adjusting the pillows with a little too much force, “Keep him tilted. Better for his breathing, takes pressure off the wound. You'd know I know this stuff better than you, you don't have to teach me.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded, “Right. I—I was just double-checking.”

I turned to grab the eucalyptus oil, holding it up, “Think this’ll help? The smell might calm him down, even if it’s not medicinal, it will kind of tricks his brain, you know?”

Carlos scoffed, wiping his hands on his jacket, “It’s not a cold, Maddie. God, sometimes you really think essential oils are magic.”

I flushed, “I didn’t mean, I just want him to feel safe.”

He looked at me, “That’s your problem. You want everyone to feel safe. You forget this isn’t a fairy tale.”

I gave a small, nervous laugh, “That’s why you love me though, right?”

Carlos didn’t answer at first. Then he stepped in close, grabbed my face a little too firmly, and kissed me, hard. He does that sometimes, when he is mad but he still loves me.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, “He can stay tonight. One night, Maddie. That’s it. I don’t want some bleeding stranger in your apartment any longer than that. You get me?”

I nodded quickly. “Of course. Just... until he’s stable.”

He stared at me, “I really don’t like this. You helping some guy you don’t know. You’re too trusting. Someone’s gonna use that one day and I won’t be there to clean up the mess.”

“I’ll call if anything changes. I promise.”

He stepped back, “You’d better.”

Then he left and the door clicked shut behind him.

The apartment fell into silence.

Just me and the stranger now.

I crouched beside the bed, brushing a damp cloth across his brow, avoiding the stitch there. His face was pale and sweat-slicked, lips dry and bruised. The bandages someone at the clinic had wrapped peeked out from under his borrowed shirt. His arm was still strapped tight to his side.

“You’re safe now,” I whispered, smoothing a lock of dark hair from his forehead, “No one’s going to hurt you here.”

Flan gave us a disapproving blink from the windowsill.

He stirred slightly, the tiniest groan slipping from between his lips.

“Shhh,” I murmured, dipping the cloth into cold water again, “You’re burning up, but that’s okay. You’ll get better. I’ll help.”

His lips moved again, something close to speech but lost in fevered haze.

I sat down on the floor with a pillow, glancing over at Flan. “It’s just us, buddy. You and me. If he wakes up scared, I want him to see that someone is here. Every person deserves that.”

I leaned my head against the couch, eyes fixed on the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

He was a stranger.

But not to pain.

That, I recognized.

And maybe that’s what scared me most.