The Doctor's Return
They call Dante Moretti the ruthless and heartless mafia boss. Seven years ago, he made a
deal with Elara Vance. But he used her, broke her, and planned to send her to a medical facility
after she produces an heir.
Scared for her life, Elara ran away. Now, an entirely different person has returned to New York.
She doesn't want his money, and she certainly doesn't want his heart, unless it's on her
operating table.
The girl he destroyed is dead. The woman who replaced her is the only one who can keep him
alive. He's dying for a second chance, but he's just waiting for the first cut.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 6
Elara's POV.
I couldn't breathe.
It began raining, making the moment cinematic. I wasn't even a week in, yet my life is currently hanging on a thin thread.
"Dante," I whispered, my voice caught in my throat.
"I said don't move," Dante hissed. He was tense, his own weapon raised, but he couldn't see the shooter neither could I.
The sniper was high up, hidden among the gargoyles and HVAC units.
"Dante, the dot," I said, my knees shaking. "It's not moving."
"Relax."
Suddenly, a shadow appeared from the darkness.
"Elara!"
It was Lorenzo. He was running toward us.
"Lorenzo, stay back!" Dante shouted.
He lunged forward, his body colliding with mine just as a loud bomb-like sound echoed through the alley.
The force of his tackle sent us both sprawling into the wet pavement. I felt the cold water soak into my gown.
"Lorenzo?" I gasped, trying to push myself up.
He didn't answer.
He was slumped against me, his weight heavy and limp. I reached out and felt something warm and thick. Even in the dim light, I knew it was blood.
"He's hit!" I screamed.
Dante fired four shots toward the roof of the building across the street. A muffled cry came from above, followed by the sound of a body hitting a metal dumpster further down the block.
Dante scrambled over to us, his face a mask of fury and panic. He grabbed Lorenzo by the shoulder and flipped him over.
"Enzo! Talk to me!" Dante demanded.
Lorenzo groaned, his eyes fluttering open. The bullet had caught him in the fleshy part of his shoulder, near the collarbone. It was a messy wound, and the blood was pumping out fast.
"Did... did I get it?" Lorenzo rasped, a weak grin spread across his face.
"You're an idiot," Dante snapped. He stripped off his tuxedo jacket and pressed it hard against the wound.
"A 'thank you' would be nice, brother," Lorenzo winced, his face twisting in pain.
"I just saved your wife. You're welcome."
"I didn't ask you to do that," Dante growled, his jaw set tight. "I had it under control."
"You had nothing under control!" Lorenzo shot back, his voice rising despite his weakness. "She was a second away from a hole in her chest!"
"Shut up and hold this," Dante ordered, forcing Lorenzo's own hand onto the jacket. "We need to move. Now."
I scrambled to my feet, my ruined dress clinging to my legs. "We need an ambulance. He's losing too much blood. It might have hit the subclavian artery."
Dante pulled out his phone. "No signal. They're jamming the block."
"The street," I said, pointing toward the main road. "We have to get to the street. Someone will pass by."
"Grab his other side," Dante told me.
We hauled Lorenzo up. He was a tall man, and even with both of us supporting him, it was a struggle. We dragged him toward the road, our shoes splashing through deep puddles.
"You're getting blood on your pretty dress, Elara," Lorenzo joked, though his voice was becoming faint.
"Don't talk," I said. "Save your energy."
"Is he still bickering?" Dante muttered, his eyes scanning the rooftops and the street corners. "He's dying and he's still trying to be the center of attention."
"At least I'm not a cold-hearted bastard," Lorenzo coughed. "Are you even worried about her, Dante?"
"I said shut up, Enzo!" Dante's voice was like a whip. "Focus on walking."
We reached the edge of the sidewalk.
The street was eerily empty.
"There!" I shouted.
A black sedan was idling at the red light half a block down. It wasn't one of Dante's SUVs, but at this point, it didn't matter.
"Hey! Stop!" I waved my arms.
The car accelerated toward us and screeched to a halt. The windows were heavily tinted.
"Help us!" I cried, reaching for the rear door handle. "He's been shot!"
The door unlocked instantly.
"Get in," Dante said, shoving Lorenzo into the backseat first. I climbed in after him, and Dante followed, slamming the door shut.
"Hospital," Dante told the driver. "New York Presbyterian. Move!"
"Lorenzo, stay with me," I said, keeping pressure on his shoulder. I looked out the window, expecting to see the familiar turns toward the hospital.
But the car didn't turn. It kept going straight, heading toward the industrial district near the piers.
"Hey," Dante said, leaning forward. "You missed the turn. I said to the hospital."
The driver remained silent. He reached out and pressed a button on the dashboard.
"Dante," I said, my voice rising in alarm. "Where is he going?"
"Turn this car around now!" Dante reached for the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. "The locks are on."
Suddenly, a faint hissing sound filled the cabin. It was coming from the vents.
"What is that?" I asked, sniffing the air.
Dante's eyes went wide. "Gas. Elara, don't breathe it in!"
"I'm trying!" I pulled the collar of my dress over my nose, but the air was already thick with it. My head began to spin. "Lorenzo, are you okay?"
I looked down at Lorenzo. His head had fallen back against the seat. His eyes were rolled back, and his hand had slipped from his wound.
"Lorenzo?" I shook him, but he didn't move.
"Dante... I can't..." My vision was blurring. The car seemed to be stretching and folding.
"Hold on, Elara," Dante gasped. He was fighting it, his hand clawing at the window glass, trying to break it. But his movements were slow, like he was moving through water.
"Lorenzo!" I screamed one last time, but my voice was just a whisper.
Dante's head slumped forward against the front seat.
My own body felt like lead.
I looked at the back of the driver's head, he hadn't flinched.
He was wearing an oxygen mask.
The last thing I saw was the silver of my dress as everything turned pitch black.
Keep Reading
The story is getting intense! Switch to App to
Unlock All Chapters
You may also like
9.4
Lucy is a cheerful human princess who enjoyed her peaceful life at the palace but mainly on the busty village streets.
What will happen when she sneaks out as usual, only to return and find out her father had been defeated by an unknown man will her life change for good or bad or gray as she tries to get back her father's throne even if it meant staying under the enemy's nose.
will she take her revenge or fall for the one person who has ruined her father.
she has to make up her mind between following her heart or be blinded by a false revenge.
9.4
STOLEN MOANS
9.4
⚠️ MATURITY WARNING
[RESTRICTED: 18+]
This novel is strictly intended for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains explicit sexual content, high-intensity erotica, themes of psychological manipulation, dominance, and dark emotional narratives. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.
"I didn't want to talk, Julian. I wanted to feel-and now, I want you to watch."
They called her the Ice Queen-until the man she loved melted her world into a puddle of betrayal. Now, the ice has turned into a tidal wave of raw, vengeful heat.
From the moment she guides her ex's best friend into her "jagged ruin" of a heart, the game begins. It's a descent into a world of gold-leafed brothels, secret Parisian protocols, and a global syndicate that audits the soul through the skin.
She is no longer looking for love; she is looking for friction. She is building a cathedral of hedonism where kings abdicate for a touch and empires fall for a climax. But as the "New King" Dante Vane and the Matriarchs of the Council close in, she must decide: Is she the master of the Lust Palace, or just its most exquisite prisoner?
Vengeance is a dish best served wet.
8.6
After five brutal years of war between the Italian La Famiglia De Luca and the Mexican La Mano Roja, Capo Ivan De Luca seeks a desperate alliance with Russia's feared Bratva, led by the ruthless Pakhan Sergei Morozov.
The Pakhan agrees-but demands a price: a marriage between his heir, Mikhail Morozov, and one of Ivan's daughters. Reluctantly, Ivan accepts, knowing the union could save his famiglia.
Mikhail, a half-Russian, half-Cuban heir forged in violence, believes emotion is weakness and mercy a sin. Donatella De Luca, Ivan's sharp-tongued and fearless second daughter, is the last woman who'd bow to any man-least of all a Bratva heir.
When Sergei chooses Donatella as the bride, a dangerous game of loyalty, power, and forbidden attraction begins. As war brews and alliances shift, Donatella must decide if she can survive Mikhail's cold world-or melt the heart of the devil himself.
8.7
Sign the papers, Silas. We had a deal."
"The deal was for one last night, Elena. And I'm not finished with you yet."
Elena spent three years as Silas Thorne's perfect, silent doll. He didn't marry her for love; he married her to settle a debt, treating her body as his personal playground and her heart as an afterthought.
Now, the divorce papers are on the bed, but Silas demands a final, grueling price for her freedom. One night of total, erotic surrender. Elena endures his touch, counting the seconds until she can walk away from his toxic obsession forever.
But freedom is a lie.
As Elena steps out into the rain, a black Rolls Royce stops her in her tracks. Out steps Dante Vane-a man more powerful, more dangerous, and infinitely more dominant than the husband she just left.
"Your time with her is up, Thorne. She belongs to me now."
Caught between a husband who won't let go and a mysterious titan who just "bought" her life, Elena realizes she hasn't escaped the fire-she's just stepped into a much hotter flame.
Silas used her for pleasure. Dante wants her for everything.or will she use these obssesive powerful man for revenge
8.2
Princess Ella walks down the aisle to marry the man who destroyed her life.
Behind her mask lies a secret powerful enough to bring a kingdom to its knees-and a revenge plan years in the making. To the world, she is a quiet and obedient queen. In truth, she is a survivor who has come to finish what war began.
But King Augustine is not a man easily deceived.
Cold, intelligent, and dangerously observant, he quickly realizes his new bride is hiding more than she shows. Instead of exposing her, he watches... waits... and begins a silent game where every glance, every word, and every move becomes a test.
As tension builds inside the palace, a survivor from Ella's past arrives-someone who can reveal her identity and destroy everything she has planned.
Now trapped between revenge and survival, Ella must decide how far she is willing to go.
Because in a marriage built on lies, one truth could ruin them both-
or bring them closer than either ever intended.
9.7
I haven't spoken a word in three years. As a professional art restorer, I spent my days fixing seventeenth-century Dutch oils and playing the role of the perfect, silent wife to billionaire Arno Rutledge. I thought our marriage was a cold but stable arrangement, a gilded cage I had accepted to keep my father’s medical bills paid.
That illusion shattered when I found a VIP hospital pass in Arno's suit pocket. Following the trail, I discovered my husband was keeping a woman named Serena on life support in a restricted wing. He wasn't just paying for her care; he was micromanaging her vitals from a tablet like a volatile stock portfolio, obsessed with controlling her every breath while lying to me about late-night board meetings.
When I confronted him at the hospital, the mask of the refined businessman slipped. He didn't offer an apology; he offered a violent shove. I crashed into a glass display case, the shards slicing deep into my dominant hand—the hand I used to restore history. As blood pulsed onto the white tiles, Arno didn't even look back. He was too busy cradling the other woman’s hand, leaving me to stitch my own mangled flesh together with industrial glue in a public restroom.
Back at the penthouse, the nightmare only escalated. When I tried to pack my bags, Arno froze my bank accounts and reminded me that he controlled the ventilator keeping my father alive. He dragged me into my studio, snapped my custom sable brushes in front of my face, and forced himself on me atop my own workbench.
"You’re an asset, Edlyn," he whispered against my skin. "And right now, you’re underperforming."
He told me that since my hands were now "broken equipment," I had to find other ways to compensate for my lack of value. He thought he had successfully liquidated my soul, leaving me a hollow shell trapped in his high-rise fortress.
But Arno made one fatal mistake. He thinks because I am mute, I am also blind. He thinks because he broke my hand, I have lost my touch. He doesn't realize that a restorer’s greatest skill isn't her hands—it's her ability to see the hidden rot beneath the surface. He wants to treat me like a line item on a balance sheet? Fine. I’m about to show him exactly what happens when an asset decides to set the entire portfolio on fire.