Stitched Together
mafia boss!Charles Leclerc x surgeon!Reader
Summary: helping a man in dire need of medical attention leads you down a road you never could have imagined
Warnings: this is a mafia romance so … yeah (gunshot wounds, drugging, kidnapping, and Mattia Binotto)
The quiet streets of Monaco glisten under the soft glow of streetlights as you make your way home from a work dinner. The night air carries a slight chill, and you pull your jacket tighter around yourself, your heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement.
Suddenly, a pained groan echoes from a nearby alley, stopping you in your tracks. Your instincts as a surgeon kick in, and you cautiously approach the shadowed passage.
“Hello?” You call out, peering into the darkness. “Is someone there?”
Another groan answers you, and as your eyes adjust, you spot a figure slumped against the wall. Rushing forward, you kneel beside the man, immediately noticing the dark stain spreading across his midsection.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, your training kicking in. “Sir, can you hear me? I’m a doctor. I’m going to call an ambulance.”
As you reach for your phone, a hand weakly grasps your wrist. “No ... no hospitals,” the man rasps, his voice strained.
You frown, conflicted. “Sir, you’re seriously injured. You need medical attention.”
“Can’t ... risk it,” he manages, his breathing labored.
Biting your lip, you consider your options. “Okay, what’s your name?”
“Charles,” he replies, grimacing as he shifts slightly.
“Alright, Charles,” you say, your voice calm and steady. “If you won’t go to a hospital, will you at least let me take you back to my apartment? I’m a surgeon and I can patch you up there.”
Charles hesitates, his piercing green eyes searching your face. After a moment, he nods. “Okay.”
With some effort, you manage to help Charles to his feet, supporting his weight as you slowly make your way out of the alley. “My place isn’t far,” you assure him. “Just hang on.”
The short walk feels like an eternity, but finally, you reach your apartment building. As you fumble with your keys, Charles leans heavily against the wall.
“Almost there,” you encourage, guiding him inside and into the elevator.
Once in your apartment, you lead Charles to your couch. “Lie down,” you instruct, already moving to gather supplies. “I need to assess the damage.”
Returning with your medical kit, you carefully cut away Charles’ blood-soaked shirt. The bullet wound is clearly visible, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you realize it’s not as severe as you initially feared.
“Good news,” you tell him, meeting his gaze. “The bullet seems to have missed any vital organs. I can clean and stitch this up, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. Are you sure I can’t convince you to go to a hospital?”
Charles shakes his head firmly. “No hospitals. Please.”
You nod, respecting his decision despite your reservations. “Alright. This is going to hurt, but I’ll do my best to be quick.”
As you work, Charles grits his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. “So,” he says, clearly trying to distract himself, “what’s a surgeon doing patching up strange men in her living room?”
You can’t help but chuckle. “Honestly? I have no idea. I guess I just couldn’t leave you bleeding in that alley.”
“Most people would have just called the police,” Charles points out, hissing as you clean the wound.
“Well, I’m not most people,” you reply with a small smile. “And you seemed pretty adamant about avoiding official channels.”
Charles studies you for a moment. “You’re not going to ask why?”
You shrug, focusing on your work. “It’s not my place to pry. Though I have to admit, I am curious about what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”
A wry smile tugs at Charles’ lips. “Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know.”
“Fair enough,” you concede. “Hold still, I’m about to start stitching.”
As you work, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your face.
“You’re good at this,” he comments after a while.
You smile, not looking up from your task. “I should hope so. I didn’t go through years of medical school for nothing.”
“How long have you been in Monaco?” Charles asks, seemingly genuinely interested.
“About three years now,” you reply. “I came here for a fellowship at the hospital and ended up staying.”
Charles nods. “Do you like it here?”
You consider the question as you finish the last stitch. “I do. It’s beautiful, and the work is challenging. But ...”
“But?” Charles prompts when you trail off.
Sighing, you begin applying a bandage. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels a bit ... lonely, I guess. It’s not always easy to connect with people here.”
Charles’ expression softens. “I can understand that. Monaco can be a difficult place to truly belong.”
You meet his gaze, surprised by the understanding in his eyes. “Exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and I’ve made some friends, but sometimes I miss the sense of community I had back home.”
“Where is home for you?” Charles asks.
“Originally? A small town that feels like a lifetime away from here,” you answer. “Nothing like Monaco, that’s for sure.”
Charles chuckles, then winces slightly. “I can imagine. It must have been quite the culture shock.”
You nod, smiling. “You have no idea. But enough about me. How are you feeling?”
“Better, thanks to you,” Charles replies, attempting to sit up.
You gently push him back down. “Not so fast. You need to rest and let that wound start healing.”
Charles raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on keeping me hostage, doctor?”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. But I’d feel better if you stayed put for at least a little while. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?”
“Water would be great, thank you,” Charles says, settling back against the couch cushions.
As you move to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, you can’t help but glance back at your unexpected guest. There’s something intriguing about Charles, beyond his mysterious injury and resistance to seek official help.
Returning with the water, you hand it to Charles, who takes it gratefully. “Thank you,” he says, his fingers brushing against yours as he accepts the glass.
You sit in the armchair across from him, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. “So, Charles,” you begin, “what do you do when you’re not getting shot in dark alleys?”
Charles nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly before letting out a surprised laugh. “You certainly don’t pull any punches, do you?”
You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Well, you did say it was better if I didn’t know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be curious.”
Charles regards you with amusement. “Fair enough. Let’s just say I’m in ... business management.”
“Business management,” you repeat skeptically. “That must be some high-stakes business.”
“You have no idea,” Charles murmurs, his expression turning serious for a moment before he shakes it off. “But really, I’d much rather hear more about you. It’s not every day I meet a beautiful surgeon with a penchant for rescuing mysterious strangers.”
You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment. “There’s not much more to tell, really. I work, I occasionally have dinners with colleagues, and apparently, I moonlight as a back-alley doctor.”
Charles laughs, then winces, pressing a hand to his side. “Careful,” you warn, “You’ll pull your stitches.”
“Worth it,” Charles says with a grin. “You’re quite something, you know that?”
You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. “You’re not so bad yourself, for a guy who got shot and refused proper medical care.”
“What can I say? I like to live dangerously,” Charles quips.
You shake your head, amused despite yourself. “Clearly. Though maybe you should consider a slightly less dangerous lifestyle. I can’t imagine getting shot is good for your long-term health.”
Charles’ expression turns thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I’ve been due for a change.”
An unexpected wave of concern washes over you. “Charles, are you in some kind of trouble? Is there anything I can do to help?”
He looks at you, surprise and something else you can’t quite place flickering in his eyes. “You’ve already done more than enough. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Clearly,” you say dryly, gesturing to his bandaged midsection.
Charles chuckles. “Point taken. But really, you’ve been incredibly kind. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Just promise me you’ll be more careful,” you say, surprised by the intensity of your own words.
Charles holds your gaze, his expression serious. “I promise.”
A moment of charged silence passes between you, broken only when Charles slowly pushes himself to his feet. “I should go,” he says, though he sounds reJoristant. “I’ve imposed on you enough.”
You stand as well, moving to steady him. “Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay and rest.”
Charles shakes his head. “Thank you, but I really should be going. I have some ... matters to attend to.”
You bite your lip, concerned. “Alright. But please, take it easy. And if you need anything — if that wound gives you any trouble — don’t hesitate to come back or call me.” You scribble your number on a piece of paper and hand it to him.
Charles takes the paper, his fingers lingering against yours. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For everything.”
As you walk him to the door, you find yourself wishing he would stay. There’s something about Charles that intrigues you, draws you in despite the obvious danger surrounding him.
At the threshold, Charles turns to you one last time. “I meant what I said earlier. You really are something special. I hope our paths cross again under ... better circumstances.”
Before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Then, with a final smile, he’s gone, leaving you standing in your doorway, your heart racing and your mind reeling.
As Charles exits the building, he immediately pulls out his phone, his expression hardening into one of intense focus. He dials a number, speaking in a low, authoritative tone the moment the call connects.
“It’s me. I need eyes on someone, 24/7. A surgeon named Y/N Y/L/N. She’s under my protection now. No one touches her, understood?”
He ends the call, casting one last glance at your apartment building before disappearing into the night, already planning when and how he’ll see you again.
***
The glittering lights of the Hotel de Paris’ ballroom cast a warm glow over the assembled guests. You smooth down your elegant evening gown, feeling slightly out of place among Monaco’s elite. The hospital’s annual benefit gala is always a grand affair, but tonight feels different, charged with an energy you can’t quite place.
“Y/N!” A is familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Dr. Sophia Moreau, one of your closest colleagues, approaching with two champagne flutes in hand. “You clean up nicely,” she teases, offering you a glass.
You accept it gratefully, taking a small sip. “Thanks, Sophia. You look amazing too. How’s the night been so far?”
Sophia shrugs, her eyes scanning the room. “Oh, you know, the usual schmoozing and small talk. But there’s a buzz going around. Apparently, the director has some big announcement planned.”
Your interest piques. “Really? Any idea what it’s about?”
“No clue,” Sophia replies. “But whatever it is, it’s got the board members practically giddy. And you know how rare that is.”
You chuckle, nodding in agreement. The hospital’s board is notoriously hard to please, a fact you know all too well from your years of lobbying for transplant certification.
As if summoned by your thoughts, Dr. Henri Beaumont, the hospital’s director, takes the stage. The room falls into a respectful hush as he taps the microphone.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Beaumont begins, his voice carrying across the ballroom. “Thank you all for joining us tonight in support of our wonderful hospital. Your generosity never ceases to amaze me.”
You listen politely, expecting the usual platitudes. But as Dr. Beaumont continues, you feel your heart begin to race.
“Tonight, I have the great pleasure of announcing a new chapter in our hospital’s history,” he says, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Thanks to an incredibly generous donation from one of Monaco’s own, we will be embarking on a project that will revolutionize healthcare in our principality.”
You grip your champagne flute tighter, hardly daring to hope.
“Within the year, our hospital will become fully transplant certified,” Dr. Beaumont announces, his words met with a wave of gasps and excited murmurs. “And that’s not all. This donation will also fund a dedicated medical helicopter, allowing us to transport organs and critical patients with unprecedented speed.”
The room erupts in applause, but you barely hear it over the pounding of your own heart. After years of fighting, of presenting proposal after proposal, it’s finally happening.
“None of this would be possible without the extraordinary generosity of our donor,” Dr. Beaumont continues once the applause dies down. “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in thanking Mr. Charles Leclerc!”
As the room once again breaks into enthusiastic applause, a figure rises from one of the front tables. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognize the man turning to face the crowd.
It’s him. The mysterious Charles from the alley, the man whose life you saved. He looks completely different now — impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his presence commanding the room’s attention. But those piercing green eyes are unmistakable.
“Y/N?” Sophia’s voice breaks through your shock. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
You blink, tearing your gaze away from Charles to look at your friend. “I ... yes, I’m fine. Just surprised, that’s all.”
Sophia raises an eyebrow. “I’ll say. This is everything you’ve been working towards. You must be thrilled!”
“I am,” you assure her, your mind still reeling. “It’s just ... a lot to take in.”
As the applause dies down and the crowd begins to disperse, you find your eyes drawn back to Charles. He’s engaged in conversation with Dr. Beaumont and several board members, but as if sensing your gaze, he looks up. Your eyes meet across the room, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Excuse me,” you murmur to Sophia, setting down your champagne flute. “There’s someone I need to speak with.”
You make your way through the crowd, your heart pounding with each step. As you approach, Charles politely excuses himself from his conversation and turns to face you.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets you, his voice warm. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Mr. Leclerc,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Charles’ smile widens. “I’m full of surprises. Though I believe you already knew that.”
You glance around, noticing the curious looks from nearby guests. “Could we speak privately?”
“Of course,” Charles says, gesturing towards a secluded balcony. “Shall we?”
You follow him out onto the balcony, the cool night air a welcome respite from the crowded ballroom. For a moment, you both stand in silence, looking out over the twinkling lights of Monaco.
“So,” you finally say, turning to face him. “Charles Leclerc. I’m guessing that’s not the name you usually give to people who find you bleeding in alleys.”
Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “No, it’s not. But it is my real name.”
“And you’re ... what? A millionaire philanthropist?”
“Among other things,” Charles replies enigmatically.
You cross your arms, studying him. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were that night?”
Charles leans against the balcony railing, his expression turning serious. “Would you have believed me if I had? A man refusing hospital treatment, claiming to be a wealthy businessman?”
You have to admit he has a point. “I suppose not. But this ...” you gesture back towards the ballroom, “This is incredible. The transplant certification, the helicopter ... it’s everything I’ve been fighting for.”
“I know,” Charles says softly.
You blink, surprised. “You know?”
Charles nods. “After that night, I ... may have done some research. I was curious about the remarkable surgeon who saved my life without asking questions or for anything in return.”
“So this donation,” you say slowly, “it’s because of me?”
“In part,” Charles admits. “Your passion for your work, your dedication to improving healthcare here — it’s inspiring. But more than that, I saw an opportunity to do some real good. To maybe balance the scales a bit.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Balance the scales? What exactly is it that you do, Charles?”
He gives you a rueful smile. “Let’s just say my business dealings aren’t always as philanthropic as tonight’s donation might suggest.”
A chill runs down your spine as the pieces start to fall into place. The gunshot wound, the refusal of hospitals, the mysterious “business management” — it all points to one conclusion.
“You’re not just a businessman, are you?” You ask quietly.
Charles holds your gaze, his expression unreadable. “No, I’m not. Are you sure you want to know more?”
You take a deep breath, considering. Part of you wants to walk away, to pretend this conversation never happened. But a larger part — the part that couldn’t leave a bleeding man in an alley, the part that’s drawn to the mystery and danger Charles represents — wants to stay.
“Yes,” you say firmly. “I want to know.”
Charles nods, respect flickering in his eyes. “Very well. But not here. This isn’t a conversation for a crowded gala.”
“Then where?” You ask.
“Have dinner with me,” Charles suggests. “Tomorrow night. I’ll answer all your questions, I promise.”
You hesitate, weighing the risks. But the memory of that night in your apartment, the connection you felt with Charles despite the strange circumstances, makes your decision for you.
“Alright,” you agree. “Dinner tomorrow.”
Charles smiles, relief evident in his features. “Thank you. I’ll send a car for you at eight.”
Just then, the balcony doors open, and Dr. Beaumont steps out. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Leclerc! And Dr. Y/L/N, how wonderful. I was hoping to speak with both of you.”
You plaster on a polite smile, trying to hide your frustration at the interruption. “Dr. Beaumont, good evening.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Dr. Beaumont says, looking between you and Charles.
“Not at all,” Charles replies smoothly. “Dr. Y/L/N was just expressing her excitement about the transplant certification project.”
Dr. Beaumont beams. “Yes, isn’t it marvelous? And it’s all thanks to your generous donation, Mr. Leclerc. We can’t thank you enough.”
“Please,” Charles says, “call me Charles. And the thanks should really go to Dr. Y/L/N here. Her proposals and persistence were what brought this need to my attention.”
You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as Dr. Beaumont turns to you, his eyebrows raised. “Is that so? Well, Dr. Y/L/N, it seems we owe you a debt of gratitude as well. Your dedication to this cause has clearly paid off.”
“Thank you, Dr. Beaumont,” you manage, still reeling from Charles’ praise. “I’m just glad we’ll finally be able to offer these life-saving services to our patients.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Beaumont agrees. “In fact, I’d like to discuss the possibility of you heading up the new transplant department. Your expertise would be invaluable in getting the program off the ground.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “I ... I would be honored, sir. Thank you.”
“Excellent!” Dr. Beaumont claps his hands together. “We’ll set up a meeting next week to discuss the details. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle with our other donors. Charles, Dr. Y/L/N, enjoy your evening.”
As Dr. Beaumont retreats back into the ballroom, you turn to Charles, still stunned. “Did you have something to do with that offer?”
Charles holds up his hands innocently. “I merely suggested to Dr. Beaumont that the project would benefit from your leadership. The decision was entirely his.”
You shake your head, a mixture of gratitude and confusion swirling inside you. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”
“Then don’t say it,” Charles replies softly. “Just promise me you’ll use this opportunity to do what you do best — save lives.”
You nod, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the events of the evening. “I should probably get back inside,” you say reluctantly. “People will be wondering where I’ve gone.”
“Of course,” Charles agrees. “I look forward to our dinner tomorrow. There’s much we need to discuss.”
As you turn to leave, Charles gently catches your hand. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low. “Whatever you learn tomorrow, whatever you decide ... know that my feelings for you are genuine. That night in your apartment, it ... it changed things for me.”
You feel a flutter in your chest at his words. “It changed things for me too,” you admit softly.
Charles brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Until tomorrow, then.”
As you make your way back into the ballroom, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions and questions. You spot Sophia across the room, waving you over with a curious expression.
“Spill,” she demands as soon as you reach her. “What was that all about? How do you know Charles Leclerc?”
You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the inexplicable situation you’ve found yourself in.
“It’s ... complicated,” you finally say. “And I think I’m about to find out just how complicated it is.”
***
As the sun sets over Monaco, casting a golden glow across the city, you find yourself standing in front of your apartment building, nervously smoothing down your dress. The sleek Rolls Royce that Charles promised pulls up, and a uniformed driver steps out to open the door for you.
“Good evening, Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets you politely. “Mr. Leclerc is expecting you.”
You slide into the plush leather seat, your heart racing with anticipation. The drive through Monaco’s winding streets is brief but gives you time to collect your thoughts. Before you know it, the car is pulling up to Le Louis XV, arguably the most exclusive restaurant in all of Monaco.
As you step out of the car, you spot Charles waiting for you at the entrance. He’s impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his presence commanding even among the elite clientele entering the restaurant.
“Y/N,” he greets you warmly, taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “You look absolutely stunning.”
You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Thank you, Charles. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He chuckles, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”
As you enter the restaurant, you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the decor. Crystal chandeliers hang from intricately painted ceilings, and the soft strains of a string quartet fill the air.
The maître d’ greets Charles by name, leading you to a secluded table tucked away in a corner. Charles pulls out your chair for you before taking his own seat across from you.
A waiter approaches, offering you menus. As he leans over to pour water into your glasses, you notice his gaze lingering a bit too long on your neckline. Before you can react, Charles clears his throat sharply.
“I think we’ll need a different server,” he says, his voice cold and authoritative. The waiter pales, stammering an apology before hurrying away.
You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “That was ... intense.”
Charles’ expression softens as he looks at you. “I apologize if that made you uncomfortable. I simply don’t tolerate disrespect, especially towards someone I care about.”
His words send a flutter through your chest, but you push it aside, reminding yourself why you’re here. “So,” you say, meeting his gaze, “you promised me answers.”
Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Indeed I did. But first, let’s order. This conversation may take a while.”
Once you’ve placed your orders and the new, much more professional waiter has poured your wine, Charles leans back in his chair, studying you intently.
“What do you know about the Monegasque underworld, Y/N?” He asks quietly.
You shake your head. “Not much, honestly. I know it exists, of course, but it’s not exactly something we discuss in the hospital break room.”
A small smile tugs at Charles’ lips. “No, I suppose not. Well, to put it bluntly, I am what you might call the boss of the Monegasque Mafia.”
Despite your suspicions, hearing him say it so plainly sends a shock through you. “The Mafia? Charles, that’s ...”
“Illegal? Dangerous? Morally questionable?” He finishes for you, his tone wry. “Yes, it’s all of those things.”
You take a sip of your wine, trying to process this information. “How did you end up in that position?”
Charles sighs, his eyes distant. “It’s a long story, but the short version is that I inherited the role from my father. He built this empire, and when he died, it fell to me to maintain it.”
“And the gunshot wound?” You ask, remembering the night you first met.
“A disagreement with a rival organization,” Charles explains. “It’s been dealt with.”
You feel a chill at the implication in his words. “Dealt with how?”
Charles meets your gaze steadily. “Do you really want to know?”
After a moment’s hesitation, you shake your head. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“Smart,” Charles says approvingly. “The less you know about certain aspects of my business, the safer you’ll be.”
The waiter returns with your appetizers, providing a brief respite from the heavy conversation. As you start to eat, you find your mind whirling with questions.
“Why are you telling me all this?” You finally ask. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to reveal your identity?”
Charles nods slowly. “It is. But I trust you, Y/N. That night in your apartment, when you helped me without question, without judgment — it showed me what kind of person you are. And I find myself ... unwilling to lie to you.”
His honesty touches you, despite the circumstances. “I appreciate that, Charles. But where does this leave us? What happens now?”
Charles leans forward, his eyes intense. “That depends on you. I won’t lie — being associated with me comes with risks. But it also comes with benefits, as you’ve seen with the hospital donation.”
“Is that what this is about?” You ask, a hint of disappointment creeping into your voice. “You’re trying to buy my loyalty?”
“No,” Charles says firmly. “The donation was genuine. Your passion inspired me to do some good. This ... this is something else entirely.”
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “What do you mean?”
Charles takes a deep breath. “I have a proposition for you. I’d like you to work for me, as my personal doctor when the need arises.”
You blink in surprise. “Your personal doctor? But I’m a surgeon, not a general practitioner.”
“Exactly,” Charles nods. “In my line of work, emergency surgical skills are more valuable than routine check-ups. You’d be on call for me and my ... associates when medical attention is needed discreetly.”
You sit back, considering his words. “That sounds an awful lot like being a mob doctor, Charles.”
He doesn’t deny it. “It is. But it would also give you the opportunity to save lives that might otherwise be lost. And I can promise you, the compensation would be ... substantial.”
The waiter returns to clear your plates and bring the main course, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts. As you cut into your perfectly cooked steak, you mull over Charles’ offer.
“What about my work at the hospital?” You ask. “I can’t just abandon that, especially not now that we’re getting the transplant certification.”
Charles shakes his head. “I wouldn’t ask you to. This would be in addition to your regular work, called upon only when necessary. Your hospital duties would always come first.”
You take a sip of wine, studying Charles over the rim of your glass. “And what if I refuse? What happens then?”
“Then you walk out of here, go back to your life, and we never speak of this again,” Charles says simply. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I trust you. If you choose not to be involved, I know you’ll keep my secret.”
His sincerity is clear, and you find yourself believing him. “Can I ask you something, Charles?”
“Anything,” he replies.
“Why me? Surely there are other doctors you could approach, ones with more ... flexible ethics, perhaps?”
Charles’ expression softens. “Because you’re extraordinary, Y/N. Your skill, your compassion, your integrity — they’re rare qualities, especially in my world. And selfishly, perhaps, I want to keep you in my life.”
His words send a warmth spreading through your chest, and you find yourself at a crossroads. On one hand, everything you know tells you to walk away, to keep your life simple and safe. But on the other ...
“What would it entail, exactly?” You ask, surprising yourself.
A glimmer of hope appears in Charles’ eyes. “Primarily, it would involve treating injuries that can’t be taken to a hospital — gunshot wounds, knife punctures, that sort of thing. Occasionally, there might be a need for more ... specialized care.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Specialized how?”
“Let’s just say that sometimes, information needs to be obtained through methods that aren’t entirely ... ethical,” Charles says carefully.
You feel a chill run down your spine. “You mean torture.”
Charles doesn’t flinch from the word. “Yes. Your role would be to ensure that lines aren’t crossed, that no permanent damage is done. To save lives, even in the darkest of circumstances.”
You take a deep breath, trying to reconcile the charming man across from you with the brutal world he’s describing. “I don’t know if I can do that, Charles. It goes against everything I believe in as a doctor.”
He nods, understanding in his eyes. “I know. And I wouldn’t ask you to participate directly. Your job would be to mitigate harm, to heal. Nothing more.”
As the waiter clears your plates and offers dessert menus, you find yourself at a loss for words. Charles watches you carefully, giving you space to process.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. Weigh the pros and cons. I know it’s not an easy decision.”
You nod, grateful for the reprieve. “Thank you. I ... I will think about it.”
As you share a decadent chocolate dessert, the conversation shifts to lighter topics. Charles tells you about his childhood in Monaco, and you share stories from your medical school days. Despite the heavy subject matter earlier, you find yourself laughing and enjoying Charles’ company.
All too soon, the evening draws to a close. Charles insists on walking you out, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you exit the restaurant.
As you wait for the valet to bring his car around, Charles turns to face you, his expression serious once more.
“Thank you for hearing me out tonight, Y/N,” he says softly. “Whatever you decide, know that I meant every word. You’re an extraordinary woman, and I’m honored to know you.”
Before you can respond, Charles leans in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth in a kiss that’s both chaste and charged with potential. You feel your breath catch in your throat, your heart racing at his proximity.
As he pulls back, Charles meets your gaze, his green eyes intense. “Think about my offer. And when you’ve made your decision, good or bad, call me.”
With that, he steps back, leaving you feeling slightly dazed as the valet pulls up with his car. Charles opens the passenger door for you, ever the gentleman.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says softly. “I hope to hear from you soon.”
As the car pulls away from the curb, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions and conflicting thoughts. You touch your fingers to the spot where Charles kissed you, still feeling the ghost of his lips.
Part of you knows you should run as far and fast as you can from Charles Leclerc and the dangerous world he inhabits. But a larger part – the part that yearns for excitement, for purpose beyond the hospital walls – is already considering his offer.
As Monaco’s glittering lights pass by outside the car window, you realize that no matter what you decide, your life will never be the same. The question is, are you ready to take the leap into the unknown?
With Charles’ business card burning a hole in your purse and the memory of his kiss lingering on your skin, you know that the decision you make will shape not just your future, but potentially the future of Monaco itself.
***
The shrill ring of your phone pierces the quiet of your bedroom, jolting you awake. Fumbling in the darkness, you grab your phone, squinting at the bright screen. Unknown number.
Your heart races as you answer, “Hello?”
“Y/N,” Charles’ voice comes through, tense and urgent. “I’m sorry to wake you.”
Sitting up, suddenly alert, you reply, “Charles? What’s wrong?”
There’s a brief pause before he continues, “I wish I could give you more time to consider my offer, but I’m afraid circumstances have forced my hand. One of my associates is badly injured and needs immediate medical attention.”
You can hear the strain in his voice as he continues, “If you’re willing to accept my offer, I’ll have someone pick you up right now. If not, I understand, and I’ll look for help elsewhere. But I need to know your decision now.”
Your mind races, weighing the implications. This is it — the moment of truth. Do you step into Charles’ world or walk away?
Taking a deep breath, you make your choice. “I’ll do it. Send the car.”
You can almost hear Charles’ relief through the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. A car will be there in five minutes. Be ready.”
The line goes dead, and you spring into action. Throwing on clothes and grabbing a bag with some basic medical supplies, you’re waiting outside your building when a sleek black car pulls up.
The drive is tense and silent. The driver, a stern-faced man, offers no conversation as he speeds through Monaco’s empty streets. Within minutes, you’re pulling up to an expansive, gated compound.
As soon as the car stops, the front door of the mansion flies open. Charles strides out, his face etched with worry.
“Y/N,” he greets you, guiding you quickly inside. “Thank you for coming. Follow me.”
You hurry after him through opulent hallways, your mind struggling to take in the surroundings. “What happened, Charles? Who’s hurt?”
“My right-hand man, Pierre,” Charles explains as he leads you down a staircase. “He was ambushed leaving a meeting. Took a bullet to the chest.”
You nod, your mind already racing through possibilities. “How long ago?”
“About an hour,” Charles replies, pushing open a door.
You step into what appears to be a fully-equipped operating room. On the table lies a man, his breathing labored and shirt soaked with blood.
Rushing to his side, you begin your examination. “Pierre? I’m Dr. Y/L/N. Can you hear me?”
Pierre’s eyes flutter open, filled with pain. “Y-yes,” he manages to wheeze.
You turn to Charles, who’s hovering nearby. “I need to examine him properly. Can you help me remove his shirt?”
As you and Charles carefully cut away Pierre’s bloodied shirt, you assess the wound. The bullet hole is below his right collarbone, and his breathing is increasingly strained.
“The bullet’s punctured his lung,” you announce, your mind already formulating a plan. “He needs surgery immediately. Charles, I’ll need assistance. Are you up for it?”
Charles nods without hesitation. “Tell me what to do.”
You quickly outline the procedure as you prep Pierre for surgery. “We need to reinflate his lung and remove the bullet. It’s going to be tricky, but we don’t have time to get him to a hospital.”
As you work, you fall into a focused rhythm, your years of training taking over. Charles proves to be a capable assistant, following your instructions precisely.
“Suction here,” you direct, carefully navigating the delicate lung tissue. “Good. Now hold this retractor steady.”
Hours pass in a blur of intense concentration. Finally, you step back, exhaling deeply. “I think we’ve done it. The lung’s reinflated and the bullet’s out. He’s not out of the woods yet, but his chances are good.”
Charles looks at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude. “Y/N, I ... thank you. You’ve saved his life.”
You nod, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion. “He’ll need close monitoring for the next 24 hours. Is there somewhere I can clean up?”
Charles leads you to an adjacent bathroom, where you wash the blood from your skin. As you emerge, you find Charles waiting, two glasses of whiskey in hand.
“I thought you might need this,” he says, offering you a glass.
You accept it gratefully, taking a long sip. The alcohol burns pleasantly, helping to calm your frayed nerves.
“So,” you say, meeting Charles’ gaze. “I guess this makes it official. I’m your doctor now.”
Charles nods solemnly. “Indeed. And I can’t express how grateful I am. Not just for tonight, but for taking this risk.”
You lean against the wall, suddenly feeling the weight of your decision. “I still have questions, Charles. About all of this. About what I’m getting myself into.”
“Of course,” Charles agrees. “Ask me anything. You deserve to know what you’re part of now.”
Taking a deep breath, you begin, “How often can I expect nights like this? And what exactly is the nature of your ... business?”
Charles considers his words carefully. “Nights like this are, thankfully, rare. Most of what I’ll need from you will be more routine — treating minor injuries, regular check-ups for my key people. As for my business ...” He pauses, taking a sip of his whiskey. “It’s complex. We have interests in various sectors — some legitimate, some less so. Gambling, real estate, import and export. And yes, sometimes that involves activities that aren’t entirely legal.”
You nod slowly, processing this information. “And the violence? The rivalries that led to Pierre getting shot?”
“An unfortunate reality of our world,” Charles admits. “We try to minimize it, but conflicts do arise. My goal is always to resolve things peacefully, but sometimes ...” He gestures towards the operating room, where Pierre lies recovering.
“I see,” you murmur. “And my role in all this? Beyond providing medical care, I mean.”
Charles’ expression softens. “Your role, Y/N, is to be a light in this sometimes dark world. To save lives, to minimize harm. And perhaps ... to remind people like me that there’s good in the world worth protecting.”
His words touch something deep inside you, and you find yourself nodding. “I think I can do that.”
A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only when a monitor in the operating room beeps. You both rush to check on Pierre, finding his vitals stable.
As you adjust his IV, you ask, “So, what happens now? Do I just ... go home and wait for the next emergency call?”
Charles shakes his head. “Not quite. I’d like you to stay here for the next day or so, to monitor Pierre’s recovery. After that, we’ll set up a more formal arrangement. You’ll have a secure phone for communications and a driver on call for when you’re needed.”
You raise an eyebrow. “And my regular job at the hospital?”
“Remains your priority,” Charles assures you. “This work will always come second to that. I don’t want to jeopardize your career or the good you do there.”
Relieved, you nod. “Alright. And ... us? Where do we stand?”
Charles steps closer, his eyes intense. “That is entirely up to you. My feelings haven’t changed since our dinner. But I understand if this is too much, too complicated.”
You find yourself drawn to him, despite the rational part of your brain screaming caution. “It is complicated. But ... I can’t deny there’s something here. Something worth exploring.”
A smile spreads across Charles’ face, genuine and warm. “I’m glad to hear that. We’ll take it slow, see where this leads us.”
Just then, Pierre stirs on the operating table, groaning softly. You both move to his side, your instincts taking over once again.
“Pierre?” You call softly. “Can you hear me?”
His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first but then settling on you. “Who ... where am I?”
Charles steps into his line of sight. “You’re safe, my friend. This is Dr. Y/L/N. She saved your life tonight.”
Pierre’s eyes widen in recognition. “The surgeon ... from the alley. You recruited her?”
You can’t help but chuckle. “It’s a long story. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been shot,” Pierre croaks, attempting a weak smile.
You check his vitals as you explain, “The bullet punctured your lung. We’ve repaired the damage, but you’re going to need time to recover. No strenuous activity for at least a month.”
Pierre nods, then looks to Charles. “The meeting ... did we get the information?”
Charles places a hand on Pierre’s shoulder. “We did, thanks to you. But don’t worry about that now. Focus on getting better.”
As Pierre drifts back to sleep, you turn to Charles. “He needs rest. And so do we, for that matter.”
Charles nods in agreement. “I’ll show you to a guest room. We should both try to get some sleep before morning.”
As you follow Charles through the mansion, the events of the night start to catch up with you. By the time you reach the luxurious guest suite, you’re practically swaying on your feet.
“Get some rest,” Charles says softly. “I’ll have some fresh clothes brought for you in the morning.”
As he turns to leave, you catch his hand. “Charles ... thank you. For trusting me with this.”
He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “No, Y/N. Thank you for taking this leap of faith. Sleep well.”
As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, your mind whirling with the night’s events. You’ve crossed a line tonight, stepped into a world you never imagined being part of. But as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement about what the future might hold.
For better or worse, your life will never be the same again.
***
As the weeks pass following that fateful night, you begin to notice subtle yet undeniable changes in your daily life. It starts with a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched that you can’t quite shake. At first, you dismiss it as paranoia, a natural reaction to your new connection with Charles’ world. But then you start to catch glimpses — a man in a dark suit lingering across the street from your apartment, a familiar face that seems to pop up wherever you go.
One morning, as you’re grabbing coffee before work, you decide to confront the situation. Turning abruptly, you lock eyes with a tall, broad-shouldered man who’s been tailing you for the past few blocks.
“Alright,” you say, crossing your arms. “Who are you and why are you following me?”
The man looks momentarily surprised before his face settles into a neutral expression. “Mr. Leclerc assigned me to ensure your safety, Dr. Y/L/N. I’m not meant to interfere with your daily life.”
You raise an eyebrow. “And does Charles think I need a bodyguard to get my morning coffee?”
The man — you decide to call him Shadow in your head — gives a small shrug. “Mr. Leclerc believes in being thorough. I’m here to protect you from any potential threats.”
Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine. But can you at least try to be a little less ... obvious? I don’t need my colleagues at the hospital getting suspicious.”
Shadow nods. “Of course. I’ll maintain a more discreet distance.”
As you continue your walk to the hospital, you can’t help but feel a mix of irritation and a strange sort of warmth at Charles’ protective instincts.
The surprises don’t stop there. Later that week, you return home from a long shift to find a large, elegantly wrapped package outside your door. Curious, you bring it inside and carefully open it.
Inside, you find a stunning designer handbag — one you vaguely remember admiring in a shop window weeks ago. Attached is a simple note:
A beautiful bag for a beautiful doctor – CL
You can’t help but smile, even as you shake your head at the extravagance. Pulling out your phone, you send a quick text to Charles.
The bag is gorgeous, but you really didn’t have to.
His reply comes moments later.
I wanted to.
Is it not to your liking?
You chuckle, typing back.
It’s perfect. But you don’t need to shower me with gifts.
Perhaps not. But I enjoy it. Allow me this small pleasure?
Rolling your eyes fondly, you respond.
Fine. But nothing too outrageous, okay?
You can almost hear his chuckle in his reply.
I make no promises.
True to his word, the gifts keep coming. A rare first edition of your favorite medical text. A pair of ridiculously comfortable designer shoes that somehow fit perfectly. Each accompanied by a note signed simply “CL”.
But it’s not just the material things that change. One day, as you’re buried in paperwork at the hospital, a delicious aroma wafts into your office. You look up to see your colleague standing in the doorway with a bag from your favorite local restaurant.
“Special delivery,” Sophia says with a grin, setting the bag on your desk.
You blink in surprise. “I didn’t order anything.”
Her grin widens. “No, but apparently you have a very thoughtful admirer. This has been showing up every day for the past week. The nurses have been taking turns bringing it up.”
Your cheeks flush as you open the bag, finding a perfectly prepared lunch and another note from Charles.
Sophia leans in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So, who’s the mystery man? Anyone I know?”
You quickly tuck the note away. “It’s ... complicated. We’re still figuring things out.”
“Uh-huh,” Sophia says, clearly not buying it. “Well, whoever he is, he’s got good taste. In food and women.”
As Sophia leaves, you can’t help but smile. Despite the complexity of your situation with Charles, these small gestures warm your heart.
The changes extend beyond gifts and food, though. You start to notice that things at the hospital seem to be running more smoothly. Bureaucratic hurdles that used to take weeks to clear now resolve themselves in days. Equipment requests that were once denied due to budget constraints are suddenly approved.
One afternoon, you’re in a meeting with Dr. Beaumont, discussing the progress of the new transplant center.
“I must say, Dr. Y/L/N,” Beaumont says, beaming, “the speed at which we’re moving forward is remarkable. It’s as if all the red tape has simply ... vanished.”
You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suspecting Charles’ influence but unable to confirm it. “Yes, it’s ... quite fortunate.”
Beaumont leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think our generous donor, Mr. Leclerc, might have something to do with it. He seems to have friends in high places.”
You force a neutral expression. “Oh? What makes you say that?”
Beaumont chuckles. “Let’s just say that certain government officials who were dragging their feet on approvals suddenly became very cooperative after a few calls from Mr. Leclerc’s office. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
As you leave the meeting, your mind is whirling. You appreciate the help, but the extent of Charles’ influence is starting to sink in. That evening, you decide it’s time for a face-to-face conversation.
You send Charles a text.
We need to talk. Dinner tonight?
His reply is almost immediate.
Of course. I’ll send a car. 8 PM?
At eight sharp, you find yourself being ushered into an exclusive rooftop restaurant. Charles is waiting, looking as handsome and composed as ever in a perfectly tailored suit.
He stands as you approach, pulling out your chair. “Y/N, you look lovely.”
You sit, fixing him with a serious look. “Charles, we need to discuss a few things.”
His expression turns concerned. “Is everything alright?”
Taking a deep breath, you begin. “The bodyguard, the gifts, the lunch deliveries ... it’s all very sweet, but it’s a bit much. And the thing with the hospital — are you pulling strings to make things happen?”
Charles listens intently, his face unreadable. When you finish, he leans back, considering his words carefully.
“I apologize if I’ve overstepped,” he says finally. “The protection is non-negotiable, I’m afraid. Your safety is paramount to me. But if the gifts make you uncomfortable, I can scale them back.”
You nod, relieved he’s listening. “And the hospital situation?”
Charles sighs. “I may have ... encouraged certain officials to be more cooperative. But I assure you, it was all above board. No bribes, no threats. Just a gentle reminder of how beneficial the new transplant center will be for Monaco.”
You can’t help but chuckle. “Gentle reminder, huh? And I suppose your reputation had nothing to do with it?”
A small smirk plays at the corner of Charles’ mouth. “I may have a certain ... influence. But I used it for a good cause. The transplant center will save lives, Y/N. Isn’t that what matters?”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Charles reaches across the table, taking your hand. “I know my world is very different from yours, Y/N. I’m trying to bridge that gap, to make things easier for you. But if I’m going about it the wrong way, tell me. I want you to be comfortable with this ... with us.”
The sincerity in his eyes touches you. “I appreciate that, Charles. I do. I just ... I need to feel like I’m still in control of my own life, you know? Like I’m not just being swept along in your wake.”
Charles nods, squeezing your hand gently. “I understand. From now on, I’ll consult you before making any decisions that affect your life. No more surprises. Well, fewer surprises, at least.”
You laugh, feeling the tension dissipate. “I suppose I can live with that. But maybe we can compromise on the bodyguard situation? I don’t need a shadow 24/7.”
“How about this,” Charles proposes, “The security detail maintains a distance unless you’re entering or leaving your apartment or the hospital. They’ll be there if you need them, but not constantly in your space. Would that work?”
You consider for a moment, then nod. “I can live with that. Thank you for listening.”
He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Always, Y/N. Your happiness and comfort are important to me.”
As the waiter approaches to take your order, you find yourself relaxing, enjoying the evening with Charles. The conversation flows easily, touching on your work at the hospital, Charles’ legitimate business ventures, and your shared love of classical music.
By the time dessert arrives, you’re feeling more at ease with the situation than you have in weeks.
“Charles,” you say, savoring a spoonful of soufflé, “I have to ask. How did you know about the handbag? The one I admired weeks ago?”
A mischievous glint appears in Charles’ eyes. “I have my ways. Let’s just say I pay attention to the things that catch your eye.”
You shake your head, amused. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Perhaps,” he agrees with a smile. “But admit it, you’re starting to enjoy it.”
As you leave the restaurant, Charles’ hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you realize that he’s right. Despite the complexity, despite the lingering concerns about his world, you are enjoying this. Enjoying him.
Charles walks you to the waiting car, opening the door for you. Before you get in, he catches your hand, his expression turning serious.
“Y/N,” he says softly, “I want you to know that I treasure what’s growing between us. I know my world is complicated, often dangerous. But with you ... I see a possibility for something real, something good. I hope you can be patient with me as we navigate this.”
Touched by his honesty, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m here, aren’t I? We’ll figure it out together.”
As the car pulls away, Charles watching from the curb, you lean back in your seat, a small smile playing on your lips. Your life has certainly become more complicated since that night in the alley. But as you reflect on the past few weeks — the challenges, the surprises, the growing connection with Charles — you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement about what the future might hold.
***
The cool evening air greets you as you exit the hospital, your shift finally over. You roll your shoulders, easing the tension from a long day of surgeries. As you walk towards your car, your mind drifts to Charles, wondering if he’ll be free for a late dinner.
Suddenly, a sharp prick in your neck startles you. Before you can react, a wave of dizziness washes over you. The world tilts, your vision blurring. You try to call out, but your voice fails you. As darkness encroaches, your last conscious thought is of Charles.
When you come to, it’s to a pounding headache and disorientation. You blink, trying to focus. The room is dimly lit, cold, with bare concrete walls. As awareness creeps back, you realize you’re strapped to a chair, your wrists and ankles bound tightly.
Panic rises in your throat, but you force it down, trying to assess the situation. You’re still in your scrubs, which means you haven’t been unconscious for too long. There are no windows, no indication of where you might be.
The creak of a door opening snaps your attention forward. A man enters — relatively tall, curly-haired, with a scar running down the left side of his face. His eyes, when they meet yours, are cold and calculating.
“Ah, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, his voice carrying a slight Italian accent. “So good of you to join us. I hope you’re comfortable.”
You glare at him, finding your voice. “Who are you? What do you want?”
The man chuckles, pulling up a chair to sit across from you. “Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mattia Binotto. And as for what I want ...” He leans in, his gaze intense. “I want Charles Leclerc.”
Your heart races, but you keep your expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mattia’s laugh is harsh. “Come now, Doctor. Let’s not play games. I know all about your ... relationship with Charles. I’ve been watching you both for quite some time.”
“Why?” You demand, tugging futilely at your restraints. “What does Charles have to do with this?”
Mattia leans back, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Everything, my dear. You see, I used to work for Charles’ father. I was his right-hand man, his most trusted advisor. And how did the old man repay my loyalty? By kicking me out, exiling me from Monaco.”
You listen, your mind racing. Charles had mentioned conflicts within the organization, but this ... this was something else entirely.
“So this is about revenge?” You ask, trying to keep him talking.
Mattia’s eyes flash dangerously. “Revenge, yes. But also reclamation. What was taken from me, I intend to take back. And you, my dear doctor, are the perfect bait.”
Fear claws at your insides, but you push it down, channeling it into anger instead. “Charles won’t fall for this. He’s smarter than that.”
“Oh, I’m counting on his intelligence,” Mattia says, standing up and beginning to pace. “You see, Charles knows exactly who I am and what I’m capable of. He’ll come for you, make no mistake. And when he does ...” Mattia’s smile is chilling. “Well, let’s just say I have quite the reunion planned.”
You struggle against your bonds, your mind whirling. “You’re insane if you think you can take on Charles and his entire organization.”
Mattia stops pacing, turning to face you. “Insane? No, Doctor. Prepared. I’ve spent years planning this, gathering allies, waiting for the perfect moment. And you ...” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You jerk away from his touch. “You are the key to it all.”
“Don’t touch me,” you snarl, glaring up at him.
Mattia chuckles. “Feisty. I can see why Charles is so taken with you. It will make breaking you all the more satisfying.”
A chill runs down your spine at his words. “If you hurt me, Charles will-”
“Charles will what?” Mattia interrupts, his voice mocking. “Come charging in to save you? That’s exactly what I’m counting on, my dear.”
You fall silent, realizing that every word you say is potentially giving Mattia more ammunition. Instead, you focus on studying your surroundings, looking for any potential way out.
Mattia seems to sense your shift in focus. He leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “Don’t bother looking for escape routes. This room was designed to hold people far more dangerous than you. You’re not going anywhere until Charles arrives.”
Pulling back, he checks his watch. “Speaking of which, I imagine he’s discovered your absence by now. Shall we give him a call?”
Your eyes widen as Mattia pulls out a phone — your phone. He scrolls through your contacts, finding Charles’ number.
“No, don’t-” you start, but Mattia silences you with a sharp look.
He puts the phone on speaker as it rings. After two rings, Charles’ voice comes through, tense and worried. “Y/N? Where are you? Your security detail lost track of you hours ago.”
Mattia’s grin is triumphant as he speaks. “Hello, Charles. It’s been a long time.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence before Charles responds, his voice low and dangerous. “Mattia. If you’ve hurt her, I swear-”
“Now, now,” Mattia interrupts. “Your precious doctor is fine. For now. Whether she stays that way depends entirely on you.”
You can’t stay silent any longer. “Charles, don’t listen to him! It’s a trap!”
Mattia backhands you, the slap echoing in the small room. “Quiet!”
“Y/N!” Charles’ voice is anguished. “Mattia, I’m warning you-”
“You’re warning me?” Mattia laughs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to come alone to the address I’m about to send you. If I see any of your men, if I even suspect you’ve involved your friends in the police, the good doctor here will suffer the consequences. Understood?”
There’s a tense pause before Charles responds. “I understand. Let me speak to her.”
Mattia considers for a moment, then holds the phone closer to you. “Make it quick.”
“Charles,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Don’t do this. It’s not worth-”
“Y/N, listen to me,” Charles interrupts, his voice intense. “I’m coming for you. Just hold on. I promise, I’ll make this right.”
Before you can respond, Mattia pulls the phone away. “How touching. You have one hour, Charles. Come alone or she dies.”
He ends the call, turning to you with a satisfied smirk. “And now, we wait.”
The next hour is agonizing. Mattia leaves you alone in the room, your mind racing with possibilities, each worse than the last. You test your restraints, but they hold firm. The chair is bolted to the floor, leaving you no way to move.
Just when you think you can’t take the suspense any longer, the door opens. Your heart leaps, thinking it might be Charles, but it’s Mattia who enters, followed by two burly men.
“It seems your knight in shining armor has arrived,” Mattia announces, his eyes glinting with malice. “Let’s make sure we give him a proper welcome, shall we?”
He nods to one of the men, who moves behind you. You feel the cold press of a gun barrel against your temple.
“Is this really necessary?” You ask, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.
Mattia shrugs. “Insurance, my dear. Can’t have you trying anything heroic when Charles arrives.”
As if on cue, there’s a commotion outside the room. The door bursts open and Charles strides in, his eyes immediately finding yours.
“Y/N,” he breathes, relief and worry warring in his expression.
“Charles, no,” you plead. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s a trap!”
Mattia steps forward, clapping slowly. “Bravo, Charles. Right on time, and alone, as instructed. I must say, I’m impressed by your obedience.”
Charles tears his gaze from you to glare at Mattia. “Let her go, Mattia. This is between us.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Mattia replies, circling around to stand behind you. He places his hands on your shoulders, and you struggle not to flinch. “You see, your lovely doctor here is my insurance policy. Insurance that you’ll listen very carefully to what I have to say.”
Charles’ jaw clenches, but he remains still. “Say your piece, then.”
Mattia’s grip on your shoulders tightens. “It’s quite simple, really. I want what’s rightfully mine. The position your father stole from me, the respect I deserve. You’re going to step down, hand over control of the organization to me, and leave Monaco. Forever.”
You can’t stay silent any longer. “Charles, don’t do it! You can’t trust him!”
The gun presses harder against your temple, silencing you.
Charles’ eyes flick between you and Mattia, his expression unreadable. “And if I refuse?”
Mattia’s laugh is cold. “Then you get to watch your beloved doctor die, slowly and painfully, before I kill you too. Your choice, Charles.”
The tension in the room is palpable as Charles considers his options. You try to catch his eye, to silently communicate that your life isn’t worth the price Mattia is demanding. But Charles’ gaze is fixed on Mattia, his mind clearly racing.
Finally, Charles speaks, his voice eerily calm. “You’ve made one critical mistake, Mattia.”
Mattia’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? And what’s that?”
A small, dangerous smile plays at the corner of Charles’ lips. “You assumed I came alone.”
In that instant, several things happen at once. The lights in the room suddenly cut out, plunging everything into darkness. You hear the sound of breaking glass, followed by several muffled thuds. Someone grabs you, and for a moment you panic, thinking it’s Mattia. But then a familiar voice whispers in your ear.
“It’s me, Y/N. Hold still.”
It’s Pierre. You feel him cutting through your restraints. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you make out shapes moving in the room — Charles’ men, you realize, taking down Mattia’s guards.
When the lights flicker back on, the scene has completely changed. Mattia and his men are on the ground, subdued by Charles’ team. Charles himself is standing over Mattia, a gun pointed at his head.
“You’re right, Mattia,” Charles says, his voice cold. “This was between us. You should have left Y/N out of it.”
As Pierre helps you to your feet, you stumble, your legs weak from being bound for so long. Charles is at your side in an instant, supporting you.
“Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes scanning you for injuries.
You nod, still trying to process what just happened. “I’m okay. How did you ...”
Charles manages a small smile. “Did you really think I’d come unprepared? My men were in position before I ever entered the building.”
You lean into him, relief washing over you. “I thought ... I was so scared you’d give in to his demands.”
Charles’ arm tightens around you. “Never. I would never let him hurt you, Y/N.”
As Charles’ men secure Mattia and begin to lead him away, you turn to Charles. “What happens now?”
Charles’ expression turns grim. “Now, we make sure Mattia can never threaten us again. And then ...” He looks down at you, his eyes softening. “Then we talk about upgrading your security. Because I’m never letting something like this happen again.”
***
The morning after your harrowing ordeal, you find yourself seated in the hospital’s main conference room, feeling as though you’ve stepped into some sort of surreal dream. To your left sits Charles, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. Across the table, the hospital’s board of directors fidget nervously, their eyes darting between you, Charles, and Dr. Beaumont, who sits at the head of the table.
The tension in the room is palpable as Dr. Beaumont clears his throat. “Well, Mr. Leclerc, Dr. Y/L/N, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. I understand there’s been some ... concerns about security?”
Charles leans forward, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steel. “Concerns would be putting it mildly, Dr. Beaumont. Dr. Y/L/N was kidnapped from your parking lot last night. I think that warrants more than just concern.”
You can see the color drain from Dr. Beaumont’s face. “Kidnapped? I ... we had no idea. Dr. Y/L/N, are you alright?”
All eyes turn to you, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “I’m fine, thank you. It was a ... misunderstanding that’s been resolved.”
Charles’ hand finds yours under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “A misunderstanding that could have ended very differently. Which is why we’re here to discuss new security measures.”
Dr. Beaumont nods, still looking shaken. “Of course, of course. What did you have in mind?”
“Two of my personal security team will accompany Dr. Y/L/N at all times while she’s on hospital grounds,” Charles states, his tone brooking no argument.
There’s a moment of stunned silence before one of the board members, Dr. Rossi, speaks up. “Mr. Leclerc, while we certainly understand your concern, having armed guards in a hospital environment is highly unorthodox. It could make patients uncomfortable, not to mention the potential liability issues ...”
Charles’ eyes narrow. “I’m not particularly concerned with what’s orthodox, Dr. Rossi. I’m concerned with Y/N’s safety.”
You decide to intervene, hoping to smooth things over. “Perhaps we could find a compromise? The security team could maintain a discreet distance, only stepping in if necessary?”
Dr. Beaumont latches onto this suggestion eagerly. “Yes, that sounds more reasonable. We could provide them with visitor badges, allow them access to staff areas ...”
“No,” Charles cuts in firmly. “They stay with Y/N at all times. This isn’t up for negotiation.”
Another board member, Dr. Chen, leans forward. “Mr. Leclerc, please understand our position. We have protocols, regulations to follow. Having armed personnel constantly present could jeopardize our accreditation.”
Charles’ smile is cold. “I’m sure exceptions can be made, Dr. Chen. After all, I’d hate to think that the hospital values bureaucratic red tape over the safety of its star surgeon.”
The implied threat hangs heavy in the air. You can see the administrators exchanging nervous glances.
Dr. Beaumont attempts to regain control of the situation. “Now, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that satisfies everyone. Mr. Leclerc, what if we were to increase our own security measures? Install more cameras, hire additional guards ...”
Charles shakes his head. “Not good enough. My men are highly trained professionals. They stay with Y/N.”
You can see the frustration building on the faces of the board members. Dr. Rossi tries again. “Mr. Leclerc, please be reasonable. We can’t just allow civilians to roam freely through sensitive areas of the hospital. There are privacy concerns, not to mention-”
“I think you misunderstand me,” Charles interrupts, his voice dangerously soft. “This isn’t a request. It’s happening. The only question is whether you choose to cooperate or not.”
The threat in his words is unmistakable. You watch as the color drains from Dr. Rossi’s face.
Feeling the need to defuse the tension, you speak up. “Perhaps we could implement this on a trial basis? See how it works for a month and then reassess?”
Dr. Beaumont seizes on this suggestion like a lifeline. “Yes, excellent idea, Dr. Y/L/N. A trial period would allow us to address any issues that arise and make adjustments as necessary.”
Charles considers this for a moment before nodding slowly. “A trial period is acceptable, provided there’s no interference with my security team’s duties.”
Relief is palpable around the table, but it’s short-lived as Charles continues.
“Of course, I understand this arrangement may cause some ... inconvenience for the hospital. To that end, I’m prepared to make an additional donation to help smooth things over.”
The board members perk up at this, their expressions shifting from worry to interest.
Dr. Beaumont leans forward eagerly. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Leclerc. What sort of donation did you have in mind?”
Charles’ smile is predatory. “Let’s say ... sixteen million euros, to be used at the hospital’s discretion. Provided, of course, that my security requirements are met without further argument.”
The room falls silent as the enormity of the offer sinks in. You can practically see the dollar signs in the administrators’ eyes.
Dr. Chen is the first to recover. “Mr. Leclerc, that’s an incredibly generous offer. I’m sure we can work out the details of the security arrangement to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Charles nods, satisfied. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now, shall we discuss the specifics?”
What follows is a detailed negotiation of the security protocols. You watch, somewhat bemused, as the very same administrators who were stammering objections moments ago now fall over themselves to accommodate Charles’ every demand.
By the end of the meeting, it’s agreed that Charles’ security team will have full access to all areas of the hospital, will be allowed to carry concealed weapons, and will have final say on any security matters relating to you.
As the meeting wraps up, Dr. Beaumont turns to you, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “Dr. Y/L/N, I hope you know that your safety is our utmost concern. If there’s anything else we can do ...”
You manage a small smile. “Thank you, Dr. Beaumont. I appreciate the hospital’s flexibility in this matter.”
As you and Charles stand to leave, Dr. Beaumont calls out, “Mr. Leclerc, a word in private, if you don’t mind?”
Charles nods, turning to you. “I’ll be right out, Y/N.”
You exit the conference room, your mind whirling. As you wait in the hallway, you overhear snippets of the conversation inside.
Dr. Beaumont’s voice, low and eager, “... sure there isn’t anything else we should know?”
Charles’ reply, cool and dismissive, “... all you need to concern yourself with ...”
A moment later, Charles emerges, his expression softening as he sees you. “Ready to go?”
You nod, falling into step beside him as you walk towards the elevator. “Don’t you think this is all a bit ... excessive?”
He stops, turning to face you. “After what happened last night, I’m not taking any chances with your safety. I can’t lose you.”
The raw emotion in his voice catches you off guard. You reach out, touching his arm gently. “You won’t lose me. But Charles, this is my workplace. I need to be able to do my job without feeling like I’m under constant surveillance.”
Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know. And I’m sorry if this complicates things for you. But please, just give it a chance. For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”
You study his face, seeing the worry lines etched around his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Despite your reservations, you find yourself nodding. “Alright. We’ll try it your way. But if it becomes too disruptive ...”
“Then we’ll reassess,” Charles finishes, relief evident in his voice. “Thank you, Y/N.”
As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. The world of medicine, with its clear rules and ethical guidelines, seems far removed from Charles’ realm of shadowy deals and armed guards.
“Charles,” you say as the elevator descends, “what exactly did Dr. Beaumont want to discuss in private?”
Charles’ expression turns guarded. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just some details about the donation.”
You’re not entirely convinced, but you decide not to push it. As the elevator doors open, you’re greeted by the sight of two men in suits — clearly Charles’ security team.
Charles nods to them. “This is Andrea and Joris. They’ll be your primary security detail.”
You force a smile, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you both.”
Andrea and Joris nod respectfully, but their expressions remain impassive. You can already tell that this is going to take some getting used to.
As you walk through the hospital lobby, you’re acutely aware of the stares and whispers from staff and patients alike. Charles seems oblivious to the attention, but you feel your cheeks heating up.
“Charles,” you murmur, “people are staring.”
He glances around, then shrugs. “Let them stare. Your safety is more important than gossip.”
You’re about to argue further when you spot Sophia rushing towards you, her eyes wide with concern.
“Y/N!” She exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “I heard you were in some kind of trouble last night. Are you okay? And who are these guys?”
You extract yourself from Sophia’s embrace, acutely aware of Charles and the security team watching. “I’m fine, Sophia. Really. It was just a misunderstanding. As for these gentlemen ...” You gesture vaguely. “They’re, um ...”
“Private security,” Charles interjects smoothly. “In light of recent events, we felt it prudent to take extra precautions.”
Sophia’s eyes dart between you and Charles, clearly bursting with questions. “Private security? Y/N, what’s going on?”
You can feel a headache building behind your eyes. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain later, okay?”
She nods, though her expression says this conversation is far from over. “Okay, but you owe me details. Lots of details.”
As Sophia walks away, you turn to Charles with a sigh. “This is going to be a nightmare to explain to everyone.”
Charles’ expression softens. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But I need you safe. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”
Looking into his eyes, seeing the mix of concern and affection there, you feel your resistance crumbling. Despite the complications, despite the danger, you know that what you and Charles have is worth fighting for.
“Together,” you agree softly.
As you head towards your office, flanked by Andrea and Joris, with Charles by your side, you can’t help but feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter of your life. One filled with more danger and complexity than you ever imagined, but also with a depth of love and protection you never thought possible.
The hospital corridors stretch out before you, familiar yet somehow changed. You take a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them head-on — with Charles (and now apparently with an armed escort) by your side.
***
A year later, life has settled into a new normal. You’ve grown accustomed to the peculiarities of being the personal physician to Monaco’s most powerful man, including the late-night calls and the sometimes bizarre injuries.
Tonight is one of those nights. You’re in Charles’ private medical suite, nestled within his sprawling mansion, tending to yet another gunshot wound. The room is state-of-the-art, rivaling any hospital, but with a touch of luxury that screams Charles.
“Ow! Easy there, mon cœur,” Charles winces as you clean the wound on his upper arm.
You roll your eyes, but there’s affection in your voice as you reply, “Maybe if you’d stop zigging when you should be zagging, we wouldn’t be here so often.”
Charles attempts a charming smile, but it turns into a grimace as you start preparing the sutures. “You know I can’t help it. Danger follows me everywhere.”
“Mhmm,” you hum skeptically. “And I’m sure you do nothing to encourage it.”
As you begin stitching, Charles lets out an exaggerated groan. “Y/N, you’re torturing me. Is this revenge for forgetting our dinner reservation last week?”
You can’t help but chuckle. “If I wanted revenge, I’d let Pierre patch you up instead. Now hold still, unless you want a scar to ruin your perfect skin.”
Charles pouts, looking more like a petulant child than the feared boss of the Monegasque Mafia. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Only a little,” you admit with a smirk. “Someone has to keep that ego of yours in check.”
As you finish the last stitch, Charles flexes his arm experimentally. “You know, for someone who claims to care about me, you’re awfully indifferent about my pain.”
You start cleaning up, shaking your head in amusement. “Stop getting shot if you don’t want stitches.”
Charles’ hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer. “But it hurts,” he whines playfully. “You should kiss me, treat me with care. I’m your patient, you should be good to me.”
You laugh, gently extracting yourself from his grip. “Nice try. But doctor’s orders are rest and recovery. No strenuous activity for at least a week.”
Charles’ eyes widen in horror. “A week? You can’t be serious. What am I supposed to do for a whole week?”
“I don’t know,” you tease, “maybe try not getting into gunfights? I hear it’s good for your health.”
Charles stands, testing his arm’s mobility. “You know that’s not what I meant. Come on, mon amour, surely there are some ... activities we could engage in that won’t strain my arm?”
You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. “No sex, Charles. You’ll pull your stitches.”
“You’re so mean to me,” Charles groans dramatically, flopping back onto the examination table. Then, a mischievous glint appears in his eye. “What about just a little ... oral attention? That won’t affect my arm at all.”
You can’t help but laugh at his persistence. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Charles grins, clearly thinking he’s won. “But you love me anyway.”
“God help me, I do,” you admit, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “But the answer is still no. Doctor’s orders, remember?”
Charles sighs in defeat. “Fine, fine. But you owe me when I’m healed.”
“I’ll make it worth the wait,” you promise with a wink. “Now, let’s get you to bed. And I mean for sleeping, mister.”
As you help Charles to his feet, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You know, this whole stern doctor act is incredibly sexy. Maybe we could role-play once I’m better?”
You playfully swat his uninjured arm. “Behave or I’ll have Pierre stand guard outside our door to make sure you rest.”
Charles chuckles as you guide him out of the medical suite and towards the bedroom. “You wouldn’t dare. Pierre’s terrified of walking in on us after last time.”
The memory makes you blush. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t look him in the eye.”
As you reach the opulent bedroom, you help him settle into bed. He catches your hand as you turn to leave. “Stay with me?” He asks, his voice soft and vulnerable in a way few people ever get to hear.
Your resolve melts. “Just to sleep. I mean it, Charles.”
You kick off your shoes and climb into bed beside him, careful not to jostle his injured arm. Charles immediately pulls you close with his good arm, nuzzling into your neck.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Not just for this, but for everything. For patching me up, for putting up with my dangerous life, for ... for loving me despite it all.”
The sincerity in his voice touches you deeply. You turn in his embrace to face him, cupping his cheek gently. “Charles, I don’t love you despite your life. I love all of you, dangerous parts included. Though I could do with fewer midnight patch-up sessions.”
Charles chuckles softly. “I’ll try to schedule my injuries for more convenient times in the future.”
You roll your eyes fondly. “How about trying to avoid injuries altogether?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Charles teases, but then his expression turns serious. “I know my life isn’t easy, Y/N. I know I ask a lot of you. If it ever becomes too much ...”
You silence him with a gentle kiss. “Stop right there. I’m not going anywhere. I knew what I was getting into, and I choose this — I choose you — every day.”
Charles’ arms tighten around you, mindful of his injury. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Probably not,” you agree with a smirk. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”
As you lay there in comfortable silence, your mind drifts to the events of the past year. The increased security measures, the close calls, the exhilarating highs and terrifying lows of being part of Charles’ world. It hasn’t been easy, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“What are you thinking about?” Charles asks softly, noticing your contemplative mood.
You trace lazy patterns on his chest as you answer. “Just ... everything. How much has changed in a year. How different my life is now.”
Charles tenses slightly. “Do you ever regret it? Getting involved with me, I mean.”
You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him properly. “Never. It’s crazy and dangerous and sometimes I think I must be out of my mind, but I’ve never been happier.”
The relief on Charles’ face is palpable. “Even when I wake you up at ungodly hours to stitch me up?”
“Even then,” you assure him with a smile. “Though I reserve the right to be grumpy about it.”
Charles laughs, then winces as the movement jostles his arm. “Fair enough. I suppose I should be grateful you haven’t accidentally stitched anything embarrassing into me yet.”
You grin mischievously. “Don’t give me ideas. I’m sure ‘Drama Queen’ would look lovely across your bicep.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Charles gasps in mock horror.
“Try me,” you challenge playfully. “Keep whining about your injuries and find out.”
Charles pulls you closer, nuzzling into your hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll be a model patient from now on.”
You snort in disbelief. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Now get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”
As Charles’ breathing evens out, you find yourself marveling at the turn your life has taken. From a chance encounter in a dark alley to this — sharing a bed with one of the most powerful men in Monaco, patching up bullet wounds in the middle of the night.
It’s not the life you ever imagined for yourself, but as you feel the steady beat of Charles’ heart beneath your hand, you know it’s exactly where you’re meant to be. Dangerous, complicated, and wonderfully yours.
You press a soft kiss to Charles’ chest, careful not to wake him. “I love you,” you whisper, knowing that no matter what challenges tomorrow brings, you’ll face them together.
As sleep begins to claim you, your last coherent thought is a mix of amusement and affection. You make a mental note to stock up on lollipops – it seems your most frequent patient has a penchant for post-treatment rewards, and you have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot more of his pouty face in the future.
But that’s okay. Because for every whine, every pout, every dramatic sigh, there’s also the fierce protectiveness, the tender moments, and the love that radiates from Charles in everything he does. It’s a package deal, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer to Charles and let sleep take you, ready to face whatever adventures — or misadventures — tomorrow might bring.
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CALL OF THE SEA / PART THREE
pirate poly!141 x f!reader
tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of violence, blood, injury, 141 are still mean pirates, very brief mentions of death
masterlist
When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.
The words of Captain Price weighed heavily on your mind. With little distractions to guide you away from them, they were all you were left with. They replayed on a consistent loop, like a broken record player. It was taunting, the way your own mind betrayed you after pleading with it not to think of the cold dose of reality the Captain had given you. It denied your requests for soothing calm and gifted you with roaring waves of chaos.
The Captain had been right. Every last word was coated in nothing but bitter truth, and you hated it.
Your village was nothing but unkind to you, and you knew it. You tried to defend them, tried to reason with why they could have been so cruel to you, but with only yourself and the sounds of the sea to fill the abyss in your head, your defense was bound to crumble.
It wasn’t your fault you were different, at least compared to the traditionalists you grew with. Being born in a secluded hamlet separated from the bustling mainland meant the people were just as isolated. Hermits, they were. They sought simplicity through actions shown by the book. Marriage, children, with women to remain in their place at home. It was a dream to some, and a nightmare to you.
You wanted more. There was a vast world out there for you to mark your claim on, yet your own people disregarded your desires. They turned on you, taunting you as the village outcast, one that many continued to torment well into adulthood. You were one against many, and you only had yourself in the long run.
You worked hard for what you had. Despite the consistent abuse your people had given you, you sought out adventure like a moth to a flame. It called out to you. Learning of medicines and practices to become more of the miniscule woman everybody saw you as was your safe haven. You wanted to explore the world and take your practices to a place where you’d be accepted as one’s own.
Then those pirates had taken that away from you. Not only had they stolen your dreams, but they had stolen your home, people, and passion. Everything was lost at the drop of a hat.
Being a medic for a scroungy group of thieving pirates was not in your cards. Before, you hadn’t even known pirates were existent. They were a simple folk tale, something to share on quiet nights when the village had grown bored. Never did you think you would come across one, let alone four who had taken it upon themselves to make you their problem.
You feared that you would never achieve your dreams of being a proper medic. Of never escaping to the mainland where you could begin a tranquil life consisting of you and your studies. Now, it seemed that you would never experience peace or independence. Your dreams were embezzled, lost in the foamy waves that lapped against the side of the ship.
The grieving of your loss didn’t stop, even during Soap and Gaz’s visits. They kept it minimal, presumably under the Captain’s orders, or because they simply didn’t like you enough to further interaction. Not that you wanted them to, anyway, though it would’ve made the aching loneliness a bit more bearable.
They noticed, of course. The way your eyes began to sink in, casting a grim shadow across your face, or the way you no longer bared your teeth at them when they approached. Pirates like them didn’t care for people like you. You were a pawn in whatever game they were playing, and you didn’t know the rules.
The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above you rattled you awake. The cot was fairly useless in providing you comfort, but you had succumbed to your eventual exhaustion over the course of your capture that you had grown used to it.
Unlike normal days, where their steps were more quiet and calculated, this time sounded like a frenzy. Uncoordinated, merging together in loud pitter patter. It was unsettling, lighting an icy chill in your bones. Even in the seclusion of the brig, the air felt thick with tension, as if the pirate’s suspense had crept through the crack under the door and spread throughout the ship.
The floorboards creaked menacingly from above. Your ears pricked at every stomp, every slam of the soles of their thick boots against the old wood. It was as if death was stalking you from the shadows, creeping in, jeering at you. You were in the dark, unaware.
You wondered if other pirates had invaded the ship. Perhaps this was your end. You’d be found by enemies and treated much more unkindly in the hands of men who only saw you as a mere woman and not the potential to be a medic.
Though your pirates were just as cruel, they hadn’t harmed you. They hurt your people, but salvaged you to make use of your knowledge. They weren’t as terrible as what may have lurked the waters. Maybe it was simply the fear talking, but if what you thought was true, then you prayed to whatever god was listening that you remain in the safe hands that had yet to pose a threat to you.
Your prayers were answered by the harsh sound of the door opening. It wrenched open, slamming up against the wall with a crack. Dim light poured through, down to your cell, illuminating a faint glow enough for you to see.
Atop the stairs, a large figure lurked, blocking out the light. It cocooned around him, casting an eerie shadow and successfully masking away his face.
Fear shot through your veins, burning like a raging fire, lighting you up from the inside. It threatened to combust, inching you towards a scorching agony. It clouded your mind, fogging over the logic and replacing it with racing thoughts of choking terror. You thought of death, torture, being swept away from this brig, only to be placed in a more torturous one with strangers out to harm you. To be used for pleasure and entertainment by a group of savage pirates unbeknownst to you.
“Get up,” a voice barked at you. It was rough and throaty, exuding pure authority. It was also familiar.
The sound of metal clanking on metal filled your eyes and once you had pieced together your mind enough, you realized it was the key unlocking your cell. The door opened, the figure stepping into your cell and closer to you, where you lay on the cot. It loomed over you, shielding you away from escape.
“Get up,” he ordered again. A hand reached out to you, cold, rough fingers wrapping around your bicep and lugging you off of the cot and on to your feet. There was no time for arguments. You recognized Ghost’s stony mask, and you knew fighting him would prove fruitless.
“What’s going on?” you asked, legs straining to keep up with his pace as he tugged you up the rickety stairs.
“Captain’s hurt,” Ghost gruffed, only the narrow of his eyes peeking through the eye holes of the skull mask, giving you a glimpse of his disgruntlement. “Need a medic. That’s you, birdie.”
Your heart sank to your stomach for numerous reasons.
For one, the smallest part of you worried for the Captain. No matter his actions thus far, he was hurt and required medical attention, enough of it that Ghost had prompted you out of your cell after residing there for the past month.
Then there was the fact that they were asking you for help. Sure, you technically were a medic. One in practice, but you knew the basics of medicines. However, the problem arose that you didn’t know much beyond that. If the Captain truly was injured to an extent beyond your skill, you feared they’d throw you over the ship and into the murky waters once they deemed you useless.
The misty air hit you the moment you stepped out of the brig and on to the upper deck. It was chilly despite it being summer, with the ocean breeze curling into your dingy hair and across your cheeks. The feeling was nothing short of relieving, to breathe in fresh air that filled your lungs, clearing them of the musty tang of brig air.
It was still midnight, but the moon was bright enough to have your eyes squinting, adjusting. Even the feel of it on your skin was like sweet kisses after a period of solitude.
That wasn’t what was important, though. Ghost had your arm in a chokehold, and he was urgently dragging you across the deck and towards the front of the ship. None of the other men were found, but you’d quickly find them when Ghost yanked open a door leading to the Captain’s quarters.
Inside, Captain Price was propped up lazily against the side of a large table, covered in maps and quills. A small pot of ink had been tipped over and spilled, tainting the papers with splotchy black. Drips of his blood had swirled into the mix, and the sight of it made you sick.
Price’s hand was smothering a gnarly gash on his side, fingers seeping over with crimson blood. Soap stood beside him with Gaz, the two of them seemingly anticipating your arrival. The moment they locked eyes with you, they stood up straight, expressions impatient.
“Took ye long enough, Ghost,” Soap boasted snarkily. Ghost huffed from beside you, pushing you by your arm and sending you towards Price.
“Fix him up,” Ghost commanded, stern. You blinked at him before switching to look at the Captain.
Price was a bit paled, skin clammy with sweat despite the chill in the air. He seemed more annoyed than pained, face pulled taut with a frown deepened beneath his beard. His eyes bore into yours threateningly.
“I don’t—“ you stared, stumbling over your words. “I don’t know how to stitch, I told you, I’m not a professional—“
“Surely you’ve had practice once or twice, haven’t you?” Price reckoned, cocking his head at you.
“Only on injured animals,” you defended. “I don’t know how to stitch on people.”
Price clicked his tongue, a hint of agitation gesred behind it. “Can’t be much different. Allow me to be your experiment, dove. You want to be a professional? Figure it out.”
You stared at him, bewildered. You knew there was no room for argument, nor was there any time. He was bleeding into the palm of his hand, wound sliced open from what you assumed was a sharp blade. You didn’t have the chance to think about how he possibly could’ve been injured in that way.
“Well? Go on, dove, it ain’t goin’ to heal itself,” Soap urged in annoyance, giving a light shove to your shoulder. Not enough to move you from your position, but enough to snap you into order.
“I need my supplies,” you explained. “Surely, you kept them.”
“Tch. Not stupid, dove,” Price snipped. With his free hand, he clumsily fumbled for one of the drawers of the table he leaned upon. Yanking it open, it was sent to the floor with a crash, sending its contents scattering.
The action was savvy and if you weren’t in a frenzied rush, you would’ve had the mind to be irritated. However, you remembered your place, as well as the people you were being forced to serve. It wouldn’t be wise to bark back at them for throwing around your work so carelessly.
You were quick to drop to the floor and begin retrieving what was necessary. Supplies were scarce, seeing as you weren’t fortunate enough to grow up on the mainland where demand was much more accessible.
Making a mental note to ask for them to collect more items for you, that is if this was really going to be your life, you clattered the items on the table Price rested on, making quick work of tugging stitching thread through the tiny needle.
The job would be sloppy, especially with the way your hands shook. You knew good and well that if anything were to happen to these pirate’s Captain, you’d be first one off the ship, sent to God knows where.
All eyes were on you. It was unnerving.
Soap remained next to Gaz, both watching you like a hawk. Their eyes studied every movement of your fingers as they worked through the threads, preparing to stitch up Price as requested.
Ghost stood near the door leading to the deck, arms crossed and eyes piercing into you like a warning threat. And really, you knew that’s what it was.
Price was awfully calm for a man who’d been stabbed, and you briefly wondered if this was something pirates were used to. Harming others was one thing. Gaining injury themselves was another.
Lucky for you, the Captain wasn’t wearing any fabrics. He must’ve taken his shirt off when he returned to his quarters, which made things easier for you.
“Remove your hand,” you said, before adding on, “please.”
Price huffed out what could’ve been mistaken as a laugh, though you highly doubted it. He carefully pulled his hand away from his wound, slippery with blood. The sight was quite gruesome, though you were sure it was just the blood making it so.
Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself in front of the Captain. You dug deep in your memory of the times you’d operated on helpless animals you’d found in the outskirts of your village.
Animals were easier. They were more pliant and obedient. Some were squirmy, though being much smaller than you gave you advantage over them.
Price, though, was significantly bigger. And human. He was far from any animal you aided.
With his arm out of the way, you had a showcase of numerous scars scattering his torso. They were white, indicating they were much older, but some were still risen with pink tissue that revealed being more recent.
You had your hands full. Truly.
“I’m going to begin now,” you told Price.
“Don’t need to narrate the whole operation to me, medic. Just do it.”
Price’s tone was sarcastic and a tad bit mean. If he was aiming to offend you, he was doing a poor job. You’d taken ridicule all your life.
Brushing it off, you used nimble hands to make the first insertion of the needle, threading through the first stitch. Price showed no discomfort, though the eyes of the others didn’t help your unease. You felt like a lab rat and they were the ones operating on you.
The stitching became easier the more it went on. He needed quite a few, though the practice was appreciated. Your hands became more steady and your heart was no longer in your throat.
The room was at a standstill up until the very moment you tightened the stitches, tying them off and pulling yourself away from Price. Your work was far from perfect, but it was doable.
“Finished, are you?” Price hummed. You nodded in confirmation. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You bit your tongue to hold back mockery until the taste of metallic flooded your tastebuds.
“I’ve only worked on animals. It appears you are no different than one,” you bit back calmly, shiftingyour attention to organizing the supplies Price had so carelessly tossed to the floor.
Soap let out an obnoxious snort, while Price only cocked his head in faint amusement.
“You might want to watch your tongue there, dove. Ghost has taken out many,” Price informed.
That was enough to send shivers down your spine because you knew he was being truthful.
A quick glance to Ghost showed no indication of lies, so you quickly averted your eyes, opting to avoid him. You didn’t want to imagine the horrors Ghost had caused from his hands alone. He was a force not to be reckoned with, and you’d happily stay far, far away.
“I still need to apply an herbal balm and wrap it.” You changed the topic in hopes of forgetting your slip of tongue. You rather liked keeping it in your mouth.
“Very well,” Price sighed. With a gesture of his head, he signaled the other three men out of his quarters, leaving you alone in the room with him.
It was eerily quiet between the two of you while you worked a calming balm into the tender skin around his wound, careful not to touch the fresh stitches. The herbs were a mixed paste you had created back in your village from the supplies Mary had gifted you, and they proved futile now in a sensitive time.
You wished she were here to take you away from this nightmare fueled ship. Though, you couldn’t deny it any longer — you knew she was dead, just like the rest of the village. There was nothing you could do about it.
This was your life. This was your journey. Your opinion on the matter wasn’t valid.
“Quite the snippy one, aren’t you?” The Captain’s voice broke the tense silence, though it did nothing to calm you. “I heard from a little bird that some fortnights ago, you threw your porridge on to Gaz.”
Your shoulders pulled taut in a mix of embarrassment and shame. It was as if you were a child being scolded.
“I did,” you admitted quietly.
“And you do not feel bad?” Price questioned.
“No.”
“Hm.” A smile tilted on his face, lazy just as the other ones, as if he had no energy to display the true nature of a smile. “I will hand it to you, dove, he can be quite a brat sometimes. Perhaps he deserved it.”
You glanced up from his injury to look into his eyes. Your eyebrows tugged together in confusion.
You were fully expecting outrage, or perhaps the Captain to reprimand you for taking your anger out on his crew. Instead, he seemed almost like a jokester.
That couldn’t be. He was cruel and heartless, just as the others were. It didn’t matter how much Soap jested with you, or Gaz no longer glared at you. They were still pirates.
“I am all finished up here,” you explained, clearing your throat and taking a step back. “May I return to my cell?”
The cell was the last place you wanted to be in, but it was the only haven you’d found on the ship. You certainly didn’t want to stick around the other pirates for longer than necessary.
“Nonsense,” Price mused. “You have proven to have enough skill as a medic. You’re useful and resourceful. You won’t be able to work well in that dingy cell.”
You felt a pit of nervousness fill the void in your stomach. It did somersaults, making your mouth water with the need to be sick.
This was what you wanted, right? To be accepted into the crew so that you may plot your escape down the road when the time proved right. So why did it feel strange to be praised by the very man who had slaughtered your village?
“I will be staying in the upper decks, then?” you assumed, and he chuckled.
“We don’t quite have a cot set up yet, dove. We weren’t exactly expectin’ you to last, yet here you are.” He sounded almost prideful saying that, and you weren’t sure whether to feel comforted. “You’ll join me in my quarters for now. It only makes sense while I’m healin’ up, hm?”
That pit in your stomach turned into a canyon. To share a bed with the Captain of a malicious pirate crew, watching over him as his nurse? Perhaps this was your way out, or the start of your downfall.
Either way, you either ended up dead, imprisoned, or homeless on the mainland. Homeless, but free. You’d be an idiot not to play into the game.
You could do nothing but bow your head in silent agreement, unable to decide your fate once again. You were at the hands of the Captain and his crew, and those hands may be bloodied and mean if you said otherwise. hands may be bloodied and painful if you said otherwise.
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