The Mafia's Doctor
Succy · Completed · 124.1k Words
Introduction
A gleam entered her eyes. "So? Haven't you fcked drunk girls before? They fck like a beast, let me tell you. "
Calista had always believed the past was meant to stay buried, hidden in the shadows of memory. But why, then, was her past creeping back into the light, intertwining with her present? She spent her days in a fractured state—broken, miserable, angry at the world.
But at least she had carved out a semblance of peace, until Jaxon Castillo stepped into her life. With his hot body and expressive eyes, he shattered her fragile calm, dragging her into a tumultuous conflict she wanted no part of—a life that haunted her more than anything else. She had convinced herself she was free from the ghosts of her past, that they had perished along with her family.
Yet, as she found herself drawn deeper into Jaxon's orbit, his intense gaze unraveling her defenses, shadows of her history began to resurface. With every stolen glance, she felt herself surrendering pieces of her heart to him, pieces she had sworn to protect. Both held secrets—dark, potent truths that threatened to dismantle everything they had built. Secrets capable of turning the world against them.
Calista was fire and rage; Jaxon was cool water and soothing. They would risk everything to protect each other, even if loving each other was what could destroy them both. ––TRIGGER WARNING; s****l content, PTSD and trauma responses, Violence. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter 1
Blood.
It was everywhere.
In her hands, in between her toes, in her hair. It was everywhere! Why... Whose blood is this? And why was she standing in it? Why was she fucking covered in it?!
And all of a sudden, the scene changed and her family was there, covered in their own blood, getting killed.
"No," Calista screamed, reaching out for them but the floor vanished from under her and she was falling... falling...
Calista woke up with a start, her heart pounding hard against her rib, every single inch of her body covered in sweat. Her room was silent, the only sound was her harsh breathing.
She blinked slowly, her eyes taking time to adjust to the darkness before she looked over at her clock. It was barely five and she was now awake.
She knew she wouldn't be going back to sleep.
She sighed deeply as she rubbed her trembling hand on her face, pushing her wet hair away.
It was going to be a long day.
The bright overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glare on the blood-soaked sheets beneath her hands. The smell of antiseptic mixed with the thick, metallic scent of freshly spilled blood was heavy on the nose—so much blood.
Her mind flashed back to a different scene with so much blood, screams. But she blinked that away. This wasn't the time to be thinking about that. She needed her hands straight, her head clear.
Calista's hands were steady but her heart was hammering hard in her chest. She barely noticed the surgical mask pressing against her nose or the sweat gathering beneath the gloves clinging to her skin.
"He's crashing!" someone yelled, panic heavy in their voice.
She ignored the panic in their voice, focusing instead on the deep, gaping wound in the man's abdomen. The bullet wound had torn through muscle and lodged itself dangerously close to his liver. If she didn't get it out he was as good as dead.
"Scalpel," she ordered, her voice calm, even though she also wanted to panic. But she couldn't. The man's life depended on her remaining calm.
A trembling hand passed it to her. She wanted to scowl at them. She didn't have the damn time for fear.
Her movements were quick, memorized, and precise. A small incision. A delicate probe. There! The bullet. Her breath hitched. It was deeper than she expected, wedged tight, but she couldn't hesitate. Not now. Carefully, she reached in with a forceps—
Bang!
The doors to the operating room open.
Calista's head snapped up, a sharp reprimand on her tongue, but the words died on her tongue when she saw them—men in black suits, guns at their sides, their eyes cold and empty.
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
What the hell?
The men parted and one man with blonde hair stepped forward, his hard eyes fixed on Caliste. He had that air of anger around him, the quiet hum of danger surrounding him like a dark cloud, a black omen. "Miss Calloway," he addressed her, his voice smooth. "Do you know who you're operating on?"
Calista has always been quick to anger, always quick to snap. It was one of her many flaws, one of the things that made her a loner and bitter. Because people were so damn annoying, and nosy, and she was quick to lash out. And now she was damn close to snapping but she kept her mouth shut and glared at the man, her heart racing.
"I wouldn't bother with names," the man continued, his expression blank. "All you have to know is that you shouldn't let him die."
Calista wanted to throw her head back and laugh, and she also wanted to stab the man with the forceps still in her hand. Who the hell were these people?
"Do you think threatening me is going to make him miraculously live if he's meant to die?" she snapped, her voice muffled by the nose mask, but that didn't dull the sharpness in her voice.
She was scared. Goddamn it, she was fucking scared and she fought to keep her hand steady. But she was also angry. And the anger suppressed the fear. It was better rage than fear.
The man's eyes flashed with something dangerous before it cleared and he opened his mouth to probably spit more threats but Calista didn't give him the chance.
"You're the one currently endangering his life, mister," she told him, trying to keep her voice calm, but she didn't stop glaring at him. "With every minute you spend here, throwing unnecessary threats, you're delaying me and his life is being more at risk. Get out."
The man eyed her, his jaw clenched tight, before he made a motion with two of his fingers and the men cleared out just as suddenly as they came, the man's eyes lingering on her far too long for her taste.
Once the door closed behind them, the room seemed to release the breath they'd been holding and Calista's hands shook a little, regret twisting her insides.
She should have kept her mouth shut, for goodness sake. Why did her mouth always have to go running before her brain? These people were bad news. She knew this wouldn't be the end.
She looked down at her patient's face, searching her brain to see if she would know him. She didn't. He had an unforgettable face, so she knew she wouldn't have seen him before.
She didn't care about who he was. She just hoped this was the last time she would see his face.
A WEEK LATER
Calista sighed as she stepped into her apartment, inhaling the warm and inviting scent of her home.
"Hi, baby," she said to her house. "Missed me? Because I sure as hell missed you."
Talking to herself or objects around her was one habit she had never outgrown. Well, that and her deep pit of rage. That rage had been with her for as long as she could remember. And it only increased when her–
She immediately felt something was wrong when she stepped deeper into her apartment. The hair at the back of her neck stood up, a chill sense of dread wrapped its icy fingers around her spine.
She felt eyes on her.
Her trembling hand reached for the light switch and she turned it on. Her heart dropped to her toes when she saw who was sitting in her living room, legs crossed as if he owned the place.
She knew it. She goddamn knew that wouldn't be the last time she saw his face.
He stood up, straightening to his full height until he was towering over her and she felt tiny.
"Hello, Miss Calloway."
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Last Updated: 8/6/2026
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