Mafia and His Doctor

Episode 1: First Cut Bleeds Deep

🖤 Mafia and His Doctor – Episode 1: First Cut Bleeds Deep

600 words | BL | Dark |

Rain painted the streets in streaks of silver as the door to the private clinic slammed open. Dr. Elián Reyes froze mid-step, his stethoscope still dangling around his neck, clipboard slipping from his fingers.

Two men stepped in first — tall, silent, guns visible under their coats. Then came him.

Lucien Valez.

Soaked in rain and blood, Lucien’s tailored suit clung to his body, torn open at the side, revealing a gaping wound along his ribs. His face was calm — disturbingly calm — as if pain was a language he’d stopped speaking long ago.

“He needs stitches. Now,” one guard ordered.

Elián didn’t speak. His heart pounded like thunder behind his ribs, but his hands didn’t hesitate. He locked the clinic doors, dimmed the lights, and pointed them to the sterile room in the back.

Lucien sat on the edge of the steel table without a word, his eyes never leaving Elián. Dark eyes, unblinking. Watchful. Curious. Like a predator studying something soft and delicate… before devouring it.

Elián slipped on gloves, his gaze catching the tattoo inked over Lucien’s chest — a black serpent coiled around a bleeding rose.

“Bullet grazed your side. Lucky,” Elián said, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest.

Lucien smirked faintly. “I don’t rely on luck. Only people who owe me.”

“And I don’t owe you,” Elián replied without looking at him.

“You will.”

Elián didn’t answer. He worked in silence, cleaning the wound, stitching layer by layer with the kind of care no one like Lucien deserved. But something about him — the heat of his skin, the quiet command in his voice — twisted in Elián’s chest like barbed wire.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Lucien said lowly, his eyes trailing along Elián’s throat as he leaned in closer.

“I don’t have time to be afraid,” Elián muttered, cutting the final thread.

Lucien’s fingers closed around his wrist, stopping him. His grip was gentle, but unyielding. “You should be.”

Elián met his gaze, pulse skipping. “I should be reporting you.”

“But you won’t,” Lucien said smoothly. “Because you’re curious. You want to know who I am… and what I do to people who touch me like you just did.”

Elián pulled his hand away, snapping off the gloves. “We’re done.”

Lucien stood slowly, wincing slightly, but not enough to show weakness. “Not even close.”

He stepped close, close enough that Elián could smell blood, rain, and something darker — smoke, maybe. Lust. Power. Sin.

Lucien’s hand brushed along Elián’s jaw.

“There’s something soft in you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to ruin it.”

Then he was gone — coat sweeping behind him, guards trailing, door slamming shut.

The silence afterward was unbearable.