The Mafia's Nurse

Where the f***?

Chapter 3

Theo

IN movies when people wake up after being drugged or hit over the head, their eyes flutter open and they might groan from pain. But in real life that's not how it happens, let me tell you.

When I first think I wake up it only takes a second before I am back to my comatose state, fading in and out with the muffled ramblings of deep voices. The next thing I'm aware of is my right eye opening before my left and I can taste fresh drool in my mouth. My mind and body feel trapped inside a dream where I should be in control but I'm not. I squeeze my eyes hoping the dizzy feeling goes away and slowly move my tongue trying to remember how the muscle works.

I've felt this way before, it was after staying down town till 4am and having to get up at 8 am. Meaning it feels like waking up drunk, not hungover. Because of the familiarity of the feeling I keep my eyes closed, thinking I'm in my bed, as I try to push myself up my arms shake and wobble before collapsing.

"You shouldn't try to move yet."

Familiar. That's the first thought I have when I hear the dark, deep voice from only a few feet away.

Then shock bolts through my veins like electricity and on-command my eyes shoot open, only they don't seem to be working because all I see is blurry shapes and faded colors. But I can at least tell I am not in my crap apartment and the feel of leather upholstery underneath me is definitely not my old bed.

As my gaze tries to focus, I register a presence coming towards me and I try once more to sit up having better luck this time. Using my palms against what appears to be a couch, I push my upper body into a sitting position just as my vision clears. I blink once more before looking up now being able to make out my surroundings.

An office, I am in an office with dark wooden furniture and a leather couch that I'm currently laying across. I don't waste much more time on the surroundings before I zone in on the figure standing before me.

My eyes start at his expensive shiny shoes and work their up way the navy blue Italian slacks hiding toned legs that seem to go on for miles. He must be tall at least 6'4. I take my time wondering up his white button down tucked in shirt because my god this man is built like a soldier. Muscles coiled under the material, which does little to hide the defined arms and strong shoulders. His jaw line could cut my fingers that desperately wanted to trace the dark scruff around his chin and cheeks.

Finally, my gaze catches on his dark blue eyes, they remind me of the ocean during a storm: dark and chaotic. There are a few stands on black hair dipping past the forehead into his line of vision, but it didn't seem to bother him as if he was used to the waves falling into whatever tousled position they please.

My senses are still rebooting, but I find myself speaking, "Who?" my voice sounds dazed even to me.

His eyebrows raise and he tugs subtly at the fabric of his slacks before he slowly, elegantly bends at the knees to reach eye level with me. He's so close I would just have to reach out a hand to reenact the fantasies I had of running my fingers against his chiseled face.

"My name is Ace, mia damigella in pericolo," He says and although his rough voice sends shivers up my spine, I can't ignore the fact it sounds so familiar.

"Ace?" I repeat and my voice still sounds dazed and confused which is exactly how I am feeling.

I watch as a smirk slides across his lips causing one corner to rise higher than the other, even revealing some hidden white teeth, "yes, Ace."

Squeezing my eyes as nausea hits me, I ignore the way my head sways.

"You drugged me, Ace," I mutter and I actually hear him sigh as if it was his misfortune.