Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 47

Ezra's POV:

The club lights were a blur, the music a dull throb in my head. I was consumed, a restless energy driving me, but not towards the usual pursuits. Every minute Davina was away felt like a fresh wound. I was holed up in my office, trying to anticipate my father’s next move, trying to calculate the Sokolov fallout, but my mind kept drifting back to her, to Devlin’s house, to the silence on the other end of the phone. Andrea’s last report had confirmed she was still there, but unharmed. A small victory, yet a hollow one.

The door to my office burst open without a knock, and Devlin stormed in, her face a mask of furious indignation. Her eyes, usually vibrant, now blazed with righteous anger, and her hands were clenched at her sides. She didn't hesitate, striding directly to my desk, her presence a whirlwind of accusation.

"What the hell did you do, Ezra?!" she spat, her voice low but vibrating with rage, cutting through the background noise of the club. "Do you have any idea what you put Davina through? Her heart is shattered! She's distraught, humiliated, and utterly broken!"

I stood, bracing myself for the onslaught. I deserved every word. "I know," I admitted, my voice rough. "My father... he exposed the engagement. It was never meant to—"

"Never meant to?" Devlin scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "You were engaged, Ezra! While she was under your roof, relying on you, giving you everything! Do you honestly think she was just a convenient plaything until your 'arrangement' was settled?" Her eyes blazed. "She told me everything. The debt. The 'payment.' Her first time, given to a man who was promised to another. How could you be so cruel?"

The words cut deeper than any blade, because they were true. Every accusation landed, precise and devastating. I ran a hand over my face, the weight of my actions pressing down on me. "I made mistakes, Devlin. Grave mistakes. I… I never meant for her to get hurt like this. The engagement was a political move, a necessity to stabilize things with the Sokolovs and after Ivan, it was the only way. It meant nothing to me. But I know that sounds hollow now."

Devlin stared at me, her fury slowly softening into a weary sadness. "Hollow isn't the word, Ezra. It's despicable. You don't get to hurt someone that deeply and then wave it away with 'political moves.' She's utterly crushed. She doesn't want to see you. She doesn't want anything to do with you or your world. You should just let her be. Let her heal."

"Let her be?" I pushed away from my desk, my own desperation rising to meet her quiet conviction. "How can I? She's vulnerable. My father won't stop. The Sokolovs... they'll see this as an insult. She's not safe out there, Devlin, even with you. Not from them, not from my father, not from the consequences of my own actions." My voice dropped, filled with a desperate plea. "I need her back. I need to fix this. Please, help me win her back. Tell me what I need to do."

Devlin's expression was unyielding. "There's nothing you can do right now, Ezra. She needs space. She needs time. She needs to rebuild herself without your influence." She paused, her gaze softening slightly, a flicker of genuine concern replacing her anger. "Besides," she added, her voice dropping, "she's not well. She's developed a high fever. She was hallucinating a few hours ago, calling out for her mother. I've given her medicine, but she's weak."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Sick? Hallucinating? My heart seized in my chest, a cold dread washing over me. All my focus on the macro-level dangers, and I hadn't even considered her physical state. "Sick?" I whispered, the word barely audible. My earlier decision to send Andrea to bring her back felt even more monstrous now. "Fever? Devlin, please. Let me see her. Just for a moment. I need to know she's alright. I need to make sure she has everything she needs."

Devlin looked at me, her face unreadable, weighing my desperation against Davina's fragile state. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken accusations and a desperate plea.

Devlin's gaze was piercing, weighing my plea. The seconds stretched, agonizing, before she finally gave a slow, reluctant nod. "You can visit," she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "But you won't get close. You will not touch her. You will not speak to her beyond a whisper, and only if she seems aware. You're there to see her, Ezra. Not to torment her further." Her eyes narrowed. "If you try anything, anything at all, I swear to God, I will call the police and tell them everything. Your name, your family's name, everything."

A bitter taste filled my mouth at her threat, but the wave of relief that flooded me was overwhelming. At least I could see her. At least I could confirm with my own eyes that she was truly safe, even if it was from myself. "Understood," I rasped, my voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Devlin. Just... let me see her."

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The drive to Devlin's house was a blur. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anxiety. When I arrived, Devlin opened the door, her face still wary. She led me directly to a small, quiet bedroom, dimly lit by a single bedside lamp.

"Ezra…" Her voice was weak, a fevered whisper, but undeniably my name. "Ezra… don't leave… please…"

My breath hitched. She was calling for me. Even after everything, even in her delirious state, it was my name on her lips. Devlin looked at me, a complicated expression on her face, but she said nothing.

"I'll stay," I said, my voice hoarse, my decision made. "I'll stay here all night."

Dr. Mason nodded, gathering his things. "Good. Call me if there's any change."

Once the doctor and Devlin had left the room, leaving me alone with Davina, I gently eased onto the edge of the bed. Devlin's earlier command echoed in my mind: You will not touch her. But her calling my name, her vulnerability, shattered my resolve. Carefully, tentatively, I reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead. Her skin was burning hot beneath my fingers.

I moved slowly, sliding fully onto the bed, gently gathering her into my arms. Her head found my shoulder, and she shifted slightly, letting out a soft sigh, as if finding comfort in my presence. My shirt, the one she'd been wearing, was still damp with her sweat, but I didn't care. I held her close, my arm wrapped around her waist, my other hand stroking her hot forehead. She muttered again, unintelligible words, but her body seemed to relax against mine.

I stayed there all night, her burning skin against mine, listening to her ragged breaths, feeling her occasional shivers. Every few hours, I gently woke her to administer the medicine Devlin had left. In her fevered state, she occasionally whimpered, called out for her mother, or mumbled my name again, clinging to me with a weak but desperate grip. I held her tighter each time, whispering reassurances, promises I intended to keep. I had broken her, but I would heal her. I would watch over her. She was in my arms again, vulnerable and fragile, and this time, I would protect her. This time, I wouldn't let go.