Presently.
With a final, devastating plunge that shattered the remaining remnants of her consciousness, Alfonso let out a low, animalistic growl, his massive frame shuddering violently as the peak of the aphrodisiac finally broke.
For a long, suffocating moment, he remained heavy and burning against her, his chest heaving like a dying beast before he abruptly pulled his length out of her tight depths.
The sudden, brutal deprivation made Joanne’s body convulse.
Her raw, overstimulated nerve endings snapped, and an intense, involuntary spasm rippled through her lower abdomen.
Before she could even process the empty ache left behind, her traitorous core tightened violently, and she squirted, a heavy, hot torrent of her own sweet arousal spraying all over the white sheets.
She lay there completely undone, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Her entire body ached with a deep, throbbing agony that bypassed simple fatigue.
From her neck down to her knees, she was a map of absolute destruction, covered in dark purple bruises and angry crescent teeth marks where he had claimed her skin.
But the worst of the pain was centered between her thighs.
Her vagina felt thoroughly stretched, raw, and fiercely burning.
As her vision slowly cleared, Joanne’s eyes drifted down to the center of the bed.
Mixed with the slick pool of her own moisture and his spilled seed was a stark, unmistakable stain of deep red fluid.
The blood was smeared against the stark white fabric—undeniable, physical proof of her virginity being brutally broken by her enemy.
The sight of it made a fresh wave of humiliation and bitter resentment pool in the back of her throat, but she didn’t even have the strength to weep.
Alfonso didn’t offer her a single word of comfort, nor did he look at her with a shred of tenderness.
The drug had cleared from his eyes, leaving behind the cold, calculating mind of a Mafia God.
He slid off the bed, his bare, sculpted back glistening with sweat as he reached for his phone on the nightstand.
Without bothering to cover his imposing, naked frame, he dialed a number and pressed the device to his ear.
“Bring the papers down to Room 404. Now,” Alfonso commanded, his voice already returning to its natural, gravelly authority, entirely stripped of the feral madness from before.
He paused for a fraction of a second, listening to the response on the other end, before adding.
He snapped the phone shut and finally turned his piercing gaze back to the bed where Joanne still lay paralyzed.
His eyes flicked down to the bloodstain on the sheet, a dark, unreadable emotion passing through his features before his expression hardened completely.
“Dress up. Fast,” he ordered smoothly, his tone laced with a dangerous impatience.
“Unless you want my entire security team walking in here to find you struggling naked on your patient’s bed.”
Joanne’s heart spiked with a fresh jolt of panic.
She looked up at him, her upper lip trembling, a foolish, desperate hope flickering in her chest that he might actually help dress her.
She was so weak her limbs felt like lead; her hands were shaking she could barely lift her wrists from the mattress.
She expected him to at least hand her clothes to her gently, or assist her sitting up.
Instead, Alfonso reached down to the floor, scooped her lace bra, panties, and her nursing scrubs, and carelessly threw the bundle of clothes directly onto her bruised stomach.
“I don’t repeat myself, nurse,” he hissed, turning his back to her as he pulled on a fresh pair of trousers from his personal luggage in the closet.
“Move.”
Swallowing a bitter lump of pride, Joanne forced her aching muscles to move.
Every single shift of her hips sent a white-hot flash of agony shooting straight up her spine from her core.
She dragged herself to the edge of the bed, her feet hitting the cold floor as her knees nearly buckled beneath her.
She fumbled blindly with her underwear, her fingers slick with sweat and her own fluids as she pulled the torn lace over her trembling thighs.
The fabric rubbed against her freshly bruised skin, making her hiss in pain.
She practically had to fight her own body just to slide her arms into the sleeves of her uniform shirt, her chest heaving with exhaustion as she hurriedly buttoned it up with mismatched fingers, trying desperately to present some semblance of a professional mask before anyone entered.
Just as she fastened the final button of her nursing coat, the lock of the suite clicked open.
A man stepped into the room, carrying a file in his hand.
He was exceptionally tall, broad-shouldered, and striking—possessing a sharp, handsome face and an air of quiet, lethal discipline that marked him as someone high within the Fareno hierarchy.
“Boss,” the man said, his voice low and respectful as he stepped forward, completely ignoring the lingering, heavy scent of sex and sweat that filled the room.
He handed the file directly to Alfonso.
Alfonso took the papers, his fingers tapping against the leather cover.
“Griffin,” he murmured, his voice cutting through the silence.
“Leave the room and go prepare the interior of the vehicle. We’ll be having company.”
As he spoke the final words, Alfonso casually gestured with his chin toward Joanne, who was leaning against the bedside table just to keep herself standing.
At the gesture, Griffin shifted his gaze.
His eyes spared a deliberate, calculating look at Joanne.
He took in her pale, exhausted face, her swollen lips, and the subtle tremor in her knees, instantly reading the situation for exactly what it was.
He didn’t say a word, his expression remaining perfectly blank, but the weight of his stare made Joanne feel entirely bare all over again.
Griffin gave a single, tight nod to his boss, turned on his heel, and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
The silence returned.
Alfonso turned fully to face Joanne, walking over until his towering frame completely blocked out the light from the bedside lamp.
He looked down at her, his jaw set.
“What is your name?” he asked abruptly.
Joanne swallowed hard, her throat feeling like sandpaper.
When she spoke, her voice was incredibly husky, deep, and thoroughly ruined from the hours she had spent screaming and moaning beneath him.
“Joanne,” she whispered slowly, her chest rising and falling.
“Joanne Skipper.”
Alfonso tilted his head, a faint, dark glint appearing in his eyes as he repeated it in his mind.
“Joanne,” he murmured, his deep baritone rolling over the syllables.
“You have a good name, sweet nurse. Memorable.”
Without another word, he flipped the file open, revealing a thick stack of legal documents inside.
He pulled a silver fountain pen from his breast pocket, clicked it, and placed it directly on top of the open page.
He stepped closer, thrusting the open file right into her shaking hands.
“Sign it,” he commanded flatly.
Joanne looked down at the crisp white pages, her vision swimming as she tried to decipher the dense, legal jargon printed in black ink.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“What… what is this?” she asked, her voice cracking as she looked up into his unyielding eyes.
“What does it contain?”
“It’s a contract,” Alfonso replied smoothly, his lips twisting into a cold, matter-of-fact line.
“As of this exact moment, you are no longer a standard hospital employee. You are my exclusive, personal nurse. You will live where I tell you to live, you will travel where I travel, and you will tend to my medical needs whenever and wherever I demand it. In exchange, a very great amount of payment has been quoted on those pages. More money than a common nurse like you could ever hope to earn in three lifetimes.”
Joanne’s eyes widened, a sudden surge of rebellion flaring through her exhaustion.
“I can’t just—I have a life here, I have a job—I can’t just sign away my freedom to a—”
“I don’t recall giving you an option to negotiate, Joanne,” Alfonso cut in fiercely, stepping so close his chest practically pinned her against the wall.
His voice dropped to a menacing, lethal whisper that vibrated right through her skull.
“Let me make the reality of your situation perfectly clear. You injected a high-profile VIP with an unauthorized, experimental narcotic. You committed a catastrophic act of medical negligence. I won’t take a no for an answer. You sign that paper right now, or I make one call to the district attorney and ensure you end up in jail by sunrise, rotting in a concrete cell for the rest of your miserable life.”
Joanne choked on her breath, the words dying in her throat.
She stared at him, her mind racing through the trap he had so effortlessly laid for her.
He had her completely cornered.
She had absolutely no room to move, no leverage, and no choice.
If she went to prison, her medical career was dead, her identity would be exposed, and her ultimate goal would be completely destroyed.
But then, beneath the terror and the pain, a dark, dangerous realization sparked in her mind.
Personal nurse.
She would be inside his house.
She would be close to his food, his medicine, his private quarters.
She would have access to the inner sanctum of the Fareno empire—the very place she had spent ten years trying to infiltrate.
This wasn’t just a prison sentence disguised as a contract; it was the ultimate, golden opportunity she had been praying for.
She wouldn’t just be his doctor; she would be the shadow that eventually brought him to his knees, the weapon that would finally break him.
Forcing her trembling hand to steady, Joanne gripped the silver pen.
She didn’t bother to look at the pages thoroughly, refusing to read the rest of the hidden clauses or the terrifying depth of the contract.
With a sharp breath, she pressed the nib to the paper and scribbled her signature at the bottom of the page.
Alfonso watched her hand move, his eyes tracking the ink until the final stroke was complete.
Slowly, a sinister, intensely dark smile spread across his handsome face, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying satisfaction as he reached out and snatched the file from her hands.
He leaned down, his mouth brushing against her burning, bruised ear as he whispered his final, chilling words:
“A clever girl… Welcome to hell, sweet nurse.”