01 | Chaos, Madness

Alexei | Grace

"Please."

IT WAS A SATURDAY NIGHT in London, and my coworker was practically begging down the phone. I could hear the exhaustion saturating her voice—I felt it too, having only finished a twelve-hour shift at nine-thirty p.m.

"I know it's a lot to ask," she continued, "but if we didn't absolutely need you I wouldn't have called."

I stared down at the unappetising ready-meal I'd just pulled out of the microwave. "I've been on overtime every night this week," I sighed.

"Grace, I know it's not fair to ask you to do this." There was a hushed static sound followed by muffled voices as Lena directed somebody to the radiology department. "Maybe we could have managed if it was just the flu, but...there's been an incident."

Even as she spoke I was throwing the microwave meal in the bin, pulling on my dirty white trainers and grabbing my car keys. "What sort of incident?" I inquired, placing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pulled my hair back into a sloppy ponytail.

This year's bout of flu had been especially nasty, and our jabs turned out to be up to ninety percent ineffective. For weeks now hospitals across England had been inundated with the sick, their symptoms ranging from fever to serious respiratory issues. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a proper night's sleep—or eaten a proper meal, for that matter.

"There's been an explosion in Camden," Lena explained. I could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose to stifle a yawn. "We don't know the details, but a lot of the victims are being brought to us. There's police everywhere, taking names and statements, trying to catalogue witnesses..."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. Like we're not already run off our feet trying to get these people better," she scoffed.

The news should have shocked me, filled me with concern, but it barely even registered. I was way too tired to feel anything other than a faint worry that tonight, no matter what we did, it might not be enough.

"Gracie," I heard my father calling from the living room of my tiny apartment.

Zipping up my jacket, I leaned my head around the corner to see that he was alright. I felt bad leaving him on his own so much, but I equally didn't have a choice, and he knew that. Since his accident, he hadn't been able to work - it was up to me to bring the money in now.

"Yeah, dad?" I gave him a weary smile but I could see already that he was concerned.

"That the hospital?"

"Yeah."

"They want you to work again?"

"Yeah." I hesitated. "They really need me."

He wheeled his chair half way across the room and shot me his best concerned-parent disapproving-dad face. "They always really need you, Gracie," he said gently. "But you need rest."

"I know, dad." I did know; I would only be able to keep this up for so long before I crumbled, and that deadline was fast approaching. "I will," I promised, "when I get back."

Before he could argue further I crossed the room and kissed him on the head. "I'll be back soon."

"I worry about you, Grace."

I paused by the front door but didn't turn around. "I love you, dad."

Finally clear of the house, I returned to my call with Lena. Even since the beginning of our call, the background noise from the hospital seemed to have become louder.

"Your dad okay?" Lena asked. It wasn't really the time for small talk, but she and I were close friends and I knew that she felt bad for asking me to do this.

"He's fine," I affirmed. The inside of my car was freezing cold, and for moments I was bathed in pitch blackness until I turned the keys in the ignition. It was so late that all the street lights were out, and a light frost sparkled under my headlights. "Jesus," I groaned. "It's freezing. I'm on my way."

My breath misted into the icy air of the car while I waited for a reply. I didn't have enough petrol in the tank to use the heaters, so I settled for pulling the sleeves of my jacket down over my hands.

"See you soon, Grace," Lena said. "I'm sorry for all this. It's...chaos. Madness. I've got to go -"

The call was cut off abruptly, leaving me listening to the high pitched tone of a dead line. I snapped my mobile phone shut and set off through the darkness towards the hospital.

Driving through London in the dead of night put me on edge. Since I was a kid I'd been afraid of the dark, and it wasn't something I'd ever got over. Nowadays, though, it was less about the dark and more about what was in it; I lived in a cheap suburb where crime rates were higher than almost anywhere else. No matter how pristine a facade it presented during the day, I knew the city couldn't hide its murky underworld at night; there were gangs who lurked in the shadows, dealers peddling goods, pimps and prostitutes claiming corners and lives.

I switched on the radio to drown out my anxious thoughts.

...earlier this evening an explosion occurred at a property in Camden, claiming four lives and injuring at least three other people. It was believed at first that the incident was caused by unsafe gasworks, but evidence has since emerged to suggest the involvement of criminal organisations. The police have not yet confirmed or denied these allegations...

Feeling even worse than I did before, I changed stations until I found some crappy pop music I could sing along to and let that blast out of the speakers of my ancient Toyota Corolla. The sound was tinny and muffled, but it was better than nothing.

When I finally pulled into the hospital car park, the reality of what had happened crashed into me. The whole building was swarmed with police vans and cars, officers patrolling all areas and speaking tensely through walkie-talkies. Just how serious was this incident? How much foul play would have to be suspected to incur such an excessive following?

I shuddered and switched off the engine before dashing inside.

The hospital reception was much the same - two officers stood like sentinels in the doorway, one leaned over the front desk chatting with Carol the receptionist. I waved my ID card at her and headed through to the employee changing room. I slipped into my pale blue nurse's uniform and then, steeling myself against the smell of disinfectant and long hours, I emerged into wing B of the hospital to do my rounds.

It wasn't a glamorous job, I'd admit, but I liked helping people.

I started at reception where anxious people had clustered, all of them waiting to be seen by doctors. Carol looked run off her feet; she was already trying to deal with one of the cops and a small family, but more were crowding around.

"Nurse?" I turned in the direction the voice had come from, and found a guy clasping a little girl to his side. He was young-ish, with sandy blond hair and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. Odd, but the look kind of worked for him. The little girl looked around three, with a bright pink fleece on and a knitted hat that looked home-made. She clasped a stuffed bear in her small fist.

"Can I help you?" I asked, noting the slightly frantic tone of his voice.

"It's Rosie, she's got this awful rash all over her body and she keeps burning up." He clutched the small kid closer to his side.

"Fever?" He nodded solemnly. "Okay, lets get her to a bed so I can check her out."

I took the lead, weaving through crowded corridors and passing several beds that were already full to the brim. Finally I found a spare one and closed the blue paper curtains as the man placed Rosie on to the hospital bed.

"Um..." he said cautiously. "Shouldn't a...doctor...be checking her over?"

With my back to them both, I closed my eyes for a moment and exhaled deeply. It was a comment I got on an almost daily basis, and I'd learned, by now, to let it go. Well, most of the time...

I turned around with a cheery smile. "Unfortunately we're very busy at the moment," I explained, trying my best not to sound patronising. "A Doctor will be able to examine her, but that could be in an hour or three. In the mean time, I'd like to check that your daughter doesn't have meningitis. Does that sound okay—"

"—Dan," he inputted.

"So is that okay, Dan?" I repeated.

He shot a nervous glance at his kid, who was busy playing with her teddy, totally oblivious to our conversation. "Yes," he finally agreed.

"Please, take a seat."

**

"You look terrible," Lena commented as I finished up with a patient. I signed off on their notes and then left them to rest, wondering when I would have that opportunity myself.

"Thanks," I muttered dryly, falling in-step beside her. "I bloody feel it."

"Don't we all." We turned off Wing D and entered E - the part of the hospital reserved for more private issues, or for times when we had no other spaces free.

At the end of the corridor, outside one of the private rooms, two police officers stood still as statues in front of the door.

I frowned. "This isn't on our rotas."

"It's not on anyone's rota," Lena shrugged, "but someone has to do it."

"Is that...one of the explosion victims?" I pointed to the cops, indicating that I meant the person they were concealing.

"I would guess," she answered. We began to slow, preparing to begin our work of checking over patients. "But shotgun not doing the end room."

I turned to her with a fierce scowl, and her dark blue eyes twinkled. "No way," I hissed, "am I doing that."

"Guess you should have shotgunned."

"You're a bitch."

"And you love me," she shot back cockily.

"Lena, no." I halted completely folding my arms in an attempt to be stern.

"Why not?"

"Because..." I trailed off, trying to fathom an excuse that didn't make me sound crazy. I didn't want to admit that what I'd heard on the radio had scared me; that I feared the victim may be more like a perpetrator.

"Well?" she pressed.

"Why won't you?" I countered childishly.

"Because you and I both know you're a better nurse than me, Grace."

God damn her for flattering me. I could feel a blush heating my cheeks, and I knew I'd already lost.

"I hate you," I told her lightly. We both knew it was far from the truth.

Lena simply smiled and shrugged, throwing open the door into the nearest room and disappearing, leaving me alone.

I'd always felt uneasy around law enforcement (despite the fact that the most illegal thing I'd ever done was drink two glasses of wine at a wedding when I was seventeen), which intensified my growing anxiety as I drew closer to the last room on the corridor. Above, one of the fluorescent light strips flickered, admitting a low humming sound.

Great, I thought. This is just like in the movies...

One of the officers glanced my way as I approached. "Can we see your identification, Miss?" he asked. He was wearing one of those thick black vests that was probably bullet proof, and in the breast pocket a radio crackled.

"Uh, yeah, okay." I dug out my ID badge despite the fact I was quite clearly in blue nurse's scrubs and handed it to him.

He inspected it for a good minute and a half before waving me through. "Thank you, Miss Perne."

Well, at least they didn't warn me to be careful...

Half of me expected, or hoped, that somehow when I pressed down the door handle it would be locked. Of course, I had no such luck. The door swung open revealing a brightly lit hospital room, and—to my intense joy—an unconscious patient.

That would make my job ten times easier.

The unconscious patient was strapped to the usual machines, wired up like a rag-doll. The heart-monitor beeped regularly and the IV drip was firmly attached. I picked up the clipboard at the end of the bed to check his notes, and almost dropped it again when I began to read.

According to the sheet, he had no name, no recognisable identity, and no prior health records to be accounted for. I frowned and flicked through more pages, but they presented the same evidence: as far as the NHS was concerned, this man did not exist.

As much as I hated to admit it, anxiety still gripped my heart from the drive to the hospital, and this new information set me on edge even more.

I avoided looking at his face as I noted down his vital signs, placing the clipboard back at the end of the bed when I was finished and turning to go.

But I hesitated.

Curiosity killed the cat, Gracie. I could hear my dad's voice echoing through my mind; it was the same thing he'd warned me my whole life. And yet, I found myself unable to resist. The guy was unconscious, after all...

I crossed the room quietly until I stood close enough to glimpse at the patient's unnamed face. I hadn't realised, but until that moment I had been holding my breath. Now it released in a sudden gasp.

The bastard was drop-dead gorgeous! A shadow of stubble around his sharp jaw, just-there cheekbones, dark lashes...I shook the inappropriate thoughts from my head and looked closer—really looked.

There was a faint wrinkle on his forehead as though he was perpetually worried, or concerned, or angry. His brows were thick, and hung low over his eyes, yet beneath them there were no dark hollows like my own. The things I noticed the most weren't the things that made him handsome—though he undoubtedly was—but instead, I noticed his flaws. The crookedness of his nose, like it had been broken once or twice. The scars that had been forged in his skin; a translucent one on his right eyelid, and another more prominent line that followed his left cheekbone.

From his flaws, my eyes swept over his injuries. Bullet wounds in his left shoulder and arm—lucky shots that didn't do permanent damage. He also had some grazes on his face and body, some faint burns that would heal with time. He looked like he'd come from a war zone, rather than a dodgy-gas-works explosion.

Had he been the perpetrator? I wondered. Or was he just caught in the cross-fire?

My eyes swept across his tattooed arms and up his neck, latching back on to that oddly flawed yet intensely handsome face.

My eyes met his and I thought I might have a heart attack. He was awake! I held a hand over my mouth and stumbled back, a breathy noise of surprise escaping my throat.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, and I noticed that his eyes were dark brown—darker than chocolate, lighter than black.

He glanced around the room, the crease in his forehead deepening.

Then he yanked the IV out of his arm and threw the machines to the floor, shoving out of bed...

A/N Welcome to my story! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter - if you did, please vote and tell me what you thought:)

Alexei and Grace is a mafia love story, but it's going to take a while to get into all the typically mafia stuff (guns, vodka, whisky, prostitutes, money, you name it...). My stories are always explicit either sexually or in terms of violence, and I promise you that will come, but I'm not going to rush into anything. I've done a lot of writing before but this is the first story I've posted under this account - I want to start afresh and really start something that's worth reading and writing.

I want this to be as realistic (and emotionally intense between A and G) as possible! Also, this is my first time writing about the Russian mafia; I usually favour the Italians but I thought I'd try something new.

I'll try to post at least once a week, on Monday, or twice (second update on Friday).

Thanks for reading!