Toby hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting to the ragged, open wound in Gotti's shoulder. Blood was still weeping steadily, staining the white sheets of the bed, but the look in Gotti's golden eyes was final. It was the look of a predator who had finally found his home and would rip the throat out of anyone—friend or foe—who tried to interrupt the peace.
"But Alpha, the internal tearing..." Toby began, his voice failing him.
"Out," Gotti snarled, a low, vibrating warning that made the medical instruments on the tray rattle.
Toby didn't wait for a third command. He grabbed his kit, leaving the blood-slicked spear on the floor as a grim reminder of the night's violence, and backed out of the room. The door clicked shut with a heavy, definitive sound, leaving the Mafia King and his Nanny alone in the dim, amber glow of the bedside lamp.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Gotti's ragged breathing.
