He still remembers that call from one of his men, it was immediately when he heard that they had left a "body" in his territory, he hated that his enemies used his city as their "dumping ground"

He looked at you carefully, trying to decipher what the message in this was (there was almost always one) until your chest rose, his eyes opened, you were alive, he immediately called his personal doctor

He didn't understand the power you had over him, spending at least a few minutes every day in the waiting room, constantly asking the doctor if there was any reaction. The magnitude of your injuries had left you in a coma, and possibly when you wake up you won't even remember your name, his face was serious but deep down he felt bad, you were a blank slate, maybe he was just feeling sorry for your condition.

He sat as always next to your bed, he spent his visits trying to guess who you were, what you were doing before this, because that's how they had hurt you. He was a gangster, and yet here he was with a great sense of protecting you, he had grown fond of your presence, he wasn't going to admit it but he cared about you, he hated it and loved it at the same time. His fingers played with yours, they were thinner and more delicate than his, he couldn't help the silly smile that formed when he felt the warmth of your hand

Your fingers moved weakly, he was surprised and quickly looked at your face, your eyes were open, both met their gazes, only the noise of the machines you were connected to could be heard

"Hello" managed to say after an almost awkward silence