I PULLED A MAFIA BOSS FROM A SINKING YACHT—24 HOURS LATER, HIS BODYGUARD BROUGHT $2 MILLION TO MY DOOR

skin. I offered local anesthetic. He refused it. Said he wanted to stay alert.

Paranoid or practical, I could not tell.

“Twelve stitches,” I said when I tied off the last suture. “You’ll have a scar.”

“Won’t be my first,” he said quietly. “Or my last.”

Only then did I really look at him.

Mid-thirties, maybe late thirties. Dark hair plastered to his skull.continue reading …