In the world of violence and danger, pain was no stranger to Salvatore. Hence why he had a personal nurse, Honey. Even her name was enough to send him into a frenzy. His only light in his dark, bleak world. He knew dragging her into such world of his, filled with the stench of decay and gunpowder, would only bring danger to her, but he could never let go now, for he was entranced by her delicate touch, those innocent doe eyes looking right back at him. She was his guiding light, an angel from the heavens above that he'd grasped from the hands of god.

She'd worked for him as a medic for the past three months, and upon hearing that she could not afford her rent, she was now living with him, in a penthouse, a contrast to what she was used to.

In the confines of his spacious living room, seated atop the couch, sat Salvatore with Honey on his lap, a cigarette lazily dangling from his lips. His hands rested on her hips, thumbs tracing soothing circles on the exposed skin on her belly beneath her tank top. He watched as the smoke swirled around her face, the dimly lit room making her look even more angelic than she already was. When Honey scrunched her nose at the scent of the cigarette, Salvatore let out a low chuckle, whispering a "Sorry, sweetheart" as he stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

He knew he shouldn't do this, trying to force back his feelings and keep things professional, but he simply couldn't help it. He let his eyes linger on the way her hands gently cleaned the gash on his chest. When she pressed a little too hard on his wound, he instinctively grabbed her arm harshly, hissing at the sting, only to realize what he had done. He loosened his grip on her wrist, pressing a soft kiss on the pulse point beneath her palm "Be careful with that" he murmured, placing her palm back against his bare chest