The Alpha’s Caregiver is a Mafia

The expression on Xavian's face was stony as he stared her down. 

As irritating as she was as a person, her looks were a different case. She had long, dark hair, very black, in contrast with her pale skin and her red lips—he wasn't sure if she was wearing lipstick or not, so to find out, he dragged a thumb right across her bottom lip and stared at the thumb that had no trace of red, just lip gloss. 

"Your lips are very red," he said as if it didn't make sense to him. 

Poppy's eyes dilated behind her glasses, and the dark ring around her hazel irises, a mix of golden brown and green, grew larger. "M-Mr. Winslow, what are you doing?" 

He said, "Do you know the deal I had with my sister before I allowed you to be rehired?" 

She looked up at his much, much taller figure beneath thick light coloured eyelashes. "No?" 

"Two weeks of this, and if you don't do a good job." Xavian grounded out, "You'll be fired again." 

Poppy blinked. "What? So, you're going to get me fired?" 

"Good, there are some bits of smartness in that thick skull of yours." 

Her face screwed into a frown. "Wait, don't you think you're being a bit too petty here? Because of a three-dollar yogurt?" 

"You bring out some qualities in me, and it's just your first day of work, congratulations," Xavian said very softly. 

He retreated, walking over to sit down on the couch, an arm thrown over his forehead that was starting to throb.

Poppy stormed to him. "So, you're going to make my working days here a living hell and then give the impression that I didn't do a good job?" 

"Yes."

"Mr. Winslow!" 

"You can resign and leave." 

"Is this to get me to quit?" 

"What do you think?" Xavian asked. 

Poppy didn't like the gleam in his eyes. "Well, I won't quit. I'll do my job, you'll pay me and you'll give me a deserved review. Good luck trying to frustrate me into quitting, I've handled worse." 

"I always get what I want," Xavian said, his tone at soft odds with the pained expression on his face. 

Poppy gazed at him. Is this guy for real?

"Get out now." He waved a hand of dismissal at her. 

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you okay? Do you need your pills?" 

"Just get out." 

Poppy didn't leave, her gaze assessing. "Where are your pills? Just tell me where they are and I'll get them for you. I just came here, so I'm not even sure where they are kept. I also don't know what time—"

"Stop talking, Poppy!" he snapped. 

She frowned. "Okay. But just tell me where it is." 

The man grunted and forced himself to his feet. He grasped Poppy by her thin bicep, dragging her out of the room and slamming the door shut. His forehead rested against the door for a few seconds as if to gain control over himself, and then he staggered off to the bathroom door, pushing it open and storming inside. 

He broke off the band he had around his low man bun and moved over to the wide tub, getting inside of it and turning on the tap water. 

Those pills weren't very useful. They didn't do much to help with his migraine—that was excruciatingly painful, like nothing he'd ever felt before. His head, the majority of the time, was a storm as if threatening his brain to burst into smitterens. 

"Mr. Winslow!" Poppy was still outside his door. "Please let me come in. I can try to help you!" 

Xavian painfully rolled his eyes at her words and dug his head underwater in the tub. 

Now Poppy was beginning to pace back and forth in front of his door, taking out her phone to ring his sister. 

"Poppy?" 

"Something is wrong with Mr. Winslow, and he's not letting me in." 

"His condition gets worse day by day, unfortunately, that's why he's like that." 

"Where are his pills? You never told me. And I don't even know what time he is supposed to have them." 

"I'm sorry about that. Just—the pills are inside the drawer of the table next to his bed. As for his schedule, I'll type it in and send it to you." 

"Oh okay, um—" 

"Don't give the pills to him yet." 

"Huh? Why? He's in so much pain." 

"Precisely. Submerge his head under cold water for ten minutes or something. When the pain is much calmer, you can give the pills to him, please." 

Poppy blinked at the phone. This was all so bizarre. It sounded like this man was on the brink of death. Why weren't they taking him to the hospital or something? Why would they rather he be in this sort of pain and simply find him a caregiver? 

It wasn't like there was much she could do for him except follow instructions. 

Ending the call, Poppy rushed into the room towards the opened door of the bathroom. 

"Mr. Winslow?" 

Silence.

"Mr. Winslow?" 

She moved further into the bathroom, and the second her gaze dropped on the tub, filled to the brim, someone soaking under it, her eyes grew wide. 

"MR. WINSLOW!!" 

There were no bubbles above the water as if he had drowned, and for the first time in a long while, Poppy tasted the feel of her heart dropping to her stomach. 

She snatched a towel and rushed to fall on her knees next to the tub. She shoved her hands into the tub and forcefully pulled up Xavian, who looked like he'd put himself to sleep or maybe…died.

Oh no, no, he's not breathing! 

Poppy panicked, and knowing only one way to potentially save someone who'd drowned, she tilted his head back, lifted his chin, and pinched his nose, immediately closing his lips with hers to give him two breaths. 

She tried chest compression, but that didn't show any signs of working. "Suicide, Mr. Winslow? Oh, come on, not when I'm working here for you." She dived in again, repeating the cycle of giving her breaths to him, that is, until her hair was grasped, her head shoved back so hard she winced in pain. 

Xavian pinned her still with murderous eyes. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!!"