Chapter 2
The heavy silence of the luxury bathroom was broken only by the sound of Massimo’s ragged breathing. He sat rigidly in his wheelchair, his hands still gripping the wheels, expecting the young woman on the floor to scramble away in tears, just as all the others had. He expected the fear. He demanded it.
But Tessa Fitzgerald did not cry. She did not cower.
Tessa immediately pushed herself back to her feet. She brushed her hands off on her light gray apron, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, intense fire. The messy bun at the top of her head shifted slightly, but her composure remained absolute. She marched straight toward him, closing the distance without a single ounce of hesitation or fear.
"STOP ACTING LIKE A CHILD," Tessa snapped angrily, her voice ringing with an authority that left the feared mafia boss momentarily stunned.
Massimo’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscles fluttered beneath his light stubble. No one spoke to him that way. No one survived speaking to him that way. He slammed one heavy, tattooed hand violently against the wheelchair armrest, the sharp smack echoing like a gunshot. He tilted his head back, glaring directly into her eyes with a dark, lethal threat.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN FORCE ME?" Massimo challenged, his deep voice vibrating with a terrifying, promised violence.
Tessa did not answer immediately. Her breathing was steady, her slow eye movements taking in his posture, the tension in his shoulders, and the absolute desperation hiding beneath his anger. She stepped swiftly behind the wheelchair. With two sharp, definitive clicks, she locked both the left and right brakes. The chair was now completely immobilized.
Massimo gripped the armrests, his knuckles turning white, but before he could twist around to shout at her again, Tessa walked around the side of the chair and planted herself directly in front of him.
She stood close—too close for comfort, well within the reach of his powerful arms. Massimo stared up at her, genuinely stunned that she still refused to back down. For two and a half seconds, there was no dialogue. Only the heavy, electric tension of a complete power standoff. The bright morning light illuminated the fierce determination on her fair skin.
Tessa leaned forward, invading his personal space. She raised her right hand and pointed one single, unwavering finger directly at Massimo’s face.
Massimo went completely still. His chest stopped heaving.
"ONE—YOU GO WILLINGLY," Tessa said, her voice dropping into a cold, clinical, and entirely unbreakable register. "TWO—I MAKE YOU GO."
Massimo stared at the finger pointed between his eyes. He looked at the beautiful, stubborn brunette standing over him. The absolute absurdity of the situation finally broke through the red haze of his anger. He was the head of the Boston syndicate, immobilized in a bathroom, being threatened by a twenty-seven-year-old woman in a navy uniform.
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"You make me?" Massimo repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, though the yelling had stopped. "You weigh a hundred and twenty pounds."
"I am a trained neuro-rehab specialist," Tessa replied, not lowering her finger. "I know how to manipulate leverage, momentum, and pressure points. I can have you on that shower bench in forty-five seconds, and it will be entirely undignified for both of us. Make your choice."
