Chapter 1 - The Broken Glass and the Nurse
The heavy oak door of the master suite swung open, revealing a dark, suffocating sickroom bathed in the amber glow of a single bedside lamp. Black-and-gold flock wallpaper lined the walls, absorbing the dim light and creating heavy shadows in the corners. Beside a massive velvet-draped canopy bed sat a state-of-the-art medical monitor, its digital green pulse line casting a faint rhythmic glare across an IV drip stand.
Grace Miller stepped over the threshold, her practical white sneakers making no sound against the thick Persian rug. She was dressed in pale blue medical scrubs, her blonde-brown hair tied into a messy bun that pulled slightly at her temples from sheer exhaustion. A stethoscope rested around her neck, and in her gloved hands, she carried a heavy stainless-steel tray loaded with fresh gauze, antiseptic solution, and surgical tape.
Before her sneakers could take three steps into the room, a heavy crystal glass cut through the air.
It missed Grace’s temple by less than two inches, smashing violently against the dark wood paneling beside her head. Shards of leaded glass rained down on the carpet, splashing dark bourbon across the wall.
Behind Grace, two previous nurses let out sharp, panicked gasps. One of them began to cry openly, her hands covering her mouth as she turned and bolted down the dimly lit hallway. The second nurse followed suit, her heels clicking frantically against the marble floor of the corridor as she fled the estate.
Standing near the foot of the bed, Leo Moretti watched the scene unfold with an exhausted, stone-cold expression. Built like a brick wall in his black tailored suit, black tie, and security earpiece, the head of security crossed his arms, his dark eyes locked on Grace to see if she would run like the six nurses before her.
In the center of the bed lay Liam Mercer.
Even trapped beneath hospital sheets, the ruthless mafia boss commanded the entire room with a terrifying, muscular presence. His shirtless chest was bound in thick, white medical bandages that crossed his abdomen and wrapped tight over his broad right shoulder. A luxury watch gleamed on his left wrist, contrasting sharply with the harsh steel metal of an external fixator bolted into his shattered right leg beneath black hospital trousers. Sweat glistened on his rugged jaw and dark wavy hair, his icy blue eyes burning with furious, helplessness-driven rage.
Liam glared at Grace, his chest heaving with harsh, ragged breaths.
"Tell her to leave," Liam rasped, his deep voice carrying a rough, threatening vibration that made the two armed guards at the door visibly tense.
Grace flinched slightly as a stray piece of glass settled near her shoe, but she did not step back. She took a slow, steady breath, thinking of her younger brother Jamie sitting in a pediatric hospital bed three states away, waiting for a bone marrow transplant that required ten thousand dollars every single week.
Grace walked straight past the shattered glass, her eyes locked on Liam. She set the silver tray down on the bedside table with a firm, deliberate click. She reached up, clicked on the small swan-neck lamp to brighten her workspace, snapped on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves, and turned directly toward the bed.
She did not ask for permission. She reached out toward his blood-stained abdominal bandages.
Liam’s hand shot out with blinding speed.
His massive, calloused fingers clamped around Grace’s wrist like a steel cuff, stopping her hand a fraction of an inch from his chest. The force of his grip was crushing, his knuckles white against his tanned skin. His icy blue eyes bored into hers, searching for the slightest trace of hesitation or fear.
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Grace looked down at his iron grip, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. She did not scream. She did not pull away. She slowly raised her head and met his terrifying gaze directly, her fair, rosy cheeks tight with quiet defiance.
"I need you alive until Friday," Grace said, her voice steady, low, and completely fearless.
