Chapter 3 - The Price of Silence
The room remained frozen in a suffocating silence for five long seconds. The only sound was the electronic beep of the heart monitor and the faint hum of the air filtration unit.
Leo took two deliberate steps toward the window, his heavy leather shoes coming to a halt between Grace and the heavy velvet drapes. "Step away from the glass, Nurse Miller," Leo commanded, his deep voice leaving no room for negotiation. "The blinds stay closed. That is Mr. Mercer's explicit order."
Grace looked at Leo's hardened face, then back at Liam. The crime boss had collapsed back against his pillows, panting heavily as the physical exertion of trying to sit up sent a wave of pain through his bandaged abdomen. Yet his icy eyes remained fixed on her, sharp as razors.
Grace slowly lowered her hand from the blind cord, stepping back toward her medical cart. "Fine," she said smoothly, picking up a penlight and a chart folder. "The blinds stay closed. But if my patient suffers from vitamin D deficiency or psychological hypoxia due to sensory deprivation, it goes on the official log."
Dr. Shaw let out a soft, nervous cough, tapping her tablet screen frantically. "Grace... there is no official log here. This is a private residential facility."
"It's an intensive care unit with mahogany walls," Grace corrected, walking back to the bed to check Liam’s pupillary response. She clicked the penlight on and brought it near his face.
Liam didn't flinch. He stared straight through the beam of light, his expression unreadable. "You have a big mouth for someone who earns ten grand a week, Nurse."
"I have a younger brother in an oncology ward in Chicago," Grace replied flatly, checking his pulse at his wrist. His skin was hot, his radial pulse rapid but strong. "He needs a donor match that costs sixty thousand dollars just to process. Your money is the only reason I'm standing in this dark room listening to you throw glassware at my head."
A faint, almost invisible trace of a smirk touched the corner of Liam’s bruised lips. "Honesty. That's a rare commodity in this house."
"Don't confuse honesty with obedience, Mr. Mercer," Grace said, setting his arm down gently. "I'm here to keep your heart pumping, not to validate your ego."
Leo stepped up to the opposite side of the bed, leaning over slightly. "Boss, the council is waiting on the encrypted line. Don Moretti wants to know if the pier delivery is still scheduled for midnight."
Liam’s smirk vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, calculating mask of a man who ruled half the city's waterfront. "Tell Don Moretti that if he touches a single crate at Pier 14 before I am on my feet, I will have his eldest son buried under the tarmac at O'Hare."
"Understood," Leo nodded, turning to leave the room.
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Before Leo reached the door, Grace noticed something strange. As Leo stepped near the window to adjust his suit jacket, a faint, metallic tapping sound rattled against the exterior of the reinforced glass behind the velvet drapes. It wasn't the sound of rain, nor the wind. It was three rhythmic, deliberate taps—click, click, click.
Liam’s hand instantly clamped onto the bedsheet, his knuckles turning pure white as his eyes darted toward the hidden window once again.
