Chapter 13 - Misericordia et Ferro
Six months later.
The underground clinic in the South Side was clean, well-funded, and entirely off the grid. It served the people who couldn't go to the polished towers of Northwestern Memorial—the undocumented, the desperate, the ones the city forgot.
Lily finished bandaging the arm of a terrified teenager who had caught a stray bullet, handing him a lollipop and a strict set of care instructions.
She washed her hands under the stainless-steel sink. The smell of bleach was comforting now, a symbol of order in the chaos.
The heavy steel door at the front of the clinic opened, letting in the crisp autumn air.
John Mercer walked in. He moved smoothly, perfectly healed, wearing a sharp, tailored suit that hid the map of scars beneath it. He didn't use a cane anymore.
He placed a fresh cup of coffee on her desk, right next to the antique silver forceps that now served as her paperweight.
"How is the clinic running, Dr. Hayes?" Mercer asked, a genuine smile softening his dangerous features.
"It's Nurse Hayes, and we're fully stocked thanks to your 'anonymous' donation," Lily replied, taking a sip of the coffee.
"I told you, I always pay my debts," Mercer said, stepping closer, closing the distance between them until she could smell the familiar scent of vetiver and expensive bourbon.
"You don't owe me anything anymore, John," she said softly, looking up into his ice-blue eyes. "Your sister is safe. The Volkovs are gone. You're free."
"No," Mercer murmured, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine. "I think we both know I'm not going anywhere."
May you like
Lily smiled, leaning slightly into his hand. She looked at the man who had burned her life to the ground, only to help her build a stronger one from the ashes.
The mafia boss wasn't a liability anymore. He was exactly where he belonged. And for the first time since that bloody night on the linoleum, Lily felt like she was, too.
