She Endured 5 Years of Hell from Her Surgeon Husband—Until a Mafia Boss Knocked on Her Door and Changed Everything!

Brandon Whitmore did not know Teddy was gone.

That evening, St. Ambrose Hospital hosted its annual charity gala. Brandon needed to maintain appearances. He needed investors. Most importantly, he needed to pretend everything was fine.

He returned home, unlocked the door, and tossed a black evening gown onto the bed.

"Get dressed," he ordered Margaret. "Use heavy makeup on that bruise. If you embarrass me tonight, Teddy sleeps on the street."

Margaret nodded slowly.

She knew Teddy was safe. For the first time in five years, she felt a dangerous, thrilling spark of rebellion.

The gala was held at the Peabody Library, a stunning room filled with towering shelves of antique books and golden light.

Brandon smiled for the cameras, gripping Margaret’s arm so tightly her fingers went numb.

"Dr. Whitmore! Over here!" the photographers shouted.

Brandon played the perfect husband, kissing her cheek for the cameras.

Margaret felt sick.

As they moved toward the VIP tables, Brandon leaned in close to her ear. "I'm going to find a way to stall Fontaine. I have friends in the mayor's office. He thinks he can threaten me? He's nothing but a glorified thug."

"Is he?" a voice asked from behind them.

Brandon spun around.

Austin Fontaine was standing by the champagne tower, wearing a tailored black tuxedo. He looked like he owned the building.

The wealthy donors and hospital executives subconsciously parted for him, giving him a wide berth.

"Fontaine," Brandon hissed, glancing nervously at the reporters nearby. "You shouldn't be here."

"I'm a major donor, Doctor," Austin said smoothly, picking up two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Margaret. Their fingers brushed. "In fact, I just made a very generous contribution to the pediatric wing in honor of my late mother."

Brandon's face flushed with anger. "We have an agreement. Forty-eight hours."

"The timeline has changed," Austin said, his smile vanishing.

He stepped closer to Brandon, his voice dropping to a whisper that only the three of them could hear.

"You don't just owe me money anymore, Brandon. You owe me blood."

Brandon laughed nervously. "Are you threatening me in a room full of police commissioners?"

"I don't make threats," Austin replied. "I deliver facts. And the fact is, the medical board just received an anonymous package regarding a surgery you performed fifteen years ago."

Margaret dropped her champagne glass. It shattered on the marble floor.