The Billionaire Mafia Boss Wanted To Die. My Rent Was Due Monday.

The federal agents cleared the estate by noon, hauling Vincent and his remaining associates away in handcuffs while news crews swarmed the base of the mountain road miles below. Inside the mansion, the heavy smell of blood and lemon polish had finally been replaced by the crisp, clean breeze of a clear afternoon following the rain.

I stood in the front foyer with my canvas duffel bag slung over my shoulder, looking toward the open oak doors where my rusted sedan was parked safely in the private garage, washed clean by the morning sun.

Leo walked up to me, handing over a thick, sealed white envelope bearing the Rossi family crest.

“Mr. Rossi asked me to give this to you,” Leo said, offering a rare, respectful nod. “Along with his personal gratitude. Few people have ever stood up to him—and even fewer have managed to save his life.”

I took the envelope, sliding it open just enough to see the cashier's check inside. The amount was ten times what I had asked for, more than enough to clear my back rent, pay off my medical debts, and start fresh.

“Tell him he owes me for hazard pay and emotional distress,” I said with a faint smile.

“He knows,” a deep, familiar voice echoed from the top of the grand staircase.

I looked up. Dominic stood there, dressed in a crisp black button-down shirt, his right arm resting comfortably in a soft black sling. He looked pale, but the dangerous feverish glaze in his eyes had been replaced by a quiet, steady warmth.

He walked down the stairs slowly, stopping just a few steps away from me.

“Are you leaving so soon, Nurse Hayes?” he asked, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Your contract didn’t specify a two-week term?”

“My contract was to keep you from bleeding to death before Monday,” I replied, adjusting the strap of my duffel. “My rent is paid, my bank account is out of the red, and my patient is stubbornly refusing to die. My job here is officially done.”

Dominic stared at me for a long moment, the silence between us no longer heavy with tension, but charged with something entirely different—something warm, quiet, and full of possibility.

“My shoulder still hurts when it rains,” he murmured, taking a step closer. “And my doctor tells me I need regular follow-up care for at least the next few months.”

“I’m an emergency room nurse, Mr. Rossi, not a private concierge,” I teased softly, though I didn't step back.

“Call me Dominic,” he said, his dark eyes softening as a genuine, disarming smile broke across his face. He reached out with his left hand, gently taking the edge of my canvas duffel strap and sliding it off my shoulder. “And as for concierge services… I happen to know a wonderful Italian restaurant down in the city that is always hiring private consultants.”

I looked down at the envelope in my hand, then up into his dark, steady eyes. The rain outside had completely cleared, and for the first time in months, the future looked bright, steady, and entirely open.