Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR AND THE CRACK IN THE FORTRESS
The name Vincent hung in the heavy air of the bedroom like the scent of approaching thunder. Dominic’s entire demeanor shifted from a suffering patient to a predator cornered in his den. The fever flush on his skin seemed to recede, replaced by a chalky, dangerous pallor.
“Bring him up,” Dominic ordered, his voice dropping into a register so chillingly calm it made the hairs on my arms stand up.
“Are you sure, sir?” Leo hesitated, casting a wary glance toward me as if remembering I was an outsider standing in the middle of a mafia war room. “You’re in no condition to receive guests, let alone—”
“Bring him up, Leo,” Dominic repeated, each word clipped and absolute. “And bring the ledger from the safe in the study.”
Leo gave a tight nod and vanished into the hallway, pulling the heavy double doors shut behind him.
I quickly secured the IV pole beside the bed, checking the drip rate to ensure the antibiotics were flowing smoothly into Dominic’s arm. “You should be resting, not conducting board meetings in the dark with men named Vincent.”
“This isn't a board meeting, nurse,” Dominic muttered, glaring at the ceiling. “It’s a family reunion.”
“Well, your family has terrible timing. Your white blood cell count is through the roof, and talking business in an agitated state is a great way to trigger a pulmonary embolism.”
Dominic turned his head on the dark pillows, his dark eyes fixing on me with an intense, probing curiosity. “You really don't care who I am, do you? To you, I’m just a broken shoulder and a high fever.”
“To me, you’re a human being who needs to stay alive for at least the next two weeks so I can pay my rent and buy groceries,” I replied bluntly, packing my used supplies back into my canvas duffel. “Though if your friends downstairs start shooting up the mansion, I’m billing you hazard pay.”
A low, gravelly chuckle rumbled in Dominic’s chest, quickly turning into a sharp cough that he suppressed with a grimace.
Before I could grab my bag and slip out into the hallway to give them privacy, heavy footsteps echoed on the grand staircase outside. The sound was brisk, arrogant, and entirely uninvited. The double doors pushed open without so much time to knock, and a man in a tailored charcoal suit stepped into the dimly lit bedroom.
He looked younger than Dominic, perhaps in his early thirties, with slicked-back dark hair, sharp features, and an expensive silver watch gleaming on his wrist. Behind him stood two heavy-set guards holding black leather briefcases.
“Well, well, well,” Vincent drawled, his voice dripping with smooth, condescending amusement as his eyes swept over the bloodstained sheets, the IV pole, and finally settled on me standing beside the bed. “I heard the great Dominic Rossi was on his deathbed, but I didn't realize he’d hired a nurse to hold his hand while he cashed out.”
Dominic didn't move. He lay back against the dark pillows, his bare chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate control.
“Get out, Vincent,” Dominic said quietly.
May you like
Vincent smiled, stepping further into the room and ignoring the warning completely. “Is that any way to greet your own cousin? After all, while you’ve been hiding up here in your mountain fortress nursing a bullet hole like a wounded dog, someone has to run the family business. And let’s just say… the docks haven't been running very smoothly lately.”
My heart skipped a beat. Cousins. This wasn't just a business dispute; it was a bloody, high-stakes coup happening right in front of me.
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