Chapter 1 - The Nurse They Laughed At
Delphine Rios pressed her hands against the wounded man's side and shouted:
"Get me another pressure dressing!"
Vincent Moretti opened his eyes and saw a silver cuff link beside the stretcher.
A tiny black crown had been scratched into its back.
Vincent stopped breathing for one terrible second.
The shooter had come to the hospital with him.
At 11:47 p.m., St. Augustine Private Hospital had been quiet enough for Delphine to hear the vending machine humming from the end of the emergency corridor.
Thirty seconds later, six men in dark suits came through the private entrance carrying Vincent Moretti.
Delphine knew the name.
Everyone in Chicago knew the name.
Moretti.
It was printed on restaurants, construction companies, charities, apartment buildings, and rumors nobody repeated when strangers were listening.
But the man on the stretcher didn't look like a legend.
He looked human.
His expensive white shirt had been cut open at the side. A temporary bandage had been pressed against his torso. His face was pale beneath dark stubble, and his breathing came in shallow, controlled pulls.
"Trauma room," Delphine ordered.
One of the men looked her up and down.
His mouth twisted.
"You're the nurse?"
Delphine didn't answer.
She had heard versions of that question before.
Sometimes it was about her body.
Sometimes her last name.
Sometimes the assumption that a curvy Latina woman wearing navy scrubs couldn't possibly be the person in charge.
Six years on night shift had taught her that arguing wasted oxygen.
She grabbed the stretcher rail.
"Move."
The man blinked.
Delphine pushed past him.
Another nurse hurried beside her while an orderly opened the treatment-room doors.
Vincent's eyes fluttered.
"Sir, can you hear me?"
Nothing.
Delphine checked his pulse.
Fast.
Too fast.
"Blood pressure."
"Seventy-eight over forty-six."
"Call Dr. Mercer."
One of Vincent's men stepped closer.
"You better know what you're doing."
Delphine looked at him.
"If you want him alive, step behind that line."
The man stared at her.
Then someone laughed.
It was quiet.
Almost polite.
That made it worse.
"She gonna fit around the table?"
Another chuckle.
Delphine felt heat crawl up her neck.
She didn't look back.
Her hands stayed steady.
"Pressure dressing."
The younger nurse beside her handed it over.
Delphine worked.
"Come on," she whispered to Vincent. "Stay with me."
His eyelids moved.
For one instant, dark eyes found hers.
Alert eyes.
Not frightened.
Assessing.
Vincent Moretti had awakened.
"Where..." he rasped.
"Hospital."
His gaze shifted past her shoulder.
Another laugh came from behind her.
"This is who they sent?"
Delphine's jaw tightened.
Vincent heard it.
She saw the exact second he understood.
His eyes moved from Delphine to the men surrounding the room.
"Enough."
The word was weak.
The effect wasn't.
Every man stopped.
Vincent turned his head slightly toward the one who had spoken.
"If she walks away..."
He struggled for air.
Delphine leaned closer.
"Don't talk."
Vincent ignored her.
"...I die."
Silence.
"So shut up."
Delphine looked down before anyone could see how deeply those four words affected her.
Not because she needed a powerful man to defend her.
She didn't.
But because Vincent Moretti had been half-conscious, bleeding, and surrounded by men who supposedly would die for him.
And he had still noticed cruelty aimed at a stranger.
That didn't fit what she'd heard about him.
Neither did what happened next.
Vincent's fingers suddenly closed around her wrist.
Not hard.
Urgent.
"Who called this hospital?"
Delphine frowned.
"I don't know."
Vincent looked toward his men.
"Who?"
A tall man near the door answered.
"Marco did."
Vincent's gaze shifted.
Marco Bellini stood near the foot of the stretcher.
Late thirties.
Broad shoulders.
Dark suit.
Calm face.
Too calm.
"I called ahead," Marco said. "You needed help."
Vincent stared at him.
"How'd you know St. Augustine?"
Marco's expression barely changed.
"We were close."
"No."
The heart monitor accelerated.
Delphine placed her hand near Vincent's shoulder.
"Mr. Moretti, you need to stay calm."
His eyes remained on Marco.
"We weren't."
Nobody moved.
Delphine looked between them.
Marco gave a nervous smile.
"Boss, you were bleeding. I picked a hospital."
Vincent said nothing.
Then his gaze dropped toward the floor.
Something metallic rested beneath the stretcher.
"What's that?"
Delphine followed his eyes.
A silver cuff link.
She bent down.
"Don't touch it," Vincent said.
She stopped.
One of the men picked it up with a tissue.
Vincent stared.
There was a tiny black crown etched into the back.
Whatever pain Vincent had been feeling seemed to disappear beneath something colder.
Recognition.
"Everyone out," he said.
Marco frowned.
"Vincent—"
"Everyone."
Nobody argued this time.
One by one, the men moved into the corridor.
Marco was last.
He looked at Delphine before leaving.
Not with amusement anymore.
With calculation.
The door closed.
Delphine returned to Vincent.
"What does the crown mean?"
"Nothing you want to know."
"Unfortunately, whatever it means is currently affecting my patient's heart rate."
His mouth almost moved into a smile.
Almost.
"You're not afraid of me?"
"I'm afraid you're going to crash before the doctor gets here."
"Different thing."
"Exactly."
The door opened.
Dr. Mercer rushed inside with the surgical team.
Within minutes, Delphine was pushed into a controlled storm of orders, instruments, medications, numbers, and movement.
Vincent needed surgery.
Immediately.
As they prepared to take him upstairs, his hand caught Delphine's again.
"Your name."
"Delphine."
"Last name."
"Rios."
His eyes held hers.
"Don't leave."
She stared at him.
"I'm a nurse, Mr. Moretti. I'm not one of your employees."
"No."
His voice weakened.
"That's why I'm asking."
The surgical team rolled him away.
Delphine stood in the corridor afterward, bloodless gloves in her hands, adrenaline still pounding behind her ribs.
The six men were waiting.
Marco approached.
"You did good."
Delphine didn't respond.
He smiled.
"Don't take what the guys said personally."
"I didn't."
"Good."
He leaned closer.
"Vincent gets suspicious when he's hurt."
Something in his voice changed.
"So if he said anything strange..."
Delphine met his eyes.
"He asked me not to leave."
Marco's smile vanished.
Behind him, an older man with silver at his temples watched them carefully.
Marco recovered.
"Then don't."
He walked away.
The older man approached.
"I'm Tomas Moretti."
Delphine recognized the surname.
"His uncle?"
Tomas nodded.
"Vincent trusts very few people."
"He doesn't know me."
"That's exactly why he may trust you."
Before Delphine could ask what that meant, her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
NO CALLER ID.
Four words appeared.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HIM DIE.
Delphine's blood went cold.
She looked up.
Marco was gone.
"Ms. Rios?"
Tomas noticed her face.
Delphine turned the screen toward him.
His expression hardened.
Then the elevator at the end of the corridor opened.
A hospital security officer stepped out.
He carried a clear evidence bag.
Inside it was another silver cuff link.
The same black crown was scratched into the back.
But this one had been found upstairs.
Outside Vincent Moretti's operating room.
And the elevator doors behind the officer were still open.
May you like
Someone was standing inside.
Watching Delphine.
