Chapter 1 - Don't Touch Me
Elena pressed both hands against the bleeding man's chest and whispered, "Stay with me."
When Vincent Mercer opened his eyes, his hand closed around a stainless-steel surgical clamp lying beside him.
Three letters were scratched into its handle.
V.M.C.
Elena realized someone inside Vincent's own organization had prepared for him to die.
"Don't touch me."
Vincent's voice was barely louder than the electronic beeping beside his bed, yet every person in the room reacted as if a gun had fired.
Dr. Samuel Klein stepped backward.
The young surgical resident beside him stopped breathing.
At the far end of the white marble suite, Vincent's bodyguard, Luca DeSantis, slowly lowered one hand toward the pistol beneath his jacket.
Only Elena Rossi remained where she was.
Her palm rested against Vincent Mercer's bare chest.
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers.
Fast.
Irregular.
Dangerously weak.
Vincent stared at her hand.
Then at her face.
Elena had spent twelve years working emergency medicine in hospitals where screaming relatives, drunken patients, gang shootings, and terrified children could arrive within the same ten minutes. She had learned that fear could be acknowledged without being obeyed.
But Vincent Mercer was different.
Everyone in Chicago knew the name.
Restaurants opened private rooms when he arrived.
Judges denied knowing him.
Politicians smiled beside him at charity dinners and avoided photographs.
Newspapers called him a businessman.
Federal agents used different words.
Elena didn't care about any of them tonight.
She cared about the blood soaking the towel beneath his ribs.
"Your pulse is unstable," she said.
Vincent's eyes remained fixed on her.
"You heard me."
"I did."
"Then remove your hand."
Elena slowly lifted her fingers.
She had moved perhaps half an inch when Vincent caught her wrist.
The room went completely still.
His grip wasn't violent.
It wasn't even strong.
That frightened Elena more.
The man who had reportedly dislocated someone's shoulder for grabbing his sleeve was holding her as though he was afraid she might disappear.
"Wait."
Elena looked down at him.
His breathing changed.
The dangerous hardness in his expression vanished for one second.
Beneath it was something she hadn't expected.
Fear.
"Mr. Mercer?"
His thumb trembled against her wrist.
"Put it back."
Dr. Klein stared.
Luca's eyes narrowed behind his dark glasses.
Elena hesitated.
Vincent swallowed.
"Please."
The word sounded wrong coming from him.
Not because he wasn't capable of politeness.
Because everyone in the room seemed stunned that Vincent Mercer had ever needed anything badly enough to ask.
Elena placed her palm against his chest again.
Vincent shut his eyes.
A breath escaped him.
Slow.
Almost relieved.
The heart monitor changed.
His rate began falling.
One hundred thirty-eight.
One twenty-seven.
One nineteen.
Dr. Klein looked from the screen to Elena.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Keep doing nothing."
Elena almost smiled, but Vincent opened his eyes again.
"How bad?"
She knew what he meant.
"You lost a lot of blood."
"Am I dying?"
"Not if everyone stops interfering with me."
Luca moved closer.
"We have surgeons."
"You have frightened surgeons."
Dr. Klein stiffened.
Elena ignored him.
"You also have no proper trauma theater, no blood bank, and a patient who apparently attacks anyone trying to examine him."
Vincent's mouth moved slightly.
It might have been amusement.
"You always speak this way to patients?"
"Only difficult ones."
For the first time that night, Luca actually smiled.
Vincent noticed.
Luca immediately stopped.
Elena examined the wound again.
The bullet had entered below Vincent's left ribs. According to Klein, it had passed through soft tissue without striking the heart or major vessels, but fragments remained.
Vincent needed surgery.
He also needed to survive long enough to reach it.
"Who shot you?" Elena asked.
Luca answered.
"We don't know."
Vincent's eyes shifted toward him.
That tiny movement told Elena the answer wasn't entirely true.
She had been summoned from St. Catherine's Hospital less than forty minutes earlier.
A black SUV had arrived outside the emergency entrance.
Luca had shown hospital administrators paperwork stating that Elena was being requested for an urgent private medical consultation.
Requested was generous.
Her department chief had practically pushed her into the elevator.
She hadn't understood why until the SUV reached the Mercer Tower penthouse.
One surgeon had already left holding a fractured hand.
Another had refused to return to the room.
Vincent's history explained part of it.
Eleven years earlier, according to a whispered warning from Dr. Klein, Vincent had survived a kidnapping.
Afterward, he stopped allowing unnecessary physical contact.
No handshakes.
No embraces.
No doctors without sedation.
No romantic relationships anyone could confirm.
Nothing.
"Why me?" Elena asked quietly.
Vincent opened his eyes.
"What?"
"There are hundreds of nurses in Chicago."
His gaze lingered on her face.
"You weren't chosen."
That answer bothered her.
"Then who requested me?"
Luca glanced toward Vincent.
Vincent said nothing.
Elena felt his heart accelerate again beneath her hand.
Someone had selected her.
And Vincent didn't know who.
She turned toward the equipment cart.
That was when she noticed the clamp.
It was an ordinary hemostat except for three letters carved into the metal.
V.M.C.
She picked it up.
"Does this belong to you?"
Dr. Klein frowned.
"That's from the kit."
"No."
Elena held it under the lamp.
"The equipment supplier marks instruments with batch codes. This was scratched by hand."
Luca approached.
Vincent watched Elena.
"What letters?"
She showed him.
V.M.C.
For the first time, Vincent's expression changed completely.
Luca swore softly.
"What does it mean?" Elena asked.
Vincent looked toward the door.
"Everyone out."
Dr. Klein protested.
"Vincent—"
"Everyone except the nurse."
Luca didn't move.
Vincent looked at him.
"You too."
"Absolutely not."
"Luca."
"Someone put a personalized instrument in a medical kit before you were shot. I'm staying."
Vincent considered him.
"Check the hallway."
Luca reluctantly stepped outside.
Dr. Klein and the resident followed.
The door closed.
Elena suddenly became very aware that she was alone with a wounded criminal boss.
Vincent noticed.
"You can leave."
"Can I?"
"Yes."
"Your men brought me here."
"They'll return you."
"To my hospital?"
"Anywhere."
Elena looked at the monitor.
"You won't make it twenty minutes without somebody controlling that bleeding."
Vincent's eyes softened.
"Then I suppose you're trapped."
"I've had worse shifts."
His gaze returned to the clamp.
"VMC isn't my initials."
"It's close."
"Vincent Mercer is VM."
"What's the C?"
He remained silent.
Elena waited.
Finally, Vincent said, "Mercer wasn't always my last name."
She frowned.
"What was it?"
"Cassano."
Vincent Mercer Cassano.
VMC.
"What happened to Cassano?"
"My father died."
"That doesn't usually erase a surname."
"It does when someone wants the family erased with him."
Elena knew she was hearing something dangerous.
She placed the clamp carefully onto the tray.
"Who knew those initials?"
"My mother."
"Anyone else?"
"My brother."
Elena glanced at him.
"You have a brother?"
"Had."
"What happened?"
Vincent looked toward the windows.
"He died eleven years ago."
The same year Vincent stopped allowing people to touch him.
Elena understood enough not to push.
She returned her attention to his wound.
"We need to move you."
"No hospital."
"Then your personal operating room needs more blood."
"We have a donor team downstairs."
"You're O-negative."
Vincent looked surprised.
Elena pointed to his chart.
"I'm a nurse. We read things."
His mouth twitched again.
Then the penthouse lights went out.
Everything vanished except the battery-powered glow of the monitor.
Elena froze.
Vincent grabbed her wrist.
This time his grip was stronger.
"Luca."
No answer.
The monitor continued beeping.
A second later, emergency lights flickered red along the floor.
Elena heard movement outside.
Then a muffled gunshot.
Vincent tried to sit up.
She pushed him down.
"You'll tear the wound."
"Move."
"No."
"Elena."
It was the first time he had used her name.
Another gunshot.
Closer.
The door handle moved.
Vincent's expression hardened instantly.
He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a pistol.
Elena stared.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"Get behind me."
"You're bleeding through three layers of gauze."
"Behind me."
The door opened.
Luca entered, gun raised.
"Power's been cut."
Vincent lowered his weapon.
"Who fired?"
"Marco caught someone near the service elevator."
"Alive?"
"For now."
Luca looked at Elena.
"We're moving you both."
"Why me?" she asked.
"Because whoever cut the power knew which room you were in."
Elena's stomach tightened.
Vincent looked at her.
Not the look of a patient.
The look of a man solving a puzzle.
"You said someone requested me," Elena whispered.
"Yes."
"Who?"
Vincent turned to Luca.
"Find out."
Luca touched his earpiece.
Then stopped.
His face changed.
"What?"
Luca slowly looked at Elena.
"The request came through one of Mr. Mercer's private authentication codes."
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"Impossible."
"There's more."
Luca stepped closer.
"The code was deactivated eleven years ago."
Vincent became completely still.
"Whose code was it?"
Luca hesitated.
Then he answered.
"Your brother's."
A sound came from the hidden service corridor behind Elena.
Three knocks.
A pause.
Then two more.
Vincent went white.
He stared at the wall.
"That's impossible."
The knocks came again.
Three.
Pause.
Two.
Vincent raised his gun.
May you like
Because only one person had ever used that signal.
And that man had been buried eleven years ago.
