Chapter 1 - THE WOUNDED KING OF THE ROSSI ESTATEThe heavy oak doors of the master suite clicked shut behind Leo, locking me in a suffocating bubble of heat and impending violence. The air inside the room was thick, heavy with the scent of expensive lemon polish fighting a losing battle against the sharp, copper tang of infection.
Dominic Rossi lay propped up against a mountain of charcoal-gray pillows. Even with his body compromised by fever and blood loss, his presence dominated the vast, cavernous bedroom. His dark hair was slicked back with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his sharp jawline was shadowed by thick, aggressive stubble. A heavy white tactical bandage was wrapped tightly over his right shoulder and chest, but the fabric was completely saturated. A dark, ugly crimson stain was slowly spreading across the Egyptian cotton sheets like spilled wine.
He didn't move. He didn't flinch. He just stared at me with eyes the color of winter ice, glittering with a dangerous, volatile mix of pain and fury.
“You have five seconds to turn around and walk back out that door,” Dominic rasped, his voice tearing through the silence like broken glass. “Before I make sure you never walk out of this house again.”
I stood my ground, my hands tightening instinctively around the straps of my canvas duffel. My sneakers were still damp from the freezing Virginia rain outside, and the cold water inside my shoes contrasted sharply with the stifling heat of the room. I thought about the stack of past-due notices sitting on my kitchen counter, the final warning from my landlord taped to my apartment door, and the empty pantry waiting for me back in the city.
Fear was a luxury I had traded away three days ago.
“You can threaten me all you want, Mr. Rossi,” I said, stepping closer to the massive mahogany bed, my voice remaining surprisingly steady. “But if I leave, you’ll be dead from septic shock before midnight. And since I’m the only one stupid enough—or desperate enough—to stay, that makes me the most important person in this room.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. For a second, I thought he was going to lunge. His massive frame shifted beneath the sheets, muscles coiling like steel cables, but the movement wrenched his shoulder wound. A sharp, involuntary hiss escaped his lips, and his skin turned a shade paler.
“I don’t need a nurse,” he ground out, closing his eyes tightly as a fresh wave of pain wracked his body. “I need everyone to leave me the hell alone.”
“Well, you're out of luck,” I snapped back, dropping my bag and pulling a pair of medical gloves from my pocket. “Because Leo let me in, and I’m not losing my rent money because a stubborn mafia boss wants to bleed out on expensive imported linens.”
I didn't wait for his permission. I stepped up to the edge of the bed, reached for the edge of the blood-soaked sheet, and pulled it back to inspect the damage.
Dominic’s eyes snapped open, blazing with lethal fury. “Don’t touch me.”
“If I don't touch you, gangrene is going to take that arm,” I replied coldly, pressing two fingers against his neck to check his pulse. It was racing—far too fast, a textbook sign of systemic infection. “Now, are you going to cooperate, or do I need to call Leo back in here to hold you down?”
That stopped him. The idea of losing his pride in front of his head of security bruised his ego far more than my sharp tongue. He leaned his head back against the pillows, his chest heaving as he stared up at the ceiling with pure loathing.
“Do whatever you’re going to do,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “And make it fast.”
I cut away the ruined bandages with surgical shears, revealing an ugly, jagged bullet wound that had been poorly stitched weeks ago and had now ripped wide open. The tissue was inflamed, angry, and oozing fluid. It was a mess—the kind of wound you get when you’re running from federal agents or rival syndicates and treating yourself in a dark basement.
Working in a downtown emergency room for five years had taught me how to handle gunshot victims without blinking, but working on a mafia boss in a fortress hidden in the mountains was entirely new territory.
As I cleaned the wound with antiseptic, wincing internally every time Dominic’s body tensed against the agonizing burn, I realized something terrifying: the bullet hadn't just torn through his muscle tissue. It had clipped something deeper, and someone had intentionally delayed proper medical care to keep him off the grid.
Dominic watched me through half-closed eyes, his breath hitching as I applied a fresh, sterile dressing.
“You’re not shaking,” he noted quietly, his voice losing some of its initial venom, replaced by a strange, calculating curiosity. “Every other woman they sent in here was trembling by the time she crossed the threshold.”
“My hands only shake when I’m hungry or tired,” I replied, securing the medical tape with a sharp tug. “Right now, I’m just focused on keeping you alive so I can collect my paycheck on Monday.”
Dominic let out a short, harsh breath that sounded almost like a dry laugh. It was the first human sound he had made since I walked into the room.
“You have a strange way of talking to a man who could have you thrown out into the rain with a single word, Nora Hayes.”
I froze, my hands hovering over the medical tray. I hadn't told him my last name.
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Dominic caught my expression, a slow, grim smirk touching the corner of his bruised lips. “I read your file before you walked through those gates. I know everything about you, Nora. Including why you need this job so badly.”
My stomach dropped. I stared at him, realizing that stepping into this fortress wasn't just a desperate financial move—it was walking directly into a spider's web.
